It’s always nice to go home

Editor’s note: This column originally published March 25, 2016

We are those empty nest people that have fallen victim to that neurotic phenomenon where we take excessive pride in our canine brood. You know the type of people — the kind of folks you roll your eyes at because they talk to and about their dogs as though they were actually born of their loins?

In our case it’s our golden retriever, bloodhound and Jack Russell/rat terrier. They live in our house, two of them sleep in our bed and sit on our furniture and all three provide us with copious amounts unconditional love. So it’s only natural we return the affection in kind.

They are a full time commitment, and we occasionally find the need to plan around “the girls.” Although the three of them go camping with us, our trips without the 5th wheel require a house-sitter/babysitter to stay with them.

So when we took our February trip to Texas, it was my mom to the rescue. She hasn’t any furry companions of her own, but she understands how important ours are to us, and it’s not always a walk in the park tending to the needs of 250 pounds of pooches.

Aspen, my golden, takes thyroid medicine twice a day. Belle the Bloodhound drools like Niagara Falls which means the surface of anything and everything will at some point need washed. And although we have a large fenced-in back yard for our girls, you can never be sure if Cricket will be quicker than the rabbits and squirrels that dare squeeze through the gate or come down from the trees. In other words, there’s always a chance “Al rodente” fixins may appear at my doorstep. (My mother was horrified at this possibility!)

Other than Mom and the girls adjusting to each others sleeping schedules — our girls rise at 4:50 a.m. each day... my retired mom doesn’t — they got along fine. In fact their first morning together, as she continued to feign sleep beyond 5 a.m., Aspen gave Mom a gentle nudge of encouragement, trying to coax her awake. But when that didn’t motivate my mom to get up, Aspen pulled the covers off her. It was, after all, time to get up!

Yeah, I’m telling you, my girls are so smart!

After a week of island life followed by our long drive, we were ready to be home. Our “two-legged” kids were all coming home to join us that evening for dinner which meant there wouldn’t be a lot of time to unpack everything we’d packed, clean out the car, get the laundry started... all the tasks required after returning to reality. Not to mention getting a meal prepared for everyone.

But as we approached our drive, we thought we saw a young deer or calf by the road. Much to our surprise, it was Belle the Bloodhound.

Now, keep in mind, our dogs are not “free-range” animals. When they’re outdoors, they’re in our backyard. However, with the strong winds that day, one of our privacy fence panels was blown down. This meant only one thing to my girls ... FREEDOM!

By the time we pulled in the drive, I had three very muddy, very happy and very smelly dogs that couldn’t contain their excitement at our arrival.

As we tried to corral them back to the house to get them inside, it was obvious what they had spent their time on the lamb doing. With little Cricket as the ring-leader, they had run through every mud puddle between my house and the barn across the road, rolled in things I don’t even want to imagine, chewed on even worse and brought back souvenirs. On my patio lay the rotting carcass of a ground hog and a fresher, fat, nasty dead possum.

But before we could get our bearings straight, they had all made their way indoors. It was like a scene with the Bumpus’ hounds in “A Christmas Story.” It was rancid pandemondium!

However, three baths and one shower later (the shower was for me after bathing three dogs), we were as good as new. I guess whether away on vacation or running wild through the neighborhood, we were all glad to be back home.

Contact Dana King at dking@shawmedia.com