The devil made her do it

Sophie, worn out after chasing squirrels

Some doggie demon got inside Sophie this morning. She woke me early by barking at some critter outside my closet (praying it was really outside and not in the closet). I got up thinking I’d let her out, she’d come right back in as she usually does, and I could go back to bed for that extra twenty minutes. Cancel that as wishful thinking.

Jordan says the squirrels were insane this morning. I say so was the dog. The border collie half of her came out in full force. She jumped at the fence, barking and squeaking—seriously, she gets so excited she sounds like a squeaky toy. And she raced from one corner of the yard to the other, like a whirlwind. My calls of her name and my bribes of “Cheese, Sophie, cheese!” fell on deaf ears. She did not even glance at me. Like a child in the midst of a tantrum, Sophie was so caught up with the squirrels, she shut all else out of her world.

           There was a time when I let her have her fun. She was, I figured, getting good exercise. But I learned better. For one thing, there’s been a lot on our neighborhood email about controlling barking dogs. And then there was the time I let her run all morning. By evening, she was limping a bit. By the next morning, she was clearly sick, though I didn’t know what was wrong. An emergency trip to the vet revealed torn pads on her paws. An expensive bill, a shot, medication, and a lotion we had to put on her paws for weeks or so it seemed.

Our yard has grass, but there is a large area of ground cover with fairly tough stems and there are small areas of deconstructed granite—where grass just wouldn’t grow. Soph runs over all of that with gay abandon and frequently disappears into that tiny strip between our house and the neighbor’s. I’m fearful of even investigating what’s back there!

This morning, after half an hour, Jacob came out to get her inside, but he had to stalk her. She kept running, whereas she normally would have run right up to him. He finally got her and literally shoved her inside the cottage. I closed the door tightly, told her no cheese because she hadn’t come when called, and went back to bed for that stolen twenty minutes. Sophie, who never gets up on the bed when invited, decided she wanted to snuggle. She leapt up on the bed, dirt and all. But she doesn’t snuggle well—she wiggles, and she soon tired of it and jumped down.

But I was not to have peace—she was still in frantic mode. She’d come to the side of the bed and bark demandingly; then I’d hear her race through the cottage to stand at the door and squeak in excitement. She kept this up until I finally got out of bed. Believe me, I scolded. I knew, rationally, that she had no idea why I was raising my voice, but she knew she was in trouble. She turned her head away from me and wagged her tail hopefully. When I went about my morning routine—from brushing my teeth to washing the pot left from last night and putting away the dishes, she was right at my side.

At one point I reached out a hand and asked if she wanted to be friends, but she wasn’t ready to forgive me (see how that shoe got on the other foot?). She backed out of my reach and stared at me. Then she went back to her squirrel watch at the door.

As I write this, it’s eleven in the morning, and I am at my desk working. Guess where Sophie is? Peacefully asleep in a chair. The doggie demon must have departed.

PS: I took an afternoon nap, because I’d missed that sleep this morning (and because I always take a nap). But I wasn’t to have peace even then. The yard crew, who should have come yesterday, came today. To do our house and the neighbors meant they and their machines were here for an hour. Sophie barked the entire time.

Tonight she is subdued. Repentant? I’m not sure.