Mind/Body Connection

Our Shih Tzu, Starburst, has an underbite.  Whenever she smiles, her bottom teeth prominently show.  This is what the dog looks like when she is happy:

 

It makes me laugh to see her smile because, sometimes, I worry that she suffers from depression and anxiety.  There are days when she is completely listless.  She won’t get out of her bed.  Some days, she becomes impatient, angry, and demanding; other days, she is very quiet and remains distant and aloof.

Lately, however, Starburst has been very happy.  She jumps around excitedly whenever I walk in the front door.  She runs around in circles and then stops right in front of me.  She smiles while her tail wags so hard and fast her little backside bounces off the floor.  Then she runs down the hallway and tumbles over with her bottom flipping up over her head.  She prances back into the living room and jumps excitedly up onto the couch and begs for attention until I rub behind her ears.  “Hey, little Fur Face,” I’ll tease her.  But she doesn’t mind my name calling.  She’ll roll over onto her back and wait for her belly to be rubbed.  I usually avoid doing this, though.  Starburst has a very sensitive spot on the right side of her body.  If I accidentally brush over this area, she’ll sit up with a shriek and nip at my hand.  I’ve learned the hard way not to be persuaded to rub her belly, even though she looks up at me with her big, brown puppy dog eyes.  I’ll just shake my head at her, walk into my bedroom, and close the door behind me.

Starburst isn’t finished playing, though.  Her favorite game is “Ding Dong Ditch.”  She likes to scratch at my door while I’m working.  I try to ignore her, but she keeps knocking until I finally get up from my chair and open the door.  I look down the hallway and see the dog’s furry backside bouncing up and down as she runs back to the living room.  I follow her only to find that she has jumped into her small, round bed and pretends to be asleep.

I go back into my bedroom and a few minutes later, the scratching begins again.  I open the door, and Starburst is once more running back to her bed.  She jumps onto the mattress and once more pretends to sleep.  “Stop now, Starburst,” I’ll tell her.  “Your not funny.”

But the situation happens again.  I hear scratching at my door.  I see a small dog racing down the hallway.  I see her little body jerk into bed.  She lays her head down and once more closes her eyes.  This time, however, I just laugh at her.  I walk over and  pick her up. I cuddle her close and carry her back into the bedroom with me where she will fall asleep on my lap while I work on my novel or my poetry book.  Sometimes, she’ll crawl underneath my bed where she snores and sniffs loudly as she enjoys her dreams.

There were some late nights when Starburst would visit my bedroom and become very agitated.  I don’t know what it was, but something inside my closet upset her.  She would stand stiff and straight in the middle of my room, staring intently and growling at something in the corner of my closet.  There were some nights that she really freaked me out, too.  Did she see…or sense…something that I couldn’t comprehend?

But last night, she was suddenly over her fear.  As soon as she entered my bedroom, she went over to the closet and climbed in through the open wooden door.  She then quickly created a small nest out of my shoes and promptly fell asleep.  There was no growling or barking, no fear or agitation.  She snored peacefully. And I slept much easier that night, too.

Starburst is also learning to have better manners and not be so impatient.  Before, whenever she was hungry or thirsty, she would stand in the kitchen with her bowl in her mouth.  She would fling the bowl, hitting me in the ankles with it, whenever I walked into the room.  Oh, yes, I got the message: she needed food or water!

Starburst no longer behaves this way now, though.  The other night, I walked into the kitchen to wash the dishes.  I didn’t notice that her bowl was empty.  Instead of throwing it at me, I suddenly heard a small cough.  Seriously, the dog just started to emit dainty, little coughs.  Ahha! Ahha!  She sounded just like Ben Stiller in Zoolander when he thought he had the black lung.  But she got my attention, and I filled her bowl.  She looked up at me with a grateful smile, sipped slowly, and then gracefully walked out of the kitchen with her tail held high.  She hadn’t been anxious or angry.  She was courteous and kind.  This made me very happy.

Starburst had had some health issues over the last few months.  She had been suffering from digestive illnesses, and her right eye had become infected making it difficult for her to see.  Mary, my sister-in-law, had taken Starburst to a series of vet appointments that include a few shots and several rounds of medication.  The loving efforts of my sister-in-law and the doctor really has made a difference.

