MARY ANN FITZMORRIS

What are friends for? A friend is considering getting a dog. This is not something she wants, particularly, but she has been badgered into submission. This woman is really clean, so I have concluded she is probably not much of a pet person. Perfectly groomed people have perfectly groomed houses, and even perfectly groomed dogs are still, after all, . . .well. . .animals. As she talked I assumed this new member of the family would reside in the yard, so she surprised me with the only point still being considered. Should they get a large dog to live outside, or a small dog to live inside? “Why, a big dog to live inside,” I joked, knowing how it would end up anyway. Really, the answer to that question depends on the guilt threshold of the owner. Mine just ain’t what it used to be, because my big dog once lived outside, but he’s sleeping on the floor beside me right now. It happened when the house was being renovated, forcing doors to be open long enough for materials to be brought in. The dog came in behind a 2×12 and never left. That was okay, because I’ve always wanted one of those beautiful model dogs which are cleaner than the kids they sleep with. Our dog is not. He does not sleep with the kids, but he does occasionally try to sleep in their beds. This is easy to spot, because unlike the model dogs, he leaves a sandy beach whenever he gets up. Those model dogs must not roll in dead things. Our dog rolls in dead things. Things that are long dead, on a hot day. Emergency baths must be given in self-defense. My friend began to wince at that thought. I assured her that there were not many dead things lving on the lawns in the suburbs. But there are more live things, like other dogs. Canine communications definitely increase at night. As an outside dog, ours would sometimes get into such a barking frenzy that we would have to call him in, hoping he wouldn’t hear his friends trying to start up another conversation. Now, when this happens, our inside dog lifts his head, gives one very loud bark, (just enough to startle us from a deep sleep,) and resumes snoring. But he does not always fall right back to sleep. Sometimes there is an extended chewing session, followed by a period of prolonged thrashing, until he is put somewhere else in the house. My husband actually has the audacity and the guts to just throw him outside, which is good news to his friends, and we have to call him back in. Yes, night time can sometimes be busy with a pet living inside. A few nights ago I was awakened by the sound of deep coughing. Knowing there were no chicken bones lying around, this could only mean one thing. Hoping I was not too late, I jumped up and saw his stomach laboring hard to bring something back up that went down earlier. I shoved him outside just in time. My friend winced again. Sometimes I’m sleeping a little too soundly to hear these danger signals until it’s too late. Very early one morning, right after a brand new floor had been laid in the house, something smelled absolutely awful. Turning on a light revealed a large spot of diarrhea. The family pet had considerately placed it on a pile of paint clothes which were lying on the floor. My friend winced really big this time. I assured her that there was only one major difference in outside dogs and inside dogs. At least at first. Outside dogs are needier for attention, since they have less human contact. Our fella used to stare at me through the deck doors with a look that said, “Can’t someone spare a few minutes to play with me?” Now his face says, “People. . . you’re inside, the dog is outside; what’s wrong with this picture?” When the dog first started living inside, he was so grateful he would just lie somewhere near a family member. Now, he follows me everywhere, in need of relentless petting. My friend stared at me quietly reconsidering; mulling over what I had just said. “You can probably pick up one of those Techno-Dogs from Christmas really cheap.”