A Dad, Dog & Noodlehead

Saralee Perel

Although we don’t have children, we celebrate Father’s Day. Why? Like most pet owners, we give presents “from” our animals.

This year is rough because “father” and “daughter” aren’t getting along. Bob started a new training program for our dog, Gracie. Who’s training whom? You’ll see.

We also have a cat, Murphy. Gracie hates Murphy. Murphy adores Gracie. He sidles up to our 50 pound dog, then purrs and rubs his head against her like he’s pleading, “Please love me.” Well, Gracie in no way loves him. She growls.

With dogs (and wolves), there’s an Alpha – the leader of the pack. Alpha should be Bob. Trainers know that owners should be top dog, so to speak. And that dogs will always continue challenging Alpha to reinstate their own leadership.

When Bob commands Gracie, “No growling,” Gracie puts on an act. She squints her eyes as if he hit her and hangs her head in an “I’m such a bad dog; I don’t deserve to live,” dramatic performance. Then she lifts one paw, pretending it hurts. When Bob kneels down to examine her paw (usually he’s crying because he thinks he’s commanded a seriously injured dog), they hug and kiss.

Bob then lies on his back, pats his stomach and plays, “Jump on daddy’s tummy” games - all the while giving her dog treats. Now in dogs’ worlds this is a submissive posture - showing one’s vulnerable parts to indicate non-aggressiveness. Gracie then suddenly stops her “poor me” schtick because she is now Alpha.

And she knows it.

Can you think of one reason for Gracie to stop growling if she gets these rewards for doing it?

The cycle repeats seconds later. Gracie growls at Murphy. Bob commands, “No growling!” But Gracie lifts the other “injured” paw. I’ve told Bob that Gracie’s got his number, but he won’t listen.

Part of the problem is that Murphy’s brain is like an amoeba’s. We love him, but we’ve never seen an animal so vacant. We’ve had him 2 years, yet he doesn’t know his name. Since by now, we know he’ll never respond to Murphy, Bob started calling him Noodlehead. Unfortunately, he did learn that. But the thing is - I nicknamed Bob that years ago. Now when I yell, “Noodlehead? It’s dinnertime,” both Bob and Murphy come running into the kitchen.

For Father’s Day, I waste money on cat toys when all a cat usually wants is the paper bag or box the toys come in. Last year, I bought a battery-operated gadget. It’s a rotating toy mouse tagged to the end of a foot-long plastic stick. Our other cats love chasing the mouse as it spins. But we don’t let Noodlehead (Murphy) near it. He doesn’t understand and just sits there as the mouse spins around and around. And with each spin, it smashes into his face. Actually, I shouldn’t compare his brain to an amoeba’s, because an amoeba would reflexively move away from an object that keeps banging into it.

So this Father’s Day, Noodlehead (Bob) will open presents “from” the animals. I’ll break my shoulders because Murphy has an obsession with tape. He’ll tear it off boxes and try eating it at lightning speed. I’ll rip it from his throat. He won’t notice.

Gracie does her own thing. When we unwrap her stuffed toys, she grabs them and hides them in our fenced-in yard. I have yet to see what Bob got her for Christmas.

In spite of the chaos, I love our zoo, especially nincompoops like Noodlehead (Murphy and Bob). And I count my blessings that I’m their guardian.

After all, somebody needs to watch over them.

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