My Dog Faith

I let Faith sleep inside last night. She doesn't get to do that very often, but last night I couldn't stand to put her outside. She is a Southern California Dog and she, like the rest of our residents, is afraid of the rain. She doesn't know what to do with it. In fact she goes as far as to run around the yard at high speeds, getting that beautiful golden coat of hers muddy and dripping wet. (If you think it sounds like she likes the rain, you are wrong. I know dogs.) We have a nightly ritual, Faith and I. I get the kids to bed, get myself ready for bed, finish up any unfinished chores around the house and she waits patiently at the door. She looks in the window with an ever so desperate look of, "Is it time for me to come in yet?" Finally, I open the door. She immediately jumps into her spot on the couch, careful to leave just enough room for me to sit. I grab a book and the remote control and settle in for some Faith and Mama time. I wrap a cozy blanket around me, turn on my latest episode of Monk or House (Two shows, apart from my usual favorite, that I haven't seen every episode of so the writing strike doesn't effect.), and Faith takes her place on my lap. Faith, though a starved 49 pounds when God showed her to us at the pound, is now a healthy 72 pounds and believes she is a lap dog. She has to be as close as she can be to my face and my hand must be resting on her somewhere, preferably scratching her head. A soon as she has found her spot, she lets out the most contented, guttural sigh. Within minutes she is a 72 pound of sleeping, softly snoring, pooch. The routine goes: I read/watch TV/fall asleep myself. Then Steve wakes me up, or the crushing, live heating pad, becomes so uncomfortable that I decide its time for my own comfy bed. I open the door; she goes in her house; I get in my bed and another day ends. Last night I just couldn't put her out. So she slept all night in her spot on the couch. No accidents in the house this morning, just a very warm and happy puppy.

It reminds me of an incident that happened when I was in the 5th grade. I was 10 years old, living in Oklahoma. We had a white lab named Muffy who, to this day, I could cry about her death on my 