Pets are tenderhearted

While packing my bag for a short Valentine getaway, I tripped over our collie, Caillou, several times. He gets this look on his face that’s a cross between curiosity and concern. I got a head start on Jilda and had my bags sitting by the door before she started packing. She collected some things from her bathroom and when she came back into the bedroom, Caillou was sitting in her suitcase looking at her with his sad face.  He has separation issues.

When we headed out to leave, Caillou and Taz were stationed at the door. We petted them up before heading out, but the last thing we saw before closing the door was the two critters looking at us as if we were leaving them at the vet’s office for euthanasia.

It was only an overnight trip, and we hit the road for home before lunch and arrived about 3 p.m. The dogs were happy to see us, but the couch pillows and throws were on the floor, which made the living room look as if they’d partied while we were away.

The miles make us weary, so a nap was the first order of business, but after that, we decided to walk. Both Jilda and I bought fitness bands late last year, and we strive to get 10,000 steps each day. We’d walked a few steps before we left the hotel, but we needed more.

Both Taz and Caillou were beside themselves. The collie kept barking and pulling my socks off as if that would help me get ready more quickly.

As we approached the back gate, both dogs were running rings around us and barking with pure joy.

Once outside, I realized one of our chickens had hopped the fence and was cruising outside for bugs that had popped out to enjoy the sun.

I alerted Jilda, and we were in the process of herding the chicken back through the gate when Caillou realized we might need his assistance. He charged the chicken as if he were herding a wandering cow, and the chicken freaked. I hollered at Caillou in a tone that was harsher than I had intended. I wanted him to stop chasing the bird. But the tone of my voice broke his heart. Without realizing it, I’d crushed the joy of his experience of walking with me.

He lowered his head and ran back through the gate and into the doggie door. Dang, I thought, that’s not what I had in mind.

After getting the chicken back in the pen, I went inside. He was at the foot of our bed lying on his mat. I chided myself before sitting on the floor beside him. Petting him for a long while and talking in soothing tones, I finally coaxed him outside, and we finished our walk. By the time we got our steps in, he was fine.

It’s easy to forget how sensitive animals can be. Harsh words can cut deep, but they are quick to forgive, and I’m thankful for that. 

Rick Watson is a columnist and author. His latest book, “Life Changes,” is available on Amazon.com. You can contact him via email at rick@homefolkmedia.com.