How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?

 

Okay, her name’s really Libby, but the song from “The Sound of Music” still applies. She’s a darling, a demon, and a lamb. Before adopting this dog, we were warned: terriers are scrappy, feisty, willful little creatures. My husband Randy and I had chuckled. How hard can she be? (Warning: this is not for the squeamish).

The Night of the Big Surprise —

Randy and I came home around midnight one evening, back from a lovely time out with friends. Nothing seemed amiss. Libby greeted us at the door, tail wagging, happy to see us.

Then the clues began.

First was a small pile of doggie “up-chuck” in the pantry. Wow, I guess she had tummy trouble, I said to myself, cleaning up. Then I spotted another pile in the entry hall and a bigger one in the living room. An uneasy feeling started.

My husband called me into his office. To my horror, on the floor lay an entire, empty box of chocolates he had received as a gift that day. Libby had hopped onto his chair and knocked it to the floor. She’d eaten every bite— including foils and wrappers.

I’ve heard chocolate can be lethal for dogs. I looked at her, relieved she seemed fine, her tail wagging.

But we were far from done.

Coming into the bedroom later, Randy was about to stretch out when he reached under his pillow.The blood-curdling yell my husband let out reminded me of the “horse-head” scene in the Godfather. That’s where Libby had left her worst pile of “indigestion.”

That night, we pulled off sheets and comforter, wondering if the pound had a late-night drop off. (Don’t worry, we wouldn’t). Thank God, Libby was okay, although more than happy to get into her crate that night. I’m not sure if she was feeling funny or sensed we were ready to kill her. 

The Afternoon of The Fall —

All I know is I left my husband and dog alone for one day while I saw a New York matinee with a friend. Little did I realize that while I chuckled at the antics onstage, an epic battle between man and beast raged back home.

Randy had made the mistake of leaving our front door open a millisecond too long while he fetched a UPS package. To his shock, Libby went zooming past him, hooked a right and disappeared into our neighbor’s yard. Assuming Libby was visiting her canine boyfriend “Roscoe,” Randy got into his car, driving to the neighbor’s. To his embarrassment, he called for Libby on their property to no avail. He drove home and got out.

Just then a small, furry white streak sped by, nose to the ground, heading toward the back.With no time to lose, Randy followed Libby around the house, tripped, and landed in a pile of dog poo. He lay there, calling for Libby who watched calmly before trotting off into the woods.

To my husband’s credit, he didn’t immediately call animal pest control. Instead, he lumbered back inside to change clothes.

An hour later, there was still no sign of Libby. Sore from his fall, but worried, Randy went to start looking for her again when he found her sitting in our driveway, a bored look on her face, as if to say, “What took you so long?”

And yes, I can see the smiles on you non-dog owners.

Do you know the worst part? You’re right! Your lives are easier, less messy and quieter. You don’t fall in dog poo or worry if your pet’s about to eat a Whitman’s Sampler. Randy and I have had pets for years and Libby needs patience, surveillance, and tolerance in ways we’ve never seen. But here’s the rub. In a strange way, we also need Libby.

We’re almost empty nesters. Our kids are grown. It’s all adults now. How easy to become complacent, predictable, and even bored. Not with Libby.

She chases her tail! She brings us her toys so she can fetch! She jumps! She leaps! She runs! She’s fluffy and funny and adorable! She’s happy all the time! And I have to admit, it’s hard not being caught up in her youthful buoyancy. I understand people who hear these grisly tales and shudder. I would too if it wasn’t me.

But I keep thinking of that song from “The Sound of Music.” Libby is our Maria. She’s a flibbertijibbet. A will-o’-the wisp. A clown!

And I’d like to say a word on her behalf: Libby makes me laugh. (At least most of the time).

 

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