“Khan!” my mother-in-law yells. “Get down!”
The dog, of course, does nothing. He’s a dog.
“Down I said!”
I think my mother-in-law believes that if she talks louder the dog will suddenly understand her. From my chair across the living room, I do nothing. I am entertained.
The dog does not move. He has no idea what she is saying but he cocks his head to the side looking at her finger. Is she pointing out food? Is there food? I don’t see any food and that is unfortunate.
“Khan! You are in my spot!” she says. This isn’t going to persuade him to move. In his world, there is a hierarchy. There’s me, the great and powerful Dad. And then there is him, the dog that cleans up puke. Finally, there is everyone else. It is very clear that this is his spot.
I really love my dog.
Besides, out of the two of them, I’m not sure it’s my dog that doesn’t understand how this works.
My mother-in-law wants to sit on the couch with my wife. When eventually she gets there, the two of them will get a blanket and snuggle in for the night. They will watch a movie that has bagels in it, something with a lack of explosions, and I will head to bed. But not before this show is over; I’m hoping for an encore.
I mean, who honestly argues with a dog?
“Down!” she says again and gets the same result. And the really funny thing, this isn’t the first time they have had this argument. They had the same one yesterday, the day before yesterday, and they will have it again tomorrow.
Nothing will change. The dog will jump on the couch while my mother-in-law goes to get her glasses and then she will come back. The back and forth will happen again.
The first time this drama unfolded, I pointed out that the dog has a harness. And as such, pretty much comes with a handle. All she had to do was grab it and pull. Bingo, she now has a spot. But since it was me talking, she decided not to listen. So here we are, back to Dogs of Our Lives on the living room couch.
“Khan! Down! Down! Down!” Each hard D is punctuated with a very vigorous finger point. The dog sneezes.
I’ve named my dog after the movie “The Wrath of Khan.” And everyone knows that Khan does not respond to screams. He mocks them.
The Dog farts and sniffs his butt.
Finally, the climax comes. The move that I was waiting for. Sometimes, you have to take the entertainment where you can find it.
“Rouse!” she says. “Rouse!”
I lose it, but I try to do it very politely. My hand covers my mouth as I laugh snort. I can’t help it.
“Rouse! Khan, rouse!”
I’ve tried to explain this to my mother-in-law in the past, but again, it fell on deaf ears.
Rouse is apparently a German word that means “down” or “calm.” I’m not really sure, because I’ve never looked it up. But I suppose that since my dog is a German Boxer she assumes that he should know German words. But more than that, this is the command word that she taught her dogs while my wife is growing up. She seems to have forgotten that my dog wasn’t around when they were growing up.
“Rouse!” I said. “Rouse!”
I snort louder.
Most of my communication with my dog is non-verbal. I snap my fingers and a point and he knows what to do. Go outside, jump down, eat that puke-all done with a snap of the fingers.
I doubt I would really need to snap my fingers at all because my dog gets me. He understands me. He was there at the birth of my kids, he just knows the right thing to do.
Khan was there for every late night feeding. He was around when my daughter wouldn’t latch on for breastfeeding. Every sickness, every cough, every moment when I about broke and doubted my ability to be a father–my dog was there. Until you have a dog like this, I don’t think you can understand what the saying “A man’s best friend” really means. I know who I’m rooting for here.
“Rouse! Down! Get! Off!” My mother-in-law is next going to be speaking in tongues. I finally decide its time to stop this re-enactment of Shakespeare going on in front of me. I snap my fingers and he comes running over.
“Good boy,” I say as I pet his head.
With a sigh, my mother-in-law flops down on the couch, obviously exhausted from her ordeal. She grabs a blanket and my wife scoots closer while I continue to pet the dog. My mother-in-law grabs her iPad and moves her hand over her head, looking for her glasses. Another sigh when she realizes that she forgot them during the dog argument. So she gets back up and walks to the kitchen counter to retrieve them.
The dog quickly jumps back on the couch.
Encore! Encore! I smile. I am entertained. I hold up the flashlight of my phone at a very excellent show.
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Originally Published on Hossman at Home
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