Starburst is returning to good health, and her personality has been affected in very positive ways. She is a perfect example of the mind/body connection.  It is true for every living thing.  When we are in good health, we are loving and kind.  When we feel good about ourselves and practice love, our phsyical bodies heal.  I smile now as Starburst comes into my room.  And as she cuddles up on my lap and falls asleep, I wish good health and loving blessings on everyone of God’s precious creatures.  God Bless You and Good Health!

 

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Best Medicine

Over the last few weeks, our Shih Tzu, Starburst, is happy to see me every time I come home.  She runs to the door, trips around my feet, jumps back in an attack pose, leaps forward again, and then dances back.  “Oh, my gosh,” I laugh as I watch her, “you’re full of piss and vinegar today!”  And I swear she smiles at me as she wags her long, furry tail so hard that her hindquarters actually bounce off the ground several times.

After this greeting, Starburst usually runs ahead of me down the hallway.  She knows my routine.  She waits for me by my bedroom as she continues to run around in circles.  When I open the door, she runs inside the room and stays with me for the rest of the afternoon.  In fact, she doesn’t leave my side for hours.  On Monday and Tuesday afternoons, we sit together, snacking on cheese crackers, while watching American Idol on Hulu.  (She is rooting for Gabby; I’m cheering on Cade.)  She only leaves me when the show ends, the Cheese Nips are gone, and she wants to go back into the living room to her bed for a while.

Later in the evening, she scratches on my closed door and waits for me to let her into my room again.  She stretches out on the floor by my feet while I work on the computer.  Later, she will slap at my legs with her shaggy, blond paws until I finally pick her up and cuddle her close.  She stays snuggled on my lap for the rest of the evening.  “Time for bed,” I’ll whisper to her as I try to pry her up off my lap.  But Starburst will suddenly become very heavy for such a small dog.  Her resistance to leaving me is apparent as she lets her body go limp and sluggish as she tries to oppose my efforts to remove her from my lap.  I finally stand up and carry her across the room.  I sit her down in the hallway and she stands outside my bedroom staring at me while I wish her a good night and close the door.  I wonder about her behavior as I lie down in bed.  I’m not sure why Starburst has become so attached to me, but it ‘s not just the Shih Tzu.  Lately, the cat has been acting strangely, too.

Zoey, my sister-in-law’s cat, has never liked me since the day I moved in three years ago.  She did not hesitate to let me know that this was her house, and I was invading her space.  She would nip at me, scratch me, or totally ignore me.  All of my efforts to make friends had failed miserably.  But over the last several weeks, Zoey stays in the same room with me.  She sits next to me on the couch.  She lets me scratch her shiny black head.  She lets me run my fingers down her long sleek back.  I can’t help but wonder why the cat is suddenly nice to me.

At first, I thought that the animals’ behavior was cute.  Now, I am worried that it is one of those “pets know when their owners are about to die” kind of things.  I tell myself that technically these animals are not my pets (they belong to my sister-in-law), and yet I am still overwhelmed by their kindness, especially right now when I can use unconditional love the most.

My health has become my biggest concern.  Tumors and cysts are common in my family, so I haven’t been surprised that tumors have been diagnosed throughout my body lately.  I have had this problem before.  Over the years, I have had ruptured ovarian cysts, breast cysts, fibroid and benign tumors in my uterus, an enlarged right ovary, precancerous tumors and polyps in my digestive track.  And now, just a few weeks ago, my dentist discovered a bloody tumor in one of my teeth.  Over the last few weeks, I have been stressed, exhausted, and overwhelmed.  Yet, every time, I come home, there’s Starburst bouncing around happy to see me, and Zoey allowing me to be in the same room with her.  And I know, I just know, everything is going to be okay.  Pets just instinctively seem to know when there is a problem and can offer amazing unconditional love and kindness, which, of course, is always the best medicine!

Help Is On the Way!

“Friskie!  Cowboy!  Starburst!”  I hollered as I stood at the back door.  “Come on, dogs.  Let’s go!”

Friskie and Cowboy responded immediately.  Both dogs came running quickly across the backyard.  I laughed as I watched their small bodies leaping and gliding across the grass.  After running around in circles a few more times as they chased after each other, the Dachshund and the mutt bounded up the five wooden steps and into the dining room through the open back door.  I laughed as I pulled my legs out of the way so I wouldn’t block their progress.

