Losing Control

 

I can pinpoint the exact moment I began to lose control of my life.  It was when the puppies learned to climb up the porch steps.  Or maybe it was a little earlier, when they figured out that the open gate in the pen meant freedom to explore the wide-open spaces of the yard and its environs.  One of their first big discoveries was a dark and mysterious cave beside the porch. 

Sophie guards the cave

It was cool under there and their mama and daddy and other dogs had spent some time digging out a comfortable depression in the dirt.  It's not really a cave, of course.  It’s a small space under the ramp that was built for my mom when it became difficult to go up and down steps.  But the dogs think it’s a cave, created just for them.  Scout has grown too big to crawl under there, but Sophie and Bear can still use it, and it’s a delight for nine hot puppies who are ready for a nap.

This morning, we had a storm.  It was a welcome storm, since we have been in drought-like conditions for most of two months.  Three-digit temperatures and no rain have decimated gardens, crops and lawns and made life miserable.  Today, the sky finally opened up and poured welcome rain out on a thirsty land.  I had let the big dogs out early and opened the gate to the puppy pen so they could play in the yard in the cool of the morning.  While I was grabbing a few more minutes of sleep, I was startled by an enormous explosion of thunder and an almost immediate downpour.  The rain played snare drums on the roof and the thunder shook the old windows.

It should have been one of those wonderful times to stay in bed to enjoy nature’s symphony and be thankful for the rain.  The only problem was this nagging feeling that the puppies might be confused about what to do to get out of the rain. 

They were not confused at all.  They were in their cave.  However, their judgement was flawed, as it often is with youngsters.  One drawback to the dark and mysterious cave beside the porch is that it is not waterproof.  Not only does the rain come in, it creates big puddles in the depressions the dogs have carved out.  So, I had to persuade the puppies to take cover on the porch.  By the time that happened, I was soaked to the skin.  My nightgown was dripping, my hair was dripping, puppies were dripping, my feet were muddy – thank goodness I have no close neighbors to witness the spectacle.

So, now the puppies were safe on the porch and I could dry off and enjoy the rain on the roof for a while.  Not exactly.  Somehow, the puppies have realized that inside is a pretty good place to be.  I don’t know how they figured it out, but when I opened the door, nine furry fat puppies tumbled over each other to get inside.  Once they were in, they scattered in all directions.  Who told these guys that they could go through that door and explore a whole new world?  It certainly wasn’t me.  I don’t think it was Sophie, because the house is where she likes to escape from the demands of motherhood.  It had to be Scout, and he did seem pretty tickled to have his family inside.  Two puppies immediately discovered the dog bed and used it as a trampoline.  Another found Scout’s squeaky squirrels and proudly carried it through the living room.  Another inspected my bedroom and a couple more headed for the kitchen.  One thing is certain – these puppies are not timid about exploring new places.  It was like trying to gather a box of marbles that had spilled on the floor.  And as fast as I could get a puppy out the door, two more would rush back inside.  Sophie took refuge in my chair and Scout watched in amusement.  Finally, all puppies were back on the porch and I could put on dry clothes.  By then it was certainly too late to go back to bed and enjoy the rain.

The aftermath of all this is that now, the puppies are experts at scrambling up the steps to the porch.  Once they climb that mountain, it’s an easy dash inside when the door is open.  I don’t know how they do it, but they have a sixth sense about when someone is about to go inside and they are on ready for the dash.  Two in particular seem to lurk closely and make it in before the door can close.  When Clay came over later that day from next door, I said to him, “The puppies have wreaked havoc on this porch.”  He looked around at the clutter and said, truthfully, “I don’t think you have seen havoc yet.”  He is right.  If I ever had any control, I have lost it.