Lily and the Giant Swan

Do you ever get the feeling your dog is trying to tell you something? That happened to me today. Now, I’m going to do my best to try to explain it, but you’ll have to use your imagination. You see, my dog’s make believe voice sounds like some Moreauvian cross between Steve Martin in The Jerk and Adam Sandler’s Waterboy character. I don’t know why. Maybe there’s something wrong with her medulla oblongata, but sometimes all she needs is this chair and . . . and this lamp. That’s all she needs. Except for Friday, when she repeatedly dropped her Kong in my lap. On Friday, she needed peanut butter too, and . . . and that bunny in the forest behind the house, and the wrapper from the popsicle that was uncaringly placed in the garbage. The horror.

Anyway, you have to imagine what she sounds like even though she isn’t actually making coherent vocalizations or using any discernible language. Wow, I guess she is the waterboy, but I digress. She was disturbed by an inflatable swan my wife was pumping up and the air compressor inflating it, which made a whining sound Lily apparently associated with an exorcism. The conversation went something like this.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Lily?”

“My-my Momma said she was okay, but that big white bird sounds really scary.”

“She’ll be alright.”

“But Momma is all I need. Maybe I should go out and protect her?” That’s when she walked to the doggy door and stuck her head through, just her head. Upon seeing the giant whining bird up close, she immediately removed her head and changed her approach.

“I really love my Momma,” she said, ducking her face into my lap after cozying up with me on the couch. “But I’ve been tinkin’, Daddy. All I need is my Momma, that’s all I need. And peanut butter. And garbage. And a bouncy ball and chew toy.”

“Get on with it, Lily,” I gently urged.

“Well, Momma is all I need, but when my chew toy got eaten by the lawn mower, you got me a new one, just like the first. It took a few days, but now I don’t even notice. Except when I see its color or shape or size. Maybe, and I’m just throwin’ this out there, maybe when the mean bird eats Momma, we could just get a new one the same shape and size and all. It would still get me peanut butter and let me sit on it whenever I wanted, wouldn’t it?”

“Nothing’s going to eat your Momma.”

“Just for argument’s sake, if I say, saved myself from the big bird monster, we could theoretically get a new Momma.”

“Theoretically, I suppose, but it wouldn’t be the same.”

“It never is, Daddy. I learned that lesson from the lawn mower and the pit of no return behind the immovable TV cabinet. It never is the same. But after careful thought, I’ve decided Momma is a strong, independent woman and can care for herself in the hopeless battle between scary bird thing and all that crosses its destructive path. I’ll stay in here with you.”

“So you’re afraid of the swan shaped pool float.” “The only way it could be worse is if a clown carrying a butcher’s knife was riding it.”

Next time when I think my dog is trying to tell me something, I’m just going to ignore her.