Benny Jay: Dog Intervention

July 15th, 2009

Racing downstairs to get the mail, I spot Nicky, the dog, cowering under the bed, head on paws, and her big, round, brown eyes open wide in fright.

Oh, no — trouble. Nicky is clearly having a nervous breakdown.

The specific reason is that our home has been invaded by a couple of strangers in white work clothes who are painting the kitchen.

But, really, her problems are much bigger than the painters. Nicky lives a life of fear. It’s not just the big things that scare her, it’s everything — even the small stuff. Like the vacuum cleaner. The other day I left it leaning against a bookcase outside my bedroom. She wouldn’t leave the bedroom. Just sat at the door barking at the vacuum cleaner — like it was a cat who had invaded her turf. It was like some weird doggie version of agoraphobia — you know, fear of crossing the vacuum cleaner.

Then there’s her thing with the backyard. When I let her out in the back yard to do her business, she refuses to return on her own, even if the back door is ajar. Instead, she’ll stand at the foot of the back steps, barking at the open door, until I personally come out to usher her in. I think she wants to make sure I’m still home because she has a fear of entering an empty house. Look, I tell you this dog’s not being rational — the dog’s lost her mind!

Now it’s the painters. They came at eight in the morning and stay until four in the afternoon. When they first showed up, Nicky raced to the door bravely barking. She’s always tough as nails with people and dogs walking down the street.

But the painters called her bluff. They entered the house and took it over — setting up their ladders and equipment. Nicky ran upstairs and hasn’t come down since. Call it complete capitulation….

With each passing day, they’re driving her closer to the brink. She won’t come out from under the bed — I wouldn’t even know she’s there, if I didn’t see the tip of her nose peeking out. Any sound the painters make — the clanging of the ladder, the slamming of the door — makes her jump. She’s always got her ears perked up, like she’s scouring the air for silent sounds coming from those painters. This dog, I tell you, is a lunatic — if she keeps this up, I’ll lose my mind!

The time has come for an intervention — I must take her aside and give her a talk. By the way, it’s not unusual for me to talk to the dog. I talk to her all the time, though usually about the Bulls.

Anyway, I walk into the bedroom and sit on the chair and pat my knees, encouraging her to come out from under the bed. She waits a moment and then wiggles out and rests her head on my knee.

“There, there, Nicky — there, there,” I say, gently petting her on her head. “Now, look, it’s okay to be afraid of somethings. We all have our fears. But you can’t be afraid of everything. Like vacuum cleaners. I mean, that’s a little weird — what’s with you and the vacuum cleaners?”

She stares at me with her big brown eyes. I go on: “The thing is — you can’t let your fears control your life. You have to control your fears.”

Wow, good line! I like it so much, I say it again. It’s a shame this is being wasted on a dog.

I stop talking. The thing about talking to dogs is that you’re never sure they’re listening.

“Well, anyway,” I continue, “you gotta be braver. Okay, Nicky?”

From the downstairs comes a voice. It’s one of the painters. “Hey, mister,” he calls out. “We’re leaving’….”

“Okay….”

“Be back tomorrow at eight….”

“Yeah, sure — no problem….”

I turn back to finish my pep talk. But Nicky’s disappeared. All I can see is her nose sticking out from under the bed.

Oh, brother. This is going to take longer than I thought.