All right, now where is Starburst?  I wondered as I looked around the backyard.  “Starburst!”  I hollered.  “Come on, girl.  I gotta leave for class.  Get yourself in this house.  Come on.”  I don’t know why I always try to reason with the dogs.  Somewhere in my muddled brain, I knew Starburst couldn’t understand what I was saying, but I didn’t care.  I still tend to talk to our three dogs as if they are rowdy, little kids.  And I was desperate now that they understand me.  I had to get all the dogs inside because I needed to be at the community college in just a few minutes.  The dogs were never left outside when there was no one home.

“Star!  Starry!  Starbutt!”  I ran through all of our little Shih Tzu’s known nicknames, but there was still no response.  I took a deep breath and fought back a flood of emotions.  First, I felt frustrated.  “Come on, girl!  I need to get going!”  When there was still no response, I began to get a little nervous.  God, what if the dog got out of the fenced backyard somehow?  Did someone leave the gate open?  What if someone took the dog out of our backyard?  Do people actually dognap?  Okay, maybe that is a little extreme, but I couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to our adorable, blond and brown, furry pet.

Taking a deep breath, I started to step away from the back door.  “Star!”  And suddenly, there she was!  I laughed as I watched the small dog running towards the house from the far back fence.  She was racing across the back yard with her long fur flying back, and her little tongue lolling out of her mouth.  “Come on, girl!”  I cheered her on.

But then, to my surprise, Starburst suddenly came to a complete stop.  “It’s okay, Star, get in the house,” I shouted.  But she wasn’t moving.  Star had been running excitedly towards the house but had come to a screeching halt when she suddenly found a branch from our large oak tree lying on the ground and blocking her way to the door.  She stood quietly still for just a moment as she stared helplessly at the branch.  “You can do it,” I told her as I remained by the back door.  “Come on, girl, just jump over it.”

But Star just stood there as she contemplated the obstacle that had appeared in her path.  Slowly, she stuck out one of her long, thin paws and pushed at the branch.  She swatted cautiously at a few of the spindly twigs that were sticking crookedly up from the long piece of wood.  As the branch rocked away and then rolled back towards Star again, the dog jumped and barked at the attacking limb.  I started to laugh, before saying, “Jump over it, Star.”  But the little dog hesitated at she swatted again at the branch.

“Then go around it,” I tried to tell her.  “Star, if you can’t jump over the branch, you can walk around it.  It’s not that big.”  There it was again.  I was trying to reason with an animal who couldn’t possibly even contemplate my thoughts.  But still, that didn’t stop the words tumbling out of my mouth.  “Come on, Star, just go around it.”

I watched as Starburst walked towards the branch and then jumped back.  Her little body leaped forward again as she barked at the unyielding limb.  Then she jumped back, pranced around on her long legs, and took a hesitant leap forward.  However, her movement was so awkward, she still landed on the wrong side of the branch.  Starburst still found her passage to the house blocked.  She reached out her paw one last time, pushed at the branch and then did something that I had to admit I had done on several occasions.

She just finally gave up.

Instead of fighting against the branch any longer, she just took a deep breath and then keeled over onto her right side.  She just lay there, motionless and helpless, against the branch.

“Star, oh my gosh, girl,” I sighed as I now left the doorway.  I walked across the yard, stepped over the branch and stood over the prone Shih Tzu.  I reached down and picked up the dog’s furry little body.  I placed her four paws on the ground and then said, “Like this Star.”  Then I raised her up high enough to jump over the branch and placed her on the other side.  As soon as her little feet hit the ground, Star was off and running again as if nothing had happened.  She ran towards the house with her little rear swishing back and forth and her tail wagging proudly.  As I followed the dog towards the house and stepped inside, I suddenly had a moment’s realization.  I couldn’t stop remembering the times when I had given up just because some small obstacle had suddenly blocked my path.  Yes, I would reach out occasionally and try to push the obstacle out of my way.  I would just bat at the problem a few times before finally giving up in tears and frustration.  How many times have I thrown myself down on the ground just like Starburst did?

But now, I also realized that there was one difference between Starburst and me.  The dog had gratefully and gladly accepted my help.  She didn’t resist the assistance I had given her and then once the situation was corrected she had just merrily continued on her way.

