By RENEE WELLS
I have learned this week that it is not only husbands who get themselves in the doghouse for such errant behavior as failing to properly execute long lists of honey-dos, or having mind lapses that prevent them from bringing roses or candy to their lifelong soul mate on such special dates as Valentines, birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas, Thanksgiving, St. Patrick’s Day, Marti Gras, Columbus Day and yes, even President’s Day.
I am the one in the dog house at our place, but at least I am in good company. In fact, the company I am keeping in this doghouse is the reason I am there.
We had a four-horse trailer stolen from our property about Christmas time last year (2010). It really stirred me to anger. We worked hard for the money we paid to purchase an old rusty and well-used trailer that would make it a little less difficult to transport our horses to and from the veterinarian, or anywhere else we may have to take them. It was nice to have a trailer that was roomy enough that our horses didn’t feel like they were being forced into a chute headed for slaughter.
Then one day (while I was back east helping take care of a new baby granddaughter and her mama) someone decided they needed that trailer more than we did. I do not agree. I am somewhat of a believer that if someone needs something badly enough, they will save money and purchase it…we did – but the new owner of our horse trailer did not.
So, I decided that our property needed a guard, someone (or something) that would sufficiently make anyone who decided they wanted to take possession of something on our property think twice before acting. I purchased a Rottweiler puppy. She was a love – not really little, but small enough to cuddle and love and play with and attach my heart to. However, that didn’t last long.
In the year since we’ve had her, she has grown from 16 pounds of black and tan fluff to 105 pounds of brute force. She is a good dog (I don’t care what my husband says). She is just a little exuberant. Well maybe she is very exuberant. She is like a bull in a china shop. She is fast, she is clumsy and she is a knucklehead. But she is a good watchdog.
She has one vice (well, she has a whole bunch of things that make you want to scream, but she has one vice that did make my husband scream!!! She loves fruit trees. I don’t mean she likes to lay in their shade, or run around them and chase my cats up them. I mean she likes the taste of fruit trees…hence, she and I are in the dog house.
My husband is an avid gardener. He loves his garden and he loves fruit trees. He has planted a number of different kinds of trees on our property, looking for just the right kind of harvest. This past summer the old no-name pears were sacrificed for a spot to plant a Honey Crisp Apple. Not far away, an Elberta tree found a home where the old Reliance had been cut down. My husband, Jerry, as a precaution (knowing puppies loved to chew) piled limbs, logs, pallets, toys, junk, blankets and about everything else he could find around and over his treasures to protect them from the playful teeth of my puppy.
It didn’t work. Xena found the Honey Crisp apple tree and pruned it for him. He hadn’t asked her to do it and he didn’t want it done, therefore, he was irate. He didn’t take it out on the dog, he took it out on me.
I came home (completely unsuspecting) from a long day at work to be assaulted with all manner of invectives, threats and crassness (well, Jerry doesn’t get too carried away, but he did say a swear word or two). I immediately built a dog run to keep my puppy safe from the bully. Each day I would come home from work and let her out of her run to romp and play with our other dog, which unfortunately is quite well-behaved and does not chew fruit trees. She only makes Xena look worse than she really is.
We made it through summer, fall and most of the winter. Xena was growing up and she even seemed to be mellowing out a little. I purchase a perimeter fence, so I could keep her in the yard and set her free. It was the perfect thing to do. WRONG!
The other day I was sitting at work, busily typing away when the phone rang. I have this darling phone ringtone for my hubby. It a cutsie little diddy about my honeybunch sugarpie, yummie umpty umptum. I answered with a joyful, “Hi hon!”
There was no sugar pie on the other end of the line!
“Don’t ‘hi hon’ me,” he screeched.
“Do you know what that damn dog of yours just did? She managed to get through all that stuff I had piled on my Elberta Peach tree and she ate it. ”
I couldn’t guess – or rather I really didn’t want to try.
“Uh, what?” I asked, trying to sound very innocent.
“She just chewed up my Elberta Peach tree. She is back in her pen. I don’t care if she rots in there, she is never going to run free in this yard again.”
“Hey, hey,” I interjected between his histrionics.
“How do you know it was her?”
Wrong thing to say. He blasted me with another barrage of not so nice things to say to someone you profess to love.
I tried another approach.
“Remember she is our watchdog, she has to protect our property.”
That didn’t fly either.
I decided the best thing to do was feign extreme business…I told him I had a customer to wait on (it was true – someone had come up on the porch of the office and I expected them to step through the door right at that instant, but they just lifted a paper from our outdoor box and walked away. That was okay – at least it got me off the phone.)
I finished my work and searched the Internet for a remedy to dogs who chew fruit trees. Believe it or not I found that it is not uncommon. They probably like the taste of the sap, I don’t know, but at any rate, I’m still researching a perfect remedy. Some say bitters sprayed on the tree will stop them from chewing. Another said mix cayenne pepper in water and spray it on the tree. I’ll try just about anything, so if any of you have a great idea how to get my dog – and me – back in my husband’s good graces, I’ll sure listen!
Meantime, Xena is back to spending her days in her dog run and watching the road for a red Subaru, knowing that somebody in the family still loves her, despite her unruly play tactics. When the car motor dies, she knows I’m on my way out to the back yard, where I’ll take up residency in the doghouse so she can get out and run a spell.
I do keep an eye on the fruit trees, however!!
