The Dog Who Ate Christmas
By THERESA WILLINGHAM
Published December 22, 2004
Our dog recently ate seven ounces of Baker's chocolate and a half-
ounce of gourmet ground coffee and swallowed a marble, to boot. None
of these things is part of recommended canine diet. Chocolate is
toxic to dogs - a one-ounce square of Baker's chocolate can kill a 10-
pound dog, and it's a wonder seven ounces didn't do in our 15-pound
dachshund. Coffee holds the same dangers.
The whys and wherefores of this accident are irrelevant. Everyone
feels badly enough already. The upshot of the whole thing is that the
vet bills totalled than $1,200. Coming on the heels of a rough year
and a recent layoff, our little dog effectively ate Christmas. On the
way home from the vet with our pooch, groggy and sore after surgery
to remove the offending blue marble, we joked gently about all the
things that $1,200 could buy.
"Dexter ate a 24-inch flat screen LCD TV," my husband said, laughing.
"He ate a lot of video games," my son chimed in.
"He ate a used car," one of my daughters added.
"A very old and very used one," her father started to correct her.
But then we remembered we'd sold our old car for $300 and agreed that
Dexter had eaten the equivalent of four old minivans.
Once home, everyone fawned over our sick little dog without reproach,
glad he was home and on the mend, the $1,200 and abandoned Christmas
gift ideas irrelevant.
Because, truth be told, we're still in debt to Dexter for all he's
done for us in the last couple of years. We adopted him as something
of immersion therapy for our then-10-year-old son, who was suffering
from an increasingly unreasonable and debilitating fear of dogs.
Like many phobias, cynaphobia, the medical term for fear of dogs,
doesn't require any negative experiences to exist. Our son's fears
had grown to such proportions he couldn't walk down the street or
ride his bike without heart-racing anxiety on just seeing a dog.
When we adopted Dexter from a breed rescue group, he was a year and a
half old, weighed 13 pounds and stood a foot high at the shoulders.
Our daughters were delighted. Our son wouldn't come out of his room
for three days. He crawled across the tops of chairs to get to the
table to eat and then crawled back across them to return to his
room.On the fourth day, he sat on a stool and observed the dog, who
looked back questioningly with those irresistible dark brown eyes of
his. At the end of a week, our son was carrying the dog around
the house After a few weeks, he was more comfortable with other
dogs. Now, two years later, he still doesn't care for large dogs,
but he's not fearful and he roams the neighborhood with a confidence
that's carried over to other areas of his life. He's playing piano,
riding horses, doing well in his studies and generally a happy-go-
lucky kid with a dog.
And that's just what Dexter did for our son. Each person in the
family has a special and unique relationship with the dog. He plays
gently and obligingly with our son. With my rambunctious, outgoing
daughter, he races and wrestles. He leans against my quiet daughter
like a cat, savoring her strokes. And while originally suspicious of
men, Dexter adores my husband. They play wild games of chase and
spend warm devoted moments snoozing.
I had never owned a dog before and was concerned about how long
Icould be away from home; picking up after the dog in addition to the
rest of the family, who at least could flush; annual shots; tags and
whatever other dog ownership issues were bound to occur. But I found
that walks took on new meaning with a little dog trotting at my
side. An occasionally-bizarre meaning, as we sometimes stopped
every few feet so Dexter could check what the girls called his "pee
mail" at every post and trunk. But I walk more briskly and more
often now. And coming home has never been so rewarding! No one else
in the family greets me so ecstatically and with such genuine joy.
Whether I've been gone 15 minutes or a day, Dexter is enormously and
unapologetically glad to see me. He's a cuddler, shamelessly
squeezing between the desk and my lap while I work, cruising from
lap to lap while we watch TV at night. He won't crawl into his bed
until the last family member is in his or hers, and he lies
curled up beside us until morning, when he starts his equal
opportunity doting all over again.
He has taught us patience, charity and the value of forgiveness. He
never holds grudges, whether his tail is accidentally stepped upon,
or he's ordered out of the kitchen for being underfoot. He certainly
didn't like the vet's office during the chocolate Incident. But when
we came to take him home, he clearly didn't associate us with his
aches and pains. Through the haze of drugs after his surgery, he
wagged his tail vigorously when he saw us.
Dogs aren't for the shallow and self-absorbed. They're childlike but
without the growing cognizance and independence of children. We are
always their heroes; they're always our friends. Even with three
children and a quarter-century marriage, I didn't fully understand
unconditional love until Dexter came into our lives. The obligation
to live up to such devotion and loyalty can be a daunting task and a
humbling experience.
Yes, our dog ate Christmas. But the gifts he's given us are
priceless and more enduring than anything we could ever put under the
tree and more than we could ever repay.
Posted on SHARE Yahoo group Jan. 10, 2005