On Point
By: Linda McCarthy
I wish I could say I’m a dog lover. I have a boxer named Jersey and a bloodhound named Buford. It would definitely make my life easier if I could dismiss their destruction of my house as cute or, better yet, playful and mischievous.
But let’s call it what it is an all-out assault on my sanity.
The other day I came home from work and walked into a sea of cotton. The dogs decided to rip up every pillow I own and the fiber fill was everywhere. It’s pointless to yell at them. When I walked in they both greeted me at the door with fluff in their mouths and tails wagging.
I know. You’re thinking, "Train them!" We tried.
After three months of intensive doggy school we were issued a pity diploma and asked not to return. It wouldn’t be so bad if they were pugs or toy poodles. Then I could neatly tuck them in a trendy bag and keep them under control. As it stands we may have to move to a bigger house.
Let me tell you about Buford first. He is 150 pounds of pure slobbering innocence. Despite his size and extremely loud bark he still thinks the only way to greet both friends and strangers is to jump up and lick their faces. I try to contain him, but occasionally he is overzealous in his attempts to show affection and I spend the rest of the day apologizing and wiping drool off people.
I had friends over the other day and one of them was holding the leash when the doorbell rang. Buford dragged her clear across the living room floor. To make matters worse, he jumped on her sister who recently underwent several bouts of chemotherapy for breast cancer. He rearranged her prosthesis and knocked off her wig. I wanted to die.
Luckily, these women are good friends and sympathize with my situation. I’m stuck with Buford. My son surprised me with a puppy for Mother’s Day last year and you can’t return a gift from your kid without suffering unmanageable guilt or causing irreversible psychological damage. (By the way, this year I already put in for flowers.)
My neighbors aren’t too thrilled, either. My grass has developed an interesting pattern of brown patches and, despite my best efforts, my yard looks like the circus has been through town. Buford seems to have a passion for gardening. I like perennials and evergreens. He is more of a minimalist dirt is good.
Unfortunately, we don’t have a fence to contain him so I’ve been chaining him to the deck. I keep having visions of that scene in "Jaws" where the monster pulls the dock away from the pilings. It is highly probable that one day I’ll be chasing after both Buford and the deck as he runs to greet a terrified jogger.
When he stands on his hind legs Buford can reach anything he wants. He has eaten whole hams, pans of lasagna and pudding pound cakes package and all. Still, he lives! I bought yarn to make a baby blanket, new sneakers and tulip bulbs. All are MIA but I’m confident I’ll see them soon.
Buford thinks we’re just kidding about not wanting him in bed with us. We have a queen size mattress and when he lies crosswise he hangs off both sides. He snores so steadily and loudly the house actually vibrates. I have to pay extra at both the vet and the groomer because although he’s gentle as a kitten he hates when people touch his ears. It takes about four professionals to perform regular checkups and maintenance on him.
Buford never listens to me but, thanks to my boys, I’m trained in that area. On the bright side I know Buford loves me, especially if I’m holding a turkey sandwich. He always seems happy to see me and never talks back or complains about my cooking. I can live with that.
Linda McCarthy resides in Robbinsville with her husband and three children.

