Sunny Days

The dogs who have graced my life with their presence have been clever, pretty, mutt, full-blooded, funny, loyal, and dumb as rocks. But none has ever been as sweet as our Sunny.

Yes, I admit there have been tattles from the gaggle of children who populate Park Terrace’s wilderness.

“Sunny bit me!” they declare.

“First of all,” I reply, “why are you in my house? And, B, you probably deserved it.”

In reality, the kids are sheep, and my Sunny is their shepherd. She knows not what she does, as she reminds me every time I discover a hole I have already covered up three times.

While she looks at me with pride.

Sunny hates only two things. The first is our neighbor, Taylor Cook, who was put on this planet for one reason: to play hockey. His roller blades are Sunny’s nemesis, and if Taylor comes into our yard even hours after the roller blades have been put away, Sunny has not forgotten. The second thing she hates is a metal tricycle that should have been tossed rather than sold at a yard sale for Shana Daniel to snatch up. Shana lives across the street and to the left, and shame on her for buying that tricycle! Really, just about anything that has wheels drives Sunny absolutely mad, particularly if a kid is driving it, and extra particularly if she can’t get to it. But that metal tricycle… that one is the worst.

Otherwise, Sunny is happy and familiar with the passersby carrying dog treats on their daily walks. Most of them now know to cross the out-of-sight fence and prepare to be greeted with a ‘thank you’ right in the face.

Sunny won’t approach anyone on the other side of her hidden barrier. She’ll get right up against that fence so her collar beeps loudly and continuously but doesn’t zap her, often in a state of uncontrollable excitement if there is activity in the street. However, she has learned to know exactly how far she can venture, even to the extent of creating a beautiful dirt trail alongside the northern property line. It’s fine, really. I hated weed-eating under the trees.

Those invisible fence collars come with the recommendation to be charged once a month. We have to charge Sunny’s every other week.

There’s a proverb about clean pastures where there are no oxen, and I am reminded of it every time I scrape the front yard clear of waste. And while I have an enormous difficulty justifying the purchase of some of the dog breeds out there, Sunny has strengthened my understanding of the hatred for shedding hair.

But in her eyes, I have never done anything wrong, and the world is mine to give. Her only true fault is that she loves too much.

She knows more than we do.

Dogs, man. Maybe she’ll outlive me.