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Ketchikan Dog Park


Doggy Common Sense?

Posted on August 29, 2013 at 3:26 PM
We love our dogs. We would never tolerate hearing an ugly word against them from anyone else. But, I have to say, they are dumber than a box of rocks. If their collective IQ were gasoline, they wouldn't have enough to back out of the garage.
We built them a dog house. It cost a lot of money. It's on skids so that it's moveable and off the cold ground. It has a little ramp up to it so that the two lame ones don't have to climb steps. It is insulated. It has natural light, an electric light, and even a little heater on an extension cord. It has cozy beds, a big water bowl, and toys. But if we have been away and come home on a drizzly day, do we find our dogs reclining in the new dog house? We do not. We find them huddled on the back deck next to the kitchen door, a little furry dogpile of sadness, desperately checking their watches and hoping some kind stranger will come along and fix them a pot of coffee.
A sarcastic friend looked at the dog house when it was finished and asked why we didn't just go ahead and put a flat-screen television in it. (I'm not mentioning any names, but his initials are Don Hall.) He agrees that our dogs are something less than brilliant. If someone on television rings a doorbell, for instance, our crew can't tell it from our own doorbell. They leap howling to their feet as one unit, as if they were all connected by puppet strings, race across the living room, fling themselves down the stairs (and no, this is not why two of them are lame) and attack the front door like the Vikings attacked Britain. Or the grey one, who watches television, and, when he sees something on it he objects to (and he objects to nearly everything, particularly babies and other animals,) leaps off the sofa, races across the living room, skids to a stop under the television, and barks maniacally until we squirt him with the squirt bottle. That dog ends up taking more showers than we do.
Dave Barry wrote a column once about Lassie, who was so much smarter than her family, who kept getting trapped under the farm equipment, that they would have starved to death if Lassie hadn't filled out their crop reports for them. We could use a couple of Lassies around this house, but what keeps showing up here are anti-Lassies; we get the kind of dogs who not only would not understand that they were supposed to rescue us, but who would wedge themselves under the farm equipment with us, in the hope that we had forgotten to take the dog biscuits out of our pockets before we allowed ourselves to be flattened by that big green John Deere tractor.
As I said, we love them, and would not hear a word against them from anyone else, but truth be told, none of them are winning any medals in the Dog Brain Olympics. We've learned to live with it. But if someone out there knows Lassie personally, would you give her our phone number?

Categories: Fostering