By Carol A. Boas
A dog desires more affection than his dinner. — Well, almost!
~Charlotte Gray
Oreo slunk into the house, trying her best to be inconspicuous. Not an easy feat for a full-grown Dalmatian. She seemed to have a stick or some other treasure in her mouth. I was in the kitchen making meat sauce for that night's dinner so I didn't pay much attention as I opened the door to let her in. The area surrounding our house was wooded, and Oreo often brought some of the outside inside.
A dog desires more affection than his dinner. — Well, almost!
~Charlotte Gray
Oreo slunk into the house, trying her best to be inconspicuous. Not an easy feat for a full-grown Dalmatian. She seemed to have a stick or some other treasure in her mouth. I was in the kitchen making meat sauce for that night's dinner so I didn't pay much attention as I opened the door to let her in. The area surrounding our house was wooded, and Oreo often brought some of the outside inside.
I finished the sauce, did some laundry and finished a few other things in the house that I needed to do, then left to pick the girls up from school.
"Where's Oreo?" asked Andee, my younger daughter, as we walked into the house. Oreo always greeted everyone with abundant enthusiasm, especially the girls.
"I don't know," I said, realizing that I hadn't seen her since I'd let her in the house earlier that day. "Do you girls want a snack before soccer practice?"
I grabbed some cheese and milk from the fridge, and began opening a package of crackers. Still no Oreo. Food was always an incentive, as if our extremely social dog needed an incentive to be with our family.
"If you girls start eating, I'm sure Oreo will find you," I said.
Andee finished her snack, and still no Oreo. Andee left the kitchen to look for the dog, returning a few minutes later.
"I've looked everywhere, even my room, and I can't find her," Andee said.
She headed to the jar on the counter that held Oreo's treats.
"Oreo, come!" she called, shaking the jar and listening for the click of Oreo's paws on our wood floors. Silence. Andee continued her search. Suddenly, she came running into the kitchen.
"Oreo's under the dining room table. She won't come out, and she growled at me!"
Oreo had been part of our family longer than Andee, now six. Oreo devoured shoes, chewed heads off Fisher-Price little people, and shredded stuffed animals to bits, but she didn't growl.
As babies, the girls pulled her tail, sat on her like a pony, even took food out of her mouth. But Oreo did not growl.
We all went to the dining room. "Stay back," I warned the girls. "Don't get too close until I see what's going on."
Oreo was curled up, head raised, eyes on alert. As I bent down to get closer, she growled. A soft, gentle growl, but definitely a growl.
"Let's leave her alone for a while," I said, ushering them back into the kitchen to start homework before they got picked up for soccer practice.
"See you at 5:30. It's my turn to pick up," I reminded them as the carpool driver honked.
After the girls left, I went back to the dining room. Crouching down, just inside the doorway, I had a perfect view of Oreo. She seemed calmer, but was licking her front paws. I wondered if she was injured. That might explain the growling.
I stood up and moved towards her. I heard it again. That soft, gentle growl. She seemed to be saying, "I won't bite you. I'm just letting you know I don't want you to come any closer."
I retreated and left her to her paw licking. I set the table for dinner, filled a pot with water so I could boil the spaghetti when I got home and left to pick up the girls.
When we got home, the house was eerily quiet. No barking, yipping, jumping, delighted-you're-finally-home dog to greet us.
"Oreo's still under the dining room table and won't come out," Andee called.
I got out Oreo's bowl, and poured in her dog food. She didn't budge. Bowl of food in hand, I tried coaxing her out. She growled. The soft, gentle growl that now said, "I don't want to keep growling at you, so please leave me alone."
This was not our dog. I sent the girls upstairs to play. I went back to the dining room with a piece of hamburger left over from last night's dinner. I turned on the light to get a better look. Oreo was still licking. In the light, it looked more like she was licking a rock, or something similar, not her paws.
I held out the hamburger. The temptation was too much. Oreo stopped licking, put the object of her licking in her mouth gingerly, and slowly got up. Hamburger meat dangling in front of her nose, I led her to her bowl and dropped the hamburger into it. Then moved back to give her space.
She hesitated, not sure what to do. She wanted her food, but didn't want to let go of her treasure. Finally, very carefully, she placed the object she had been carrying in her mouth next to her dish, and began to eat.
Next to her dish, a terrified turtle remained tight in its shell.
I knew to stay away, but was also relieved to know Oreo wasn't hurt.
Oreo finished eating and gently picked up the turtle. Still holding it in her mouth, she scratched at the door to go out. She did what she needed to do, scratched to come in and returned to the dining room table.
By early evening, trusting us to stay our distance, she was ready to show off her new "pup." Turtle in her mouth, she paraded around the house, much to the girls' delight.
"Can we keep the turtle, too?" Andee asked.
The girls reluctantly went upstairs to get ready for bed. Oreo retreated to her spot under the dining room table.
After everyone had settled in for the night, I peeked into the dining room. Oreo was sound asleep, and must've been for some time, because the turtle had poked out its head and all four legs. I watched. Slowly, the turtle was able to make its way over Oreo's front paws. A few minutes longer and it would be far enough away for me to grab it without waking the dog.
Finally, success! Turtle in hand, I walked outside to my neighbor's pond and returned the turtle to its home, hoping that it would stay away from our yard and out of harm's way.
