A Dog's Smile

Ever since welcoming my Sheltie Mac into my family life, I've developed a new skill.  I now have the ability to truly see a genuine dog's smile.  They are not very different from a human smile.  Eye brows are relaxed; eyes are bright and alert; the corners of the open mouth are turned up and the teeth are showing.  The only differences are that their unusually long or wide tongue is hanging out; their tails are wagging with great energy; and sometimes, they are panting.

I took my dog's smile for granted.

Every time I came home after dropping off the kids at school or running a day of errands, Mac smiled.  He was excited because he would soon have a playmate or at least a set of feet to lay next to while I typed on my laptop.  There was his trademark youthful, joyful, handsome pup face.  Like people, Mac sometimes demonstrated a lower energy smile with a closed mouth; that content look he got with his eyes half-closed while relaxing at his favorite spot on the sunny deck.  If you are a dog owner, I'm sure you've also honed this recognition skill.  It's the true barometer of a happy home.

If the dog is happy, well then it means he's getting a whole lot of love, playtime and attention.  Watch your dog or see if your friends who have dogs agree.  When the dog gets no love, everyone's too busy, too stressed out or too self-absorbed to realize the importance of just being. 

Once the kids are off to school, my daily goal is to walk one mile with Mac.  It's a great opportunity for me to brainstorm and process story ideas in my mind.  Well, for the past week, I've been extremely productive but not with my writing.  I've been donating 95% of my time to a charitable event I am co-chairing.  So many details and people are involved in the planning and preparations for this event.  It has depleted not only my time at home with the family; poor Mac has been on the peripheral of my radar.  Our walks have been abbreviated and his playtime has become less and less predictable.

So lately Mac has passive-aggressively been sending me signals.  His favorite treats have been half-eaten and purposely left in my path in the foyer.  He's been responding with nonchalance when I call for him.  I've had to search each room; he hasn't broken into a gallop when I sing-song his name.  If the house phone or blackberry acts up during our round of tug-of-war, he hasn't insisted that I pay him any mind.  He has simply dropped his end of the rope and curled up in another part of the house to mope.

Today I announced excitedly to Mac that we were going to do our full mile walk.  He was ready.  Then, I suddenly remembered there were two critical e-mail messages I needed to send, right that minute, despite holding the leash in one hand, wearing the house key lanyard around my neck and my right pocket filled with treats and plastic bags.  There she goes again, he must have thought, possessed by that THING!  When we finally reached the street, he led me to believe that he was a willing participant of our walk.

And then he communicated silently yet very clearly.  He sat.  I gave him my usual gentle command.

"Come on, Mac.  Let's go walky walk."

Nothing.

"Let's look for cars!"

Still no movement.

"Come on, don't you want to go sniff some mailboxes?"  He turned his head away with his nose in the air.  I gently tugged his collar with the leash and he defiantly pulled back his head.  I didn't recognize this behavior.  He was usually so agreeable.

"What's wrong, Mac?  You LOVE to walk!"

Silence.  He was earning my full attention.  He quietly basked in his subtle protest.  I approached him slowly and crouched down next to him, looking deeply into his eyes.

"I get it," I whispered into his left ear as I stroked his forehead and back.  "I've been a bad owner.  You're right."

His nose turned away once more.

"I'm really sorry."

This time he looked straight ahead at our original destination, lifted his back end and led me on our way.