Oh, my gosh, how many times have I resisted help from other people out of a silly sense of pride?  How many times has my ego made me respond, “Oh, I’m fine, that’s okay, thanks” whenever someone had offered to help me move the obstacles away?  And how many times, when someone did help me, did I refuse to show sincere gratitude because I thought accepting help was a sign of weakness.  I refused help so I would not have to feel obligate to anyone without realizing that allowing others to help is a gift we give to each other.  It is a chance to feel needed and connected to another soul.

Now, I walked into the house and looked at all three dogs already cuddled together in their large bed as they slept peacefully.  Yeah, I suddenly realized I didn’t need to be strong all the time.  I could be vulnerable.  I could accept help.  I could be sincerely appreciative.

I leaned down and carefully ran my hand over the dogs as I patted each one in turn.  Such great lessons I have learned from animals…and ones I will never forget.

Tiny Heroes

“I’m suspicious of people who don’t like dogs, but I trust a dog when it doesn’t like a person.”—Bill Murray

Last Tuesday, I was looking forward to having the house to myself for a while. There are no problems, no arguments, no upsets at home.  I was, however, looking forward to being alone.

For the last two years, I have been renting a room in my brother’s house.  It can be a little hectic when everyone is home in the evening.  My brother, sister-in-law, nephew, one cat, and three dogs make this house an extremely loud and busy home.  Though overall I enjoy the peaceful chaos, it can sometimes overwhelm me.  I had lived completely alone for over twenty-five years before moving in with my energetic family; it has been a bit of an adjustment for me.  While it is surprising how well we all get along (well, except for the cat.  I don’t think she likes having me in her house), I still was looking forward to having my own personal quiet time.  So while my family attended a concert at the Sprint Center in Kansas City, Missouri, I was going to stay joyfully alone.  Well, I wasn’t completely by myself.  The three dogs were going to be home with me.  And the cat, well, she wasn’t going anywhere. She decided to spend her evening at home blissfully annoying me. But despite the cat’s dirty looks, I decided to just relax and veg out in front of the TV for a while.  I wasn’t going to worry tonight about whether or not the cat liked me.  Instead, I decided to luxuriate in the feeling of being happy and safe at home.

I made a bowl of popcorn and cuddled up on the couch with the dogs to watch America’s Got Talent.  (The cat didn’t want to join us.  She thinks that show is gauche.  She only wants to watch PBS.)  However, the dogs and I had no sooner settled down on the couch when I heard a loud knock on the front door.  The noise surprised me and I jumped up from my seat.  My family had just left for the concert about 20 minutes ago.  Had they forgotten their tickets…and their keys?  Why would they knock on the door of their own home?  As I approached the door, the dogs were barking frantically.  That didn’t upset or surprise me.  Our three small dogs are incredibly hyperactive.  A simple knock on the door can send them into a frenzy of barks, growls, and endless running around the living room.  Now, all three dogs tripped all over themselves, and almost knocked me over, as we all quickly walked over to the front door.  I carefully pulled back the curtain and looked out the long window at the top of the door.

No, it wasn’t my family suddenly returning home.  Looking through the glass, I saw a young man with dark hair and a scruffy beard.  He was dressed in a gray shirt and dark pants with a blue baseball cap pulled down over his long, dark hair.  The man was standing at the bottom of the two steps that led up to our front porch.  Before I could drop the curtain back into place and move away from the door, the man looked up at me and smiled.

Dang! It was too late now to pretend that no one was home.

“Shush, dogs,” I now shouted as I added my own shrill voice on top of the dogs’ shrieks and yelps as they ran around in circles.  I stepped forward carefully as the dogs raced between and around my feet.  “Okay, okay, cool it, dogs,” I stated as I pulled open the door.  The dogs weren’t listening to me, though, as they once again surged forward like tiny tornadoes.

Even though we usually just let the dogs outside in our fenced-in back yard, I had no concern opening the front door with the dogs so closely around me.  In the two years I have lived with the dogs, they have never tried to escape through the front door.  I felt confident that they were safe and that they wouldn’t attempt to run off.

“Shhh, dogs,” I hissed at them again as I pulled open the front door.  The man who had been waiting patiently outside began to talk even before he had my full attention.  I was still trying to get the dogs under control.  Over loud, sharp barks, I could hear the man’s deep voice saying, “Uh, yeah, we are right down the street right now at one of your neighbor’s homes.  We’re spraying for roaches, tics, fleas, ya know.  Since we are already in the neighborhood, let me come in and spray your house, too.”

