Do Ewoks Have Earwax?

The other day, as I sat with my Golden Retriever in a headlock, doggedly digging out her earwax, I confess that the thought crossed my mind, “How much could I get for this dog?” Okay, not really. That is usually the thought reserved for the many times I’m standing outside at 10:00 p.m. in the freezing cold (read: “anything colder than 59 degrees”), waiting for her to remember the meaning of the command, “For Pete’s sake!  Hurry up and go already! I’m freezing to death!” Which, of course, is followed by my turning a little green plastic baggy inside out over my hand so that I can retrieve what the retriever left behind. The things we do in the name of being responsible pet owners! By contrast, we briefly owned the dog from H-E-Double Hockey Sticks, Boomer. After standing outside with Boomer in the rain, sleet, and/or snow of a dark, bleak, dreary, miserable Indiana winter’s night, begging him to do his business, I would eventually give up and bring him inside. At which point he would hop right up onto the sofa and relieve himself there! 

My ambivalent feelings toward Comet are sad really, when you think about what a loyal and happy little thing she is. Which is why I try not to. I have even forgotten on occasion that I own a dog. In my defense (possibly), there was a time when my second child was a baby that I started to walk out of the house with a group of family and friends, and one person helpfully asked, “Aren’t you taking Spencer?” Oh! That’s right! I have another child! 

Now where was I? Oh yeah. Dog. Some would say it is a sign of Comet’s devoted love and affection that the thing she wants most in the Whole Wide World: is a garlic crouton...followed in a close second by an eternal game of fetch...and somewhere in the back forty is just to be near us. Ha ha ha, just kidding! The eternal game of fetch comes first. I commonly wake up from a nap, face to face with a slimy, saliva-covered dog ball perched on my belly or by my shoulder, and a pair of big brown eyes peering up over the side of the bed, or the sofa, or the hammock, waiting for any sign of life. I have more than once backed up in the kitchen and nearly killed myself falling over the dog, who is quietly and meekly licking the OUTSIDE of the dishwasher door (“I can tell you’ve touched this--after holding a crouton.”) And once, as I sat on the steps with my hands in my lap, Comet came over and pushed her nose between my arm and my side, and steadily inched her way forward until she had succeeded in draping my arm around her as though we were old friends. Um, I mean, “because we are old friends.”

On the upside:

1. She seems to genuinely enjoy our company...when she wants something. (Oh wait. I’m thinking about cats. Never mind.) And generally speaking, she does not argue, whine, or talk back.
2. Dogs are good for your self-esteem, meaning I feel slightly better about my morning breath when she’s around. But whether that is by contrast to hers, or whether that is because she seems to dig it, you, gentle reader, may decide for yourself.
3. We can always tell when it’s time to vacuum. (Hint: Every Day, multiple times a day.)

I like to tell myself that Comet is glad for certain aspects of our relationship: that we don’t dress her up as a dinosaur, a clown, or an Ewok for Halloween; that we don’t include her in family photos by the Christmas tree; and that we almost never carry her around in a small handbag. On the other hand, Emma has been known to try out some of her clothes on the long-suffering Comet--t-shirts (with a little knot tied in the side so Comet doesn’t trip over it--at least I think it’s about safety rather than fashion), polkadot knee socks, her green bathrobe, and a cute little paisley two-piece swimsuit with a ruffle skirt. If we occasionally have mixed feeling about the dog, I’m pretty sure Comet occasionally has mixed feeling about us.