In My House, the "Dog Days" are Just Starting

Putting my dog outside at this time of year is a true exercise in frustration. I’ve recently finished reading “Marley and Me” for the second time, just to assure myself I am not the only person who has owned a mentally unstable dog.

All summer long, we endure the threat of thunderstorms, knowing that Zelda will go wild at the merest hint of thunder or lightning. She has become so hypervigilant that when I turn on the fluorescent light over my kitchen sink, the little flutter of light before it comes fully on, Zelda will launch into unstoppable barking, convinced it was lightning. But as the weather changes and fall appears on the horizon, the anticipation of fewer thunderstorms only ushers in the next season of phobias.

First, are the leaves. Zelda can see them drifting down from the trees, through the large living room window. Convinced that these are invaders of some sort, she runs back and forth in front of the couch, barking. She’d jump up on the couch and perhaps go right through the window but for the imposing pile of objects, such as folding chairs and boxes I have put there to keep her off. Occasionally, I have guests and only after some time goes by do I realize they are standing, not for their health, but because the couch is still barricaded.

Once the leaves start falling, birds start to migrate. Now one bird flying overhead is enough to get Zelda straining on the end of her chain, barking and jumping in a completely ridiculous attempt to catch it. Birds in huge migratory flocks, especially big, fat noisy geese, will cause Zelda to jump and bark to the point of wild-eyed exhaustion and foam around the mouth. Add to this the normal squirrel activity increased tenfold by the approach of winter and my dog becomes nothing but a barking, jumping, slobbering golden blur in my yard. On a good day, she gets all the other dogs in the neighborhood barking and jumping along with her. On a rainy day the golden blur becomes a muddy mess who wants nothing more than to run around me in circles, wrapping my work clothes with her muddy chain. When I finally capture her and get her back in the house, I have to hold on to her tightly, as she sometimes goes galloping wildly through all the rooms, muddy feet and all, making sure there are no leaves, birds, or squirrels visible from the windows. Even now, as I type this, she has just collapsed for a nap after barking herself silly at leaves falling outside the window, and cars that have the nerve to drive down "her" street. Once she wakes up, I'm sure she will go into the kitchen and bark at my parrot, who has been here in the house as long as she has. Yet, for some reason, each time Zelda goes into the kitchen to bark at the evil dishwasher, she acts surprised that there is a caged bird in there. My bird long ago learned how to hold on for dear life as Zelda launches herself into the side of the cage. Yes, the Dog Days of fall are here, time for me to put in my earplugs.