“STOP, DOGS!” I shouted and then turned back to look at the man.  “What?”  I said at first.  “Oh, no, no, thank you.  SHUT UP, DOGS! Thank you really, but no.  DOGS, GET BACK!”

And even though, I had already said no and I was obviously still struggling with our crazy dogs,  the man refused to give up.  “No, really,” he was saying, “we usually work on several homes when we are in the neighborhood.  We can spray your home, too.  No problem. Let me come in and take a look around.”

“DOGS, STOP!” I stressed again as I felt the animals moving around my legs, and then I suddenly looked back at the man.  “Huh?  What?  No…no.. we’re good, thanks.”

“No, come on,” the man was saying, “no problem. Let me do the job for a good price.”

“I’m not the owner of the house,” I said as I turned my attention towards the man now.  And then, “DOGS, C’MON ON!  GET BACK!  No, I’m not the owner of the house.  Thanks but I can’t make that decision.”

But the man wouldn’t go away.  How could he be so oblivious to the barking dogs?  Sure the dogs were small but how could he possibly be deaf and blind to the chaos going on around us.  “It’ll be fine,” he was saying,  “Let me in.  Come on….”

“No, I really don’t think…”

And then suddenly several things happened all at once…

The man now began to move.  He placed one foot on the bottom step and started to walk forward towards the door.  And just at that moment, I saw a streak of brown and white flying across the porch.

“Cowboy,” I called out to our tiny dachshund.  Oh, my gosh, my head spun in terror.  Oh, my God, Cowboy got out of the house!  What if he ran away? What if I had lost my sister-in-law’s dog?  I could just picture myself running up and down the neighborhood screaming, “Cowboy!  Cowboy, come home!”

But that’s not what happened.  As the man walked up the steps towards me, Cowboy, our brown and white speckled, 2 foot high, 20 inch long dachshund, had suddenly darted out the open front door and ran across the porch as I stood helplessly in the doorway.  I was screaming, “Cowboy, Cowboy, come back” as the little dog charged at the man trying to enter our home!  I was horrified.  What if Cowboy bit the man?  I certainly didn’t want the guy to get hurt.

“Okay, okay, okay,” the man now said as he backed down off the porch and quickly ran across the lawn.  Cowboy continued to stand on the top step, barking and growling, until the man had started walking away from our house and down the street.  Now, Cowboy turned and jumped back on the porch and entered the house again without my coaxing or begging him to come back home.

Once Cowboy was safely inside the house, I shut the door and made sure it was doubly locked.  Except for the noise from the TV, it was now quiet inside our home.  The dogs had finally calmed down and settled back into their favorite sleeping areas.  They were curled up behind the large pillows of the couch.  As I sat down slowly on the sofa, Cowboy now crawled over to me and laid his head on my lap.  His deep brown eyes stared up into mine.  Looking at the dog now, I suddenly understood.

“Oh, my gosh, Cowboy,” I sighed.  “You saved us.  You’re a hero.  You took good care of all of us.”

Now I don’t know what the man’s true intentions were.  Maybe he really did just want to spray our home.  But the shirt he wore had no company insignia.  He carried no equipment at all.  Maybe this was a complete misunderstanding.  I don’t know.

But I do know this: I had never before seeing Cowboy go out the front door when it was open…and, in the two years I have lived with my family, I have never ever seen Cowboy charge at any person before.  “There was something wrong, wasn’t there, Cowboy?” I whispered to the dog.  “You really didn’t like that man.  And you protected us.”  The man could have easily kicked this tiny dog and punted him like a football down the driveway without any great effort at all.  And yet, Cowboy had been unafraid.  He had been fearless in this strange situation.  I was in awe of this tiny creature’s great courage.

Now I would never encourage or want our dogs to hurt anyone.  But I couldn’t shake the strange feeling that Cowboy had prevented what could have potential been a bad situation.  I trusted this usually sweet dog’s instincts over anything else.

I gathered Cowboy up on my lap now and cuddled him close.  “Thank you, Cowboy, for protecting us,” I whispered to him.

I smiled then as all three dogs now settled down all around me as if they were my own personal bodyguards.  And once again, I felt safe and happy at home.

