And now we are one dog short of a full load -- a full load being three. (Fortunately, this does not involve a tragedy. It's a good thing, we think.)
It all started when the Hubster called Manchild #2, our 23-year-old guy-kid who recently departed our household to go live in an apartment with friends. His father called to ask him if he would come home and rake the yard. He indicated that there was money involved. When we have a job to hire out, we offer the job to our out-of-work TV guy. (MC2 is a casualty of the Hollywood writers strike despite the fact that he lives in North Charleston and not Hollywood. But even the dark side of S.C. has been affected by the writers strike which has shut down production of the locally shot Lifetime TV series "Army Wives.")
So, MC2 came over with a friend and they worked like crazy people raking the shin-deep layer of leaves that had apparently fallen overnight.
After they finished, we sat around the den chatting when MC2 said he'd wanted to ask me something for a few weeks.
"Sure. Ask away," I said, a little worried that he wanted his room back.
"I was wondering if I could have one of your dogs. We want a dog real bad. We even called about one, but they'd already given it away. But what we really want is one of yours."
He was serious. And I was dumbfounded. Shocked. But I could see that perhaps he was a little homesick and maybe needed a little touch of home to come live with him.
"You want one of my dogs?" I asked, still getting over the surprise of the request.
"Yes." He was serious. He looked at me steadily and sincerely.
"You can't have Sally, of course, since Sally is MY dog, and you can't have Charlotte because Sally thinks Charlotte as HER dog. Who would she bathe every night if Charlotte was gone?"
"What about Cassie?" he asked, looking a little desperate.
At that moment Cassie was sitting on the ottoman next to him and licking his face and -- I kid you not -- smiling. The dog was practically giggling. She's a very pleasant dog anyway, but she was particularly happy that our youngest guy-kid was in the house. She and he had always been friends. At that point I decided she'd put him up to it.
I looked at Cassie. I looked at him.
"Okay. On a trial basis. You can try it for a few days, but you have to bring her back to visit and run in the back yard. And if it doesn't work out, you bring her right back home."
"I will. I promise."
I didn't like giving a pet away. But for the next half hour I instructed him on her care (which he already knew since he only moved out a couple of months ago), got her leash and carrier, bowl, food and blanket. Before I knew it she was gone.
When the Hubster came home he commented on how clean the patio area was and that the yard looked great.
"Notice anything missing?" I asked.
"Leaves. The leaves are gone." He looked around then asked, "Where's Cassie?"
"With your son."
Later that night my beloved sat on the couch smiling.
"Whatcha' smiling about?" I asked.
"You know what this means, don't you?"
"That we only have two dogs and I should go and get another one."
"Wrong. It means our youngest is finally becoming domesticated. He wants something to take care of besides himself."
And that's when I decided it might have been the right thing to do. Maybe.
Contact Judy Watts at 873-9424 ext. 220 or email@example.com.