The Dog Thief

I’ve always been a one-dog woman from a one-dog kind of family. Even when I was growing-up, my parents kept a single dog at a time. That is until we moved back to Alabama. As our poodle grew toward retirement age, one of my parents’ coworkers had a litter of Lhasa Apso/Yorkshire Terrier mixes, and we became a two-dog-family. Not too long after that, someone abandoned a black and white bird-dog-collie mix (or at least that’s how I would describe good old Fluffy) down at Hell’s Creek Bridge, and we become a three-dog family.

My mom couldn’t bear to see an abandoned animal, and seeing as we lived so close to a popular dumping spot, Hell’s Creek Bridge, she was never without a cat or dog from then on. As a complete aside, her father had a rolling store back in the forties and early fifties, and he travelled all over Lamar County selling groceries off his peddler’s truck. He knew where everyone lived. My Aunt Charlotte told me folks were using the same point for abandoning animals back then. Once Papa found a hunting dog at the bridge that he recognized, and you better believe he took it back to the owner and said, “I believe you lost your dog,” and made him keep it.

I said all that to provide character evidence. My genetic tendency should be to maintain a one dog life-style unless the need to rescue should arise. I certainly have no inclinations, genetic or otherwise, to be a dog thief. More likely, I would make sure the dog got returned to his rightful owner. And yet here I stand so accused of said crime.

Let me state clearly the facts of the case in which my husband has thrown the book at me:

Fact One—There was no need for anyone to find or rescue Finn, who joined as second to Maisie in our show-dog home. I was simply helping out my breeders who had two litters at once. When I came home from bringing Susan and Laureen dinner, Dan asked if they had any nice looking males they were looking to place in a show home. I wondered where this was going, and a suspicion arose that Dan wanted a dog of his own. I showed him a picture and he said, “Let’s go take a look sometime.” And that’s when I knew we were getting another dog. We took that ride, and Dan held that striking black and white dog, and the rest. . . well I don’t need to finish that sentence, do I? I do not need to rescue Finn from Dan, unless it’s to keep them from being besotted with each other.

Fact Two—Dan is competitive, even with me. Once Finn came into our home, Dan decided he and Finn were going to be a better dog-human couple than Maisie and me. Now, I’m used to my husband beating me in Yahtzee, Scrabble, cards, etc., but seriously, who wants to beat their wife at dog life? Maisie and I must submit to the fact that Finn earned points towards his title younger and faster than she, but even that’s not enough for Dan. He leaves me and Maisie in bed at 5:30, every morning while he and Finn go work on his trick certification. So far Finn is adept at sit, high-five, down, sneak, roll-over, and spin. “Can your dog do all that?” Maisie has her championship and Canine Good Citizen title and that’s plenty for us. We will not compete. We do not need to.

Fact Three—I truly want Dan to enjoy having a dog of his own. I love seeing how much they fancy each other. It makes me smile to hear the intonation in his voice when he says, “What a good dog Finn, Yea. You’re a good boy.” It’s adorable how Finn has to get up in the armchair when Dan reads, and squeeze himself next to Dan sitting up like he’s another little man. I like for them to go on special guy jaunts to the farm, and for him to show off his handsome boy when we go somewhere together. I’m not jealous, I promise.

So, when Dan had to leave home for work in Lake George for the first time after getting his own dog, what were the last words out of his mouth after kissing me good-bye? Not, “I love you,” not “be careful,” not, “I’ll miss you . . .” but, “Don’t steal my dog.”

“Am I supposed to be mean to him while you’re gone?”

Dan’s home now, and we’re all getting comfy, ready to watch a show in the living room. Dan assumes his position in the armchair. Finn looks up from his resting place next to me on the couch and watches Dan settle in. “You coming over?” he asks his dog. Finn looks at me and puts his head back down on the couch.

I hang my head at Dan’s dog-thief accusations. “I tried not to be too nice to him. Honestly, I did. But look at him. He’s so stinking cute. I had to feed him and pet him a little bit.”

“Uh huh,” he replies. He’s not buying it.

And so, I appeal to you, jury of my peers, will you convict or acquit me in the matter of Dog Thieving in the First Degree?