 

 

 

Hangry

The noise was driving me crazy!  I tried to concentrate on my essay but the dog just wouldn’t stop barking!  Every single one of his yelps just seemed to pierce right through my aching head.  I couldn’t imagine what had set him off.  I had filled the food bowl just a few minutes earlier.  I didn’t hear anyone come to the door.  Maybe the dog just wanted to go outside and chase around the stray kitties and squirrels that roamed into the yard from time to time.  After a few more minutes of listening to the endless barking that dissolved into loud screeching howls that seared into my brain and shattered my equilibrium, I finally pushed myself away from my desk and stomped through the living room into the dining room.

“What is going on?”  I shouted out in general to our three small, hyper dogs.  Cowboy, our brown-and-white, spotted dachshund, was standing underneath the large, wooden dining room table.  He was staring into the kitchen as he continued to bark and howl.

“Cowboy,” I shouted to him, “stop it.  What’s wrong with you?”  I glanced into the kitchen and then started to laugh.  “Ah, Dog,” I sighed, “it’s okay.”  But I don’t think he was listening to me as he glared at Starburst and Friskie and continued to growl.

Yes, as usual, around 6 pm, I had filled the dogs’ double-sided, plastic bowl with their usual hard, dry, crunchy dog food.  Typically, Cowboy, the lone male dog, always had one side of the bowl to himself.  Our two female dogs, Friskie and Starburst, either shared the other side or took turns eating.  This night, however, the females decided to stage a mini, non-violent rebellion.  Friskie and Starburst each took a side of the bowl and refused to let Cowboy in between them.  I’m sure Cowboy was thinking “the little bitches” as he grew more upset and continued to howl and whimper.  “Cowboy, it’s okay,” I tried to soothe him.  “You can eat in just a minute.  Let the girls finish.”

But Cowboy wasn’t used to waiting.  He was hungry now and wanted the females out of his way.  But no matter how fierce Cowboy barked, the females refused to be intimidated.  They just continued to scoop the morsels into their mouths and chew happily, totally ignoring the demands of the only male currently in the house.  In an effort to defuse the situation, I walked over to the large, plastic, red bag in the corner of the kitchen and scooped out a handful of dog food.  I sat down on the floor and called Cowboy over to me as I held the food out to him.  Cowboy suddenly choked back a hearty bark and raced over to me.  He leaped up into my lap and started nibbling the food that I held in the palm of my right hand.  As he chewed, I gently scolded him, “Now, don’t you feel silly causing such a fuss?  I’m not going to let you starve.”  Cowboy continued to eat from my hand until the females had finished their meal.  Then he ran over to the bowl and feasted on the scraps that the female dogs had left for him.  He bobbed his head back and forth between both sides of the bowl as he quickly gobbled up the rest of the food as if he was afraid someone would suddenly take it away from him.

I sat on the floor and sighed as I watched Cowboy begin to lick at the bottom of the bowl.  I never knew before that dogs could get low blood sugar.  Cowboy has a big problem with hypoglycemia.  He gets “HANGRY”!  If the dog isn’t fed by 7 pm, he has a complete meltdown.  Cowboy will bark and cry.  He will run around the living room in circles.  He will jump at me and claw at my legs as I innocently walk by him.  His obnoxious behavior doesn’t stop until he finally gets food into his belly.  Once he has been fed, Cowboy will finally calm down, relax, and return to his normally affectionate self as he lovingly cuddles up on the couch with me or protectively sits under my chair in my room as I work on the computer.  Though Cowboy is the most outrageous, he is not the only one of our dogs that gets “hangry!”

Starburst also gets agitated if she isn’t fed by a certain time.  She doesn’t whine or cry, however.  She has a completely different approach.  Most evenings, I’ll suddenly hear a soft scratch-scratch-scratch on the closed door of my room.  It will stop for a temporary moment and then it will begin again.  Scratch-scratch-scratch.  When I finally have had enough, I will get up from my computer and open the door.  Starburst will be out in the hallway, jumping up and then spinning dizzily around in tiny circles on the hardwood floor.  She will suddenly come to a stop and woozily wobble for a moment before heaving a deep sigh and then running down the hallway.  She knows that this display gets my attention every time and I will follow her as she runs through the living room into the dining room and finally into the kitchen.  When I finally catch up to her, she will pick up the empty plastic food bowl in her mouth and fling it at me striking me on the  lower legs.  Seriously…this tiny, fluffy dog will continue to throw her bowl at my feet and legs until I finally take it away from her, fill it with dog food, and place it back down on the floor for her.