Time passed. Oreo passed. Our second Dalmatian, Dots, joined our family. A move took us from Georgia to Connecticut.
New state. New home. New dog.
Same dining room rug. Same dining room table.
New turtle!
It had been almost ten years since the first turtle escapade. I couldn't believe my eyes as Dots slunk into the house, trying her best to be inconspicuous, and headed straight for the dining room table.
But this time I knew to leave her be, let her enjoy her "pup," and rescue the terrified turtle at the first opportunity.
I couldn't believe both my dogs did that!
"Where's Oreo?" asked Andee, my younger daughter, as we walked into the house. Oreo always greeted everyone with abundant enthusiasm, especially the girls.
"I don't know," I said, realizing that I hadn't seen her since I'd let her in the house earlier that day. "Do you girls want a snack before soccer practice?"
I grabbed some cheese and milk from the fridge, and began opening a package of crackers. Still no Oreo. Food was always an incentive, as if our extremely social dog needed an incentive to be with our family.
"If you girls start eating, I'm sure Oreo will find you," I said.
Andee finished her snack, and still no Oreo. Andee left the kitchen to look for the dog, returning a few minutes later.
"I've looked everywhere, even my room, and I can't find her," Andee said.
She headed to the jar on the counter that held Oreo's treats.
"Oreo, come!" she called, shaking the jar and listening for the click of Oreo's paws on our wood floors. Silence. Andee continued her search. Suddenly, she came running into the kitchen.
"Oreo's under the dining room table. She won't come out, and she growled at me!"
Oreo had been part of our family longer than Andee, now six. Oreo devoured shoes, chewed heads off Fisher-Price little people, and shredded stuffed animals to bits, but she didn't growl.
As babies, the girls pulled her tail, sat on her like a pony, even took food out of her mouth. But Oreo did not growl.
We all went to the dining room. "Stay back," I warned the girls. "Don't get too close until I see what's going on."
Oreo was curled up, head raised, eyes on alert. As I bent down to get closer, she growled. A soft, gentle growl, but definitely a growl.
"Let's leave her alone for a while," I said, ushering them back into the kitchen to start homework before they got picked up for soccer practice.
"See you at 5:30. It's my turn to pick up," I reminded them as the carpool driver honked.
After the girls left, I went back to the dining room. Crouching down, just inside the doorway, I had a perfect view of Oreo. She seemed calmer, but was licking her front paws. I wondered if she was injured. That might explain the growling.
I stood up and moved towards her. I heard it again. That soft, gentle growl. She seemed to be saying, "I won't bite you. I'm just letting you know I don't want you to come any closer."
I retreated and left her to her paw licking. I set the table for dinner, filled a pot with water so I could boil the spaghetti when I got home and left to pick up the girls.
When we got home, the house was eerily quiet. No barking, yipping, jumping, delighted-you're-finally-home dog to greet us.
"Oreo's still under the dining room table and won't come out," Andee called.
I got out Oreo's bowl, and poured in her dog food. She didn't budge. Bowl of food in hand, I tried coaxing her out. She growled. The soft, gentle growl that now said, "I don't want to keep growling at you, so please leave me alone."
This was not our dog. I sent the girls upstairs to play. I went back to the dining room with a piece of hamburger left over from last night's dinner. I turned on the light to get a better look. Oreo was still licking. In the light, it looked more like she was licking a rock, or something similar, not her paws.
I held out the hamburger. The temptation was too much. Oreo stopped licking, put the object of her licking in her mouth gingerly, and slowly got up. Hamburger meat dangling in front of her nose, I led her to her bowl and dropped the hamburger into it. Then moved back to give her space.
She hesitated, not sure what to do. She wanted her food, but didn't want to let go of her treasure. Finally, very carefully, she placed the object she had been carrying in her mouth next to her dish, and began to eat.
Next to her dish, a terrified turtle remained tight in its shell.
I knew to stay away, but was also relieved to know Oreo wasn't hurt.
Oreo finished eating and gently picked up the turtle. Still holding it in her mouth, she scratched at the door to go out. She did what she needed to do, scratched to come in and returned to the dining room table.
By early evening, trusting us to stay our distance, she was ready to show off her new "pup." Turtle in her mouth, she paraded around the house, much to the girls' delight.
"Can we keep the turtle, too?" Andee asked.
The girls reluctantly went upstairs to get ready for bed. Oreo retreated to her spot under the dining room table.
After everyone had settled in for the night, I peeked into the dining room. Oreo was sound asleep, and must've been for some time, because the turtle had poked out its head and all four legs. I watched. Slowly, the turtle was able to make its way over Oreo's front paws. A few minutes longer and it would be far enough away for me to grab it without waking the dog.
Finally, success! Turtle in hand, I walked outside to my neighbor's pond and returned the turtle to its home, hoping that it would stay away from our yard and out of harm's way.
Time passed. Oreo passed. Our second Dalmatian, Dots, joined our family. A move took us from Georgia to Connecticut.
New state. New home. New dog.
Same dining room rug. Same dining room table.
New turtle!
It had been almost ten years since the first turtle escapade. I couldn't believe my eyes as Dots slunk into the house, trying her best to be inconspicuous, and headed straight for the dining room table.
But this time I knew to leave her be, let her enjoy her "pup," and rescue the terrified turtle at the first opportunity.
I couldn't believe both my dogs did that!
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