I miss you, Ida Jane

I've been dreading writing about this, so I'll make it short. My sweet dog, Ida Jane, died night before last. It was totally unexpected. I miss her so.

Ida Jane's Advice to a Puppy

I never have trouble thinking of something to write about. I do have trouble choosing what to write about.

Ida Jane is always a good subject. This weekend we are to look at a litter of puppies. It is a foregone conclusion: one of them will join the Hawkins pack.

My son says he gets to name the puppy because “I will be doing most of the work.” His naming the puppy is a foregone conclusion, but his doing puppy-related work has nothing to do with it. I will be doing most of the work. That is a foregone conclusion.

We ascribe human emotions to our dogs. We can’t help it. Yesterday Ida met a wiggly little puppy on our walk. It wiggled and jumped, and generally acted silly, as puppies do. Today we saw the same puppy. The person said to it, “SIT.” The next sound was the puppy's bottom hitting the sidewalk.

I said to Ida Jane, “SIT.” She looked at me with disdain. “SIT!” This time I pushed her butt down. She sat, but it was clear she was in no hurry.

Remember, dogs can hear sounds we can’t. That’s how one of those silent dog whistles works. It’s silent to us because the frequency is higher than our ears can hear, but the dog hears it with no trouble. Maybe they can “talk” to each other when we think they are silent. Maybe they speak on doggy frequency when we think they are just sitting there looking obedient.

I wonder if Ida Jane was saying to the puppy: “Puppy, it is evident you have a lot to learn. When they say ‘SIT,’ you don’t have to sit right away. Make them wait. Otherwise you’ll spoil them.”

It SOUNDS exactly like something she would say.