Thankfully, Friskie is much more patient.  She doesn’t get upset or irritated as she waits to be fed.  However, she is not completely drama free when it comes to food.  I made a horribly mistake with the dogs one night.  Just because I was feeling a little lonely, I decided to keep the dogs company while they were having dinner.  I watched all three dogs huddled around the food bowl and when Friskie was suddenly pushed out of the way by the two hangry dogs, I did the same thing for her that I did for Cowboy previously.  I scooped up a handful of food out of the bag and began to feed Friskie directly out of my hand.  It made me laugh to feel her small, sharp teeth nipping at my hand as she pulled the small tidbits of food from my palm.  Suddenly, I realized that the other two dogs had stopped eating.  They had raised their heads up out of the bowl and noticed that Friskie was getting special treatment.  Now, Cowboy and Starburst ran over and jumped onto my lap as I sat in the middle of the floor.  The bowl had been temporarily forgotten and all three dogs were now feeding out of my hand.  I was completely caught up in the moment.  It was funny and sweet and I couldn’t stop laughing as the dogs climbed all over me to get to the food.  It was a fun, bonding moment for all four of us.

Only there was just one small problem.  Friskie, especially, really enjoyed cuddling up to me and eating out of my hand.  When I put the food out for the dogs the following evening, Friskie refused to eat.  She stood a few feet away from the bowl and cried as she watched Starburst and Cowboy feast.

“Friskie, it’s okay,” I told her.  “Go on, eat.”  I reached over and nudged Starburst and Cowboy off to one side as I made room for Friskie at the bowl.  But the dog still refused to eat.  “Friskie, what’s wrong?”  I whispered to her.  “Aren’t you hungry?”  I reached out my hand to stroke back her long brown-and-white fur.  To my surprise, she suddenly turned her head and gave the palm of my hand a long, sticky lick.  I suddenly realized that Friskie refused to eat out of her bowl because she wanted to be handfed again!  I was a little surprised that the other dogs didn’t nip at my hand as I reached right into their bowl as they continued to feed.  I grabbed a handful of kibbles for Friskie and held it out to her.  Now, the dog danced around the kitchen on her four tiny paws in excitement before eating the food right out of my hand.  Like any nervous, first-time mother, I was relieved that she was at least eating.  I tried several times to discuss the situation with Friskie.  I told her that she was a big doggie now and needed to eat out of the big doggie bowl.  But she continued to refuse any food unless it was first resting in the palm of my hand.  I know that I was giving in to the dog’s demands but I wasn’t sure now how to break her of this dependency.  Okay, and yes, I’ll admit it, maybe I was a little co-dependent.  Now, I had to find a way of breaking us both of this addictive behavior.

Then one night, as Starburst and Cowboy were having dinner and Friskie was once more cuddled up to me, I reached over to the large food bag and pulled out some kibbles for her.  As the dog began to nibble from my hand, I began to think that the food was a little different this time.  The pieces felt smaller and of lighter weight.  I looked down at the morsels in my hand and found that the pieces were all shaped like little, brown fish…and that’s when I suddenly realized that I had accidently reached into the kitty food bag!

I stared at the small dog in my arms for a moment before I started to laugh.  “Friskie,” I screeched to her, “you just ate kitty food.  Oh my gosh, you ate kitty food!”  Friskie looked up at me for a moment with a horrified expression on her little face before she raised her furry paws up and started to rub her mouth and nose.  I stared at her for a moment as she now jumped away from me and began to roll around on the floor.  I leaned forward and began to rub her down as I said, “Oh, Friskie, you ate kitty food!  You are going to have kitty cooties.  You got kitty cooties!”  Friskie actually howled as she rolled around on her back for a little while longer.

Finally, Friskie sat up in front of me with her little tail wagging and her tongue hanging off to the side as she panted.  She looked closely at me as if she was asking “Why?” and then she ran to the round plastic water bowl and buried her face in the cool fluid.  She quickly lapped up the water until the bowl was empty.  Even though she eventually forgave me for “kittygate,”  Friskie never begged to eat out of my hand again.  She now, once more, fights for her place at the food bowl with the other two dogs.

