Yes, Huck

Yes, Huck.  Yes.  You’re a good dog.

I want you to hear me say yes, just once today.  Because a lot of the time in this quiet, no-one-to-talk house, when there ARE words are coming out of my mouth, they’re “No,” they’re angry, and they’re directed at you.  

Lately, I have actually begun to fear that you are going to think your middle name is “you’re-in-the-way.”  And that Baby Annie’s first words will be “Damnit, Huck!”  Or worse yet, “Huck!  No!”  Ya’ know...baby words don’t always sound like adult words.  Worse yet--sometimes baby words DO sound like adult words--not the nice kind, either.  What if she screamed that in church or something?  “Huck! No!”  I can already hear the conversations folks would be having when they reported us to CPS...or just gossiped at the coffee shop.  

We’ve had our ups and downs, big guy.  As in any close relationship, we’ve done things that get under each others’ skin (or, in your case, hair), but we’ve always found a way.  

Remember how you used to bite me in the rump when Matt and I first started dating?  Before I was part of your world, that man took you on a walk every night.  And played with you in the country on the weekends.  Then, all of a sudden, your partner in crime was MIA.  Visiting me instead of playing fetch with you, hanging out with me inside while you were left to your entertain yourself in the back yard.  You had to share your buddy with someone else.  So I get it--you weren’t initially my biggest fan.  (Didn’t appreciate the biting, though.  Glad we got past that.)

But you know what they say--marry the boy, marry the dog.  (Do they say that?  If they don’t, they should.  It’s the honest-to-God truth.)  You and I entered into an “arranged marriage” of our own when Matt and I said our vows.  What was his became mine, and vice versa.  Including you.  

Eventually I won you over.  I scratched your belly for hours on end, let you sleep in the bedroom (total upgrade--you’re welcome), and got you a slick new tag with your name on it.  You learned to love me.  In fact, I maintain that there was a time--early in our marriage--when you may have even liked me more than Matt.  He’ll probably dispute that, but you and I know it’s true.

Yes, you were still pretty ornery.  There was the time you turned on the water outside and it leaked into the basement.  There was the time you chewed up my 3-wood cover while I was cleaning my golf clubs.  There were all of those walks we took--just you and me--and all of those little old ladies sitting on their porches who’d yell at us, “Who’s walking who?!”  (Like we hadn’t heard THAT one before.)

We lived a pretty charmed life. It wasn’t long, though, before that precious baby came.  And because her 8 pounds, 1 ounce of sweetness was no match for your 95+ pounds of lovable, playful, constant energy bursts, you started spending a lot more time outside/in the basement/away from everyone.  No more sleeping on the bed. No more having your run of the place.

Let’s just cut to the heart of the matter.  The reason I’m writing you, if you will.  Since Annie was born, you’ve been driving me (and everyone around here) a little bit more nuts than usual.  It seems like you’re always lying where I want to walk, stand, or sit.  You're barking when that's literally the last.thing.we.need.  You’re all “up in her grill” every chance you get.  You’re up in my--ahem--grill (?) when I’m trying to nurse her.  You don’t do what I say unless I give you a treat.  Matt’s right--I’m just rewarding bad behavior--but I don’t always have the time, patience, or energy for a game of mental tug-of-war with a yellow lab, so you get a helluva lot more treats than you deserve.  If it’s possible to be more stubborn than I am, I think you are.

But don’t worry.  You’re not going anywhere, buddy.  In fact, you getting in my way is probably the best thing you can do for me right now.  You give me the chance to be patient.  That’s a muscle I really need to work.  Your little annoyances are great opportunities for me to grow in virtue.  And growing in virtue helps me grow in love.

You’re doing so good with Annie.  I love how you make her giggle (she has a special smile just for you) and how just seeing her makes your tail wag.  Thanks for letting your heart expand to love our growing family.  You have learned by now that losing one best buddy around here means that you’re just making room for one more.  That when you really, really love someone, there is no loss...just more love.  

I know, I know.  You’re just a dog--moved by instinct, not emotion.  But I still learn a lot from you.  Keeping you around makes me think and teaches me things:  to be more patient, to love more unconditionally, and to stop sweating the small stuff, like having dog hair on my pants.  (I always have dog hair on my pants.)  You’ve shown me how to adapt to change.  Even if you aren’t very graceful about it at first, you somehow find a way come around.  You're always happy to see us.  Doesn't matter the circumstances. And when we get mad at you (sometimes for no reason at all), you turn the other cheek.  That’s a good lesson for me to learn too.

Yesterday on our family walk, three little girls down the block were playing outside when they saw you trotting by.  They came running and squealing and screaming to meet you.  “A PUPPY!  A PUPPY!  CAN WE PET YOUR PUPPY?!”  Maybe you were tired--maybe you were scared (little girls CAN be pretty scary)-- but you were oh-so-gentle with them.  You licked them in the face until they giggled--you didn’t even jump on them!  I was so proud of you.  You’re really growing up.  

And you know what else?  You’re growing old.  The gray hairs around your eyes don’t lie, buddy.  Five more years, seven at most?  The day that I’m not looking forward to will eventually be here.  No, I don’t expect to see you in Heaven--not because you’re bad, just because that’s not why God made you.  I’m glad He made you, by the way.  I hope you know--before you go--that I’m grateful.  Grateful for what you’ve already done for our little family, and for what you continue to do for us every day.  You’ve brought us closer to each other. You’ve brought us closer to the Lord.  You make us laugh.  You keep us on our toes.  You slow us down.  You help us live well.  Not perfect, but well.  What more could you ask for in a friend?

Thanks for being you, Huck.  Smelly, annoying, excitable you.  Keep chasing those bunnies.  You’ll get one someday.

“A dog has no use for fancy cars or big homes or designer clothes. Status symbol means nothing to him. A waterlogged stick will do just fine. A dog judges others not by their color or creed or class but by who they are inside. A dog doesn't care if you are rich or poor, educated or illiterate, clever or dull. Give him your heart and he will give you his. It was really quite simple, and yet we humans, so much wiser and more sophisticated, have always had trouble figuring out what really counts and what does not.”   --John Grogan (Marley & Me)