Father’s Best Friend

My name is Bernie, I’m a West Ashley resident, and this is my true story. When I was just a pup, the two-leggeds who first took me couldn’t keep me in their dwelling, because pets weren’t allowed. Meanwhile, I grew weak, because the food was crap, even for a dog. On the third day after the quiet-voiced man gave my owners the warning, he took me for a drive. Would I end up at the shelter? Roadside? My fate seemed uncertain.
He had a heart and took me home, where his whole family immediately fell for my charming puppy face, and although I was a mix, they didn’t care. They bathed me, fed me tasty food, and took me to a doctor. I whined about that, and don’t like the latter and never will, although the white coats think a biscuit will pacify me. I do succumb to treats.
I might have been small, but my genes told me I was big. And I did grow big, fast. Meanwhile, the family’s gorgeous purebred Collie eyed me constantly with dismay.
I would feverishly gnaw wrong objects and the family had to closely watch me. I also knew I was not supposed to mark everything, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. And before I knew it, my gonads were off my body by the people in the white coats. Still, I sprayed for a while longer, and nearly drove the woman of the house wild with frustration, for she likes things pretty and clean. I think I drove her nuts, even though I had none of my own. Still, I love her. All of them. I love them.
Sometimes I think my name is not Bernie. I think it is Quiet!!! because I bark when I hear strange sounds. But I am just doing my job. After all, if the smell and the look of the people next door do not match up with my Rojek clan, all bets are off, and I will protect my new family. I struggle with my inner hound to defend them.
At Christmas they thought I was a lost cause. I ate rocks, muddied the pool, and ingested something called Heaven-Only-Knows. They groaned when they saw my sick mess, and I kept them up for two nights straight. By day three, they were so exhausted that they went outside and just looked at each other, then laughed until they cried, while I watched through the door. By New Year’s, their resolution to keep working with me was thin as the grass I dug up in the back yard.
Tara, the purebred, was now used to me, if a bit jealous, even though the attention I got was mostly for bad behavior. I pretty much knew that I was the bad boy, eunuch, actually, and she was the good girl. I tried to follow her example. Mannerly, she respects the furnishings of an immaculate house. She is smarter than me, too. All Tara hears is the word “pizza,” and by this one small clue, she knows to wait by the window and watch for the truck to show up, in hopes of the first crust. She would never eat a deflated toy football, or snap at white coats. But I believe I might. I’m not perfect.
One thing that happened is an achievement, although I am still not sure exactly how I did it. I no longer spray in the house. The lady of the house is especially thrilled.
My owners found out my hips were wrong, possibly due to anemia when I was a pup, and to make them work would require costly surgery. To my gross disappointment, I had to go back to the white coats, had a plastic cone installed around my head, and my lower half hurt. A few weeks of rest and pain meds, and I now use my one side like normal! In a few months, I may need to get the other hip done, though it’s possible it still has enough muscle tissue to heal itself. Good grief. I seem to be nothing but a lot of work and aggravation. Should I feel bad? No, I won’t, and I cannot. For I have figured out by now that my best friend, the man who brought me to West Ashley, has agreed with his wonderful woman that I am worth loving. I will return the favor by guarding their family always.
Recently, the oldest son gave the neighbors a bag of biscuits, to help them get friendly with me. And then I heard the miraculous! The young man said that Tara should get the first treat, then me, for the classy canine is now jealous! It also delights me that she likes to run and play with me. I am content, for I’ve become Bernie-the-wanted. This, even though I snuck a colored felt tip marker off the ottoman, then crunched it until my muzzle and the carpet emerged a strange shade of blue. Thanks to my hero who gave me a chance and brought me to West Ashley, I’m home, sweet home, and loved despite my faults.
 
Lisa Weatherwax earned the Matrix Table Promise of Excellence Award. Reach her at weatherwaxwrites@aol.com