The dogs don’t have perfect manners.  One day, I came home from work and was a little hangry myself.  I decided to snack on a bag of Marshmallow Mateys.  I love eating dry cereal right out of the bag.  I settled down onto the couch in the living room, turned on the TV to watch Judge Judy, and ripped open my bag of cereal.  But as I put the first sugary piece into my mouth, I suddenly felt as if I was being watched.  I looked down and noticed that all three dogs were lined up directly in front of me.  All three dogs stared menacingly up at me as if I was cheating them at a card game.  What was going on?  Why would all three dogs be staring suspiciously at me?  I followed their sight line and realized that the dogs were staring at the red plastic bag that was sitting on my lap.  Oh, my gosh, it looked just like their dog food bag!  Did the dogs honestly think I was stealing their dog food?

“No, no, it’s okay,” I tried to tell them.  “This is not yours.  This is people food.”

But I know that they weren’t listening to me as all three of the dogs started to whine and beg.  This was really unusual.  Our dogs usually let the family eat in peace.  My sister-in-law, Mary, who actually owns the dogs, had trained them not to beg at the table.  But it didn’t help when the dogs assumed I was holding their dog food bag.  Did the dogs honestly think I was helping myself to their food?

“No, dogs,” I tried to tell them, “people food.  It may be in a package that looks like dog food, but it really is people food.  It’s for me, okay?”

But the dogs didn’t trusting me.  They now began to sit up and then jumped up and down.  “No,” I told them as I shook my head at their annoying behavior.  “I’m not going to feed you.  I can’t feed you cereal.”

Now, the dogs started barking loudly as they demanded to be fed, but I didn’t want to share.  I decided just to ignore them and that worked for a little while…

…Until I unexpectedly dropped a golden, round, chunky piece of cereal on the carpet.  I quickly leaned down to pick it up but before I could reach it, Cowboy suddenly sprung forward and grabbed the piece up into his mouth.  He quickly chewed it up and swallowed it down.

Dang!  But there was nothing I could do about it now.  But then the situation became worse.  I suddenly noticed that Friskie and Starburst had grown very quiet as they turned to look at each other.  Then, as they turned to stare back up at me, I knew then exactly what they were thinking.  “Well,” the thought seemed to pass between all of us, “you feed him.”

“It was an accident,” I tried to tell Friskie and Starburst.  “I didn’t mean to feed Cowboy.  I just dropped a piece.”

But that didn’t seem to matter.  It just didn’t seem fair to Friskie and Starburst.  Cowboy got a piece and they didn’t.  I groaned as I listened to them whimper and noticed that they stared at Cowboy with hostility.  Now, to help calm the situation, I took a deep breath and reached into the cereal bag.  “Alright,” I sighed as I held a sugary morsel out to each of them, “just don’t tell your momma.”  Momma, of course, referred to my sister-in-law, who would probably be very unhappy with our self-indulgent behavior this afternoon.  Friskie and Starburst jumped excitedly forward and gobbled up the cereal.  Then they began to swirl excitedly around the room.  They don’t usually get sugar and now it seemed to make them extremely happy.  I started to laugh and all of us were so happy, I couldn’t resist.  I snuck another piece of cereal to each of the dogs.  The dogs went a little crazy as they danced around the living room in excitement.  Oh, great, I thought.  I just sent all of three dogs on a sugar high!  “Okay, okay, dogs,” I sighed now.  “Calm down.  It’s okay.”  They were “sugar giddy” for a few minutes before they finally crashed down on the brown and gold carpeting and drifted off to sleep.

Ever since that moment, I have vowed to never again interfere with the dogs’ eating habits.  Life has returned to normal.  Cowboy still is grouchy when he is hangry; Starburst continued to throw her bowl at my legs; Friskie still wants to be “puppied” but is learning to eat like a grown up dog.

I will admit, though, from time to time, I will still walk into the kitchen while they are eating.  I will grab small pieces of food from their bowl.  They don’t nip at me, I think, because  they know what I have planned.  I hold the food out to them, and the dogs nip the morsels out of my fingertips.  The dogs chew the food, swallow it down, and smile (yes, I swear, they smile) up at me and wag their tails.  It makes me feel needed.  It makes me feel loved.

Gosh, I needed to stop being so co-dependent….