Okay.

I've shared my life with dogs since
before I could walk. Sometimes there were two or three canines
coexisting with me. In all, there have been fourteen of them, (in
chronological order, Frosty, Speckles, Uncle, Remus, Homer, Sunshine,
Fitzpatrick, Jake, B.G., Bailey, Sam, Pal, Dixie and Fritz.)and they
have been of all different sizes and breeds: cocker spaniels,
dalmatians, Gordon setters, golden retrievers, Heinz 57 mutts,
dobermans, and, my favorites – German shepherds.

So, I think I speak with some modicum
of confidence when I say that I have some knowledge of canines . . .

and I swear to Gawd that
I think they understand English and, in their own way, they freaking
talk.

Currently, Mary and I have two German
Shepherds. Dixie is a 10-year-old female who weighs about 45 lbs.,
and Fritz is a 3-year-old male who weighs somewhere around 90 lbs.

Because they are pack animals, dogs
need to know who is the alpha dog. It is what their society is based
upon. And the establishment of the hierarchical pecking order does
not always follow human logic.

For example, Fritz is the stronger,
bigger and younger dog in our family. You would think that he would
be the lord and master over the smaller, older, weaker female.

Well, such is not the case.

Arthritic, toothless old Dixie rules
the roost with an iron paw. ANY food that is within her reach belongs
to her. She is so dominant that we cannot feed Fritz unless Dixie is
outside. He just won't go near his supper dish if
she is anywhere in sight!

We bought a dog bed
for the two of them to share.

Share?

Right.

NOT!

The first day we
set it down in the TV room, Dixie trotted up to it, sniffed it, and
disapprovingly turned her back to it. Fritzy came into the room, saw
it, sniffed it, got all excited about it, and promptly laid down on
it. Dixie, seeing this, came up to him and stared at him. Fritzy's
tail thumped a few times in greeting. Dixie then sat down next to
Fritz and growled at him ominously. Fritzy, being more the lover
than the fighter, stood up and relinquished the bed to her. Dixie
promptly laid down on it, fell sound asleep, and Fritz has never set
foot on it since.

SO...

we went out and
bought another dog bed for Fritz to use, and we put this one in our
bedroom. Fritz saw it first, got all excited once again and happily
laid down on it...until Dixie saw it.

So, being stupid
humans, we went out and bought a third dog bed and put it in the
other side of our bedroom. (We have a BIG bedroom!)

…

Today, Dixie has
three dog beds that she calls her own, and Fritzy squeals, cries and
resists with all his might whenever we try to drag him onto any one
of them.

“Please! PLEASE!
You don't understand! You don't understand!” he screams
emphatically in doggy-speak. “That little bitch will beat the
living shit out me if she finds me on this!”

At first, I didn't
believe him. So I forced him onto the bed, and firmly commanded
“Stay!” Being the wonderful dog that he is, Fritzy obeyed me,
even though he was obviously ill at ease about the situation.

With great
confidence in my control of the situation, I then led Dixie into the
room by her collar, and forced her to sit next to, but not on, the
dog bed. She growled at Fritz and bared her teeth. Fritzy looked away
and whimpered pathetically. I could see the pleading in his eyes that
implored, “Please, Daddy, PLEASE! She's gonna beat the living shit
out of me! I just know it!”

I reached over and
petted Fritz to reassure him that I had a firm handle on the
situation, and that he was safe. “It's okay, Big Boy,” I said
soothingly, “I'm not going to let her hurt you! Trust me! I'm the
human here, the one with the brains!” I then petted Dixie and held
onto her until she stopped growling. After a minute or so, she
stopped her aggressive behavior and turned her attention to me. So I
let go of her collar,

…

and then the little
bitch leaped onto the dog bed and proceeded to beat the living shit
out of Fritz.

Guess I should have
listened to the big boy.

+++

Everybody who owns
dogs has had to deal with occasional potty problems. These things are
expected when the critters are just pups. However, when they're
full-grown and should know better, it's enough to really piss you
off. Right?

I don't believe in
hitting my animals. And I've read that dogs can have the cognitive
capacities of three-year-old humans. This intelligence factor varies
from breed to breed, and shepherds are at the top of the heap, with
only poodles and beagles ahead of them.

So, when I found a
steaming, six-pound mound of Purina One that had been processed
through a canine on the living room carpet, I fought off my first
impulse, which was to kick my dogs so hard that their asses ended up
around their shoulders, I decided to reason with them instead. (I've
got a three-year-old granddaughter who can be reasoned with when she
does something naughty. SOOOOOOooooooOOOOO...)

I called the dogs
into the living room, and had them sit in front of the offending
pile. I pointed to the pile and said, “Which one of you does this
belong to?”

Dixie stared
transfixed at the load. Fritzy glanced down at it, and then, I swear
to God, he cocked his head and nodded towards Dixie, clearly stating,
“It was her.”

“I don't think
so, Fritz,” I stated.

Dixie never took
her gaze off the load. Fritz just raised his eyebrows and glanced in
Dixie's direction yet again .

“Come off it,
Fritz!” I said, beginning to lose my patience. “It couldn't have been Dixie! Hell, this thing weighs as much as she does!”

“I swear to God,
Daddy, it was her!” He implored with his eyes, “Look at this
stuff! It's made from Purina One Weight Control Formula that you buy
for the old girl! I get Purina One Lamb and Rice! Totally different
texture!”

Having no proof to
secure a verdict and hand down a sentence, I let both canines go,
and, of course, I cleaned up the mess myself.

The next
morning...same thing! Somebody had the audacity to crap on the living
room carpet over night again!

I made up my mind
that I was not going to rush to any conclusions on this. I was going
to be fair and objective about the whole thing.

“FRITZ!!!!!!”

No sooner did I scream out his name then he came bounding around the
corner and into the living room, ready to play. When he saw me
standing beside the pile of poop, he immediately curbed his
enthusiasm, and plunked his butt down on the carpet.

“It wasn't me.”

“Oh, come on, Fritz! Don't bullshit me!”

“Not
me! I am a good boy! I swear I did it out by the garden last night before I came in! IT
WASN'T ME!”

I wasn't buying it.

I
knew that had to nip this problem in the bud before it became
habitual. So, that night at bedtime, I took the critter that I JUST
KNEW was guilty of the crime
and locked him in the big dog kennel in the mudroom .As I climbed the
stairs to bed that night, I had to try to ignore the mournful cries
coming from the mudroom!

“NOOOOOOOO! It wasn't me!!!!!!! NO FAIR! NO FAIR!
NOOOOOOoooooooOOOOOOOooooo! Nobody loves me! I'm all
alooooooooooooone in this world! Noooooooooooobody loves me!”

It broke my heart, but he had to be taught a lesson.

The next morning, guess what?

There was another pile deposited in the middle of the living room!

I was suddenly wracked with guilt.

“Sorry, Fritzy-boy! Should have listened to you!”

I let him out of the kennel, and the first thing that he did was lick
my face and grab a tennis ball so that we could play fetch.

He had already forgiven me!

I don't deserve him.

He had a cheeseburger for supper that night, made specifically for
him.

As Bob Schieffer once said recently on the CBS Evening News, “Dogs
are the best!”