MY DOG IS A LIAR

Most moms remember well when they were trying to toilet train their toddlers. The child in question discovered early on that the best way to gain their parent’s complete attention was to say the word, “potty.”

Ah, yes. The magic word. Thrilled at the sound, Mom would jump up, lift said child into the air, go nose-to-nose with the utterer, and ask with her happy face, “You want to go potty?”

On occasion, that was the truth. A trip to the mini pot or to the little device that hooked onto the regular toilet seat would produce results. Mom would smile, applaud, and if the number of the produced “potty” warranted extra-special attention, call in Dad for additional praise.

On other occasions, it was merely a ruse to get Mom to focus on some other desire, say, a hug, or a cuddle, or a cookie. Because it always worked, my little darlings trotted out the word frequently.

Thankfully, my first, being an independent soul, learned early on how dry panties were more comfortable than wet ones, and that if she fetched her own cookie and was quiet about it, more than one would be available to her.

Not so with my second child. No matter how much attention the potty word brought him, he seldom produced results. He just didn’t care if his pants were wet—or worse! I was beginning to think he’d go to preschool in diapers.

Then, one day, his sister, three years older than he, decided to take the matter in hand. She’d felt the call, so she led him into the bathroom, took a seat, sang a happy song, and demonstrated the process.

When she displayed her results, finally–he understood.

After that, he had an occasional accident, mainly with the liquid proponent. He’d be out playing and wait too long to come into the house. Since he’d learned to enjoy dry pants, the neighborhood grass was often watered by his tardiness.

He did indeed, finally get the matter under full control before the first day of preschool. It was a great relief to both me and his sister. What girl wants to be teased by her classmates because her little brother slipped up?

What, you may ask, does this have to do with my dog? This–just as my children said, “Potty,” when all they wanted was my attention, my dog lies the same way, only attention or a pet on the head isn’t her objective.

All a dog is, after all, is a hairy child, mentally about two years old. Say, I’m working at the computer. My Abigail comes up, nudges me with her nose, and whines. If I ignore her, she nudges harder and gives me a half-bark.

So, what do I do? I ask, “Outside?”

She wags her tail so hard her whole rear end goes from side-to-side, then she does a little bow, and snorts.

“Really?” I ask.

Those big, brown eyes give me that pitiful look that asks, “Would I lie to you?”

I have to pay attention. I HAVE to!

Every time—every single time–I stand up, lead her to the door, and open it. Sometimes, she goes out and takes care of business. Sometimes, more often, she makes a beeline for the refrigerator.

She doesn’t want to pee.

She doesn’t want to poop.

She want to cheddar.

Like her sister and brother, all grown up now, were back in the day, she’s a LIAR!!

But—even when I realize I’ve been misled, it’s like with the boy who cried “wolf.” I can’t ignore her the next time. What if she’s telling the truth? The results of misinterpreting her request could be most unpleasant, on occasion comparable to when you drop a dozen eggs on a tile floor. It could even be the start of a bad habit that might be difficult to change.

So, I have to get up and lead her to the patio door. I HAVE to. What if the little liar stopped asking?