Pet, Pet, Bow-OOOO: The Tale of a Jealous Dog

My sister-in-law came for an extended visit this summer, and she brought her Bernese/Border Collie mix, Eiger, along to entertain his aunties. Eiger is a big galoot of a fellow. His old, dark face is now invaded with light grey hair. He doesn’t bark; he bellows out a big “Bow-oooo” of excitement anytime something interesting happens. Did the mailbox clink? “Bow-oooo!” Did someone knock on the door? “Bow-ooooo!” Did Stephanie move from the bedroom into the den? “Bow-ooooo!”

Mack, on the other hand, rarely makes a sound, to the point when he does bark, we always wonder if it was him. When a knock hits our door, he perks up and runs to it, nose smushed up into the crack. His whole body pushes through the opening ahead of me, despite my protests, and he leaps out to attack the hapless invader with love.

We tend to not be jealous people, glad for him to demand pets from guests. When they leave, he’ll sit at the top of the steps of our deck to watch them leave and then returns to us. Goodbye only means it’s time to take his usual place on the couch again, or settle into his spot on top of the afghan on top of the dog pillow on the floor.

What? Is that a little over the top? Nothing is too good for our Mack!

Only jealous people could raise a jealous dog, right? Wrong! Eiger’s presence revealed Mack’s deep dark secret:

Oh yes, our cute little darling sweetie-pie puppa is a jealous-bealous, jealous dog.

He’s been pampered and loved on all by himself since Dolce died. Did I mention that Dolce Bella Kitty, the Great Huntress, passed away in April? Her death left a hole in our hearts and lives, and Mack is attempting to fill it all by himself.

Mack loves being the only pet. He knows that the best proportion of humans to pets is two to one!

We think of Mack as this chill little dude, getting along with everyone. But really, he wants everyone—people, dogs, cats, any living being—to pay attention to him.

Only him.

I suspect that’s why he’s so agreeable and adorable. His little eyes raise to yours, and you are caught in little puddles of love—a cuddler, even on hot days when cuddling isn’t welcomed. He wants to be in contact with you, his most loved person.

Right now. In this moment. When no one else can be found.

He’s very much a “love the one you’re with” kind of fellow.

A “dawg,” one might say.

Whenever we return from a trip, whether two weeks in California or a quick trip to the grocery store, he spins in excited circles and rears up, waving his skinny front legs in the air like Kermit announcing the next guest on The Muppet Show. His feet land on our legs for balance. When we lean down to pet him, he sinks down onto his butt with his feet keeping him upright against our shins and his eyes lift to ours. “I love YOU,” his eyes say. “You and only YOU.”

He does this with most people he knows: friends, family members, our postal delivery person. One of his favorite people in the world is our former housekeeper. (Oh, say the day will come again when I can hire her to clean our home regularly!) His little doggie heart thrills whenever she visits.

Now, Monika, Eiger’s mom, has joined the list of favorite people. Thus, Eiger and Mack are warring over Monika’s attention. Or rather, Mack is warring with Eiger. I’m not sure that Eiger knows there’s a war on.

Not that he’s stupid; just that he’s so big that he can mostly ignore the little, jealous dog trying desperately to draw attention to himself. And when he can’t ignore it anymore, a quick low noise, it’s less a growl than a grumble, escapes from his throat. “Pay attention to me instead of that guy!”

And it works. “Yes, Eiger,” I’ll say as I snuggle my hand into the soft fur behind his ears. “Good boy!” If I can work it out to be petting Mack at the same time, they both close their eyes to ignore what my other hand is doing.

The other night, Mack put himself to bed early, heading into the bedroom and making himself comfortable on the bed before either Stephanie or I moved from the den. While I remained on the couch, knitting and chatting, Eiger looked up at me with “love darts,” Monika’s name for the large pup’s adoration.

“Oh, Eiger, you good boy,” I exclaimed and reached down to give him pets. The suddenly-wide-awake Mack galloped down the hall and skidded into a perfect sit at my feet, eyes pointed up to snag mine in a lasso of love.

Monika and I dissolved into giggles. “Who’s a jealous-bealous Mack-Mack Dog of Love?” I asked my little love-addict as we both bestowed adoration on our respective dogs.

And Mack zipped away from me to dive onto the sofa beside Monika, pressing his body against her legs and inserting his head beneath her free hand.

“OK, buddy. If that’s what you want,” I said and walked down the hallway toward the bedroom. “Good night!”

He was in my place on the bed, all four legs in the air, before I crossed the threshold of the room.

And that’s the thing: No matter how much he snuggles with my mother-in-law, no matter how longingly he gazes after our friends leaving the house, no matter how often he deserts me for a stranger’s reluctant pat on the head, he always returns to us.

I wonder what’s going to happen when we get a new cat.

Photo courtesy of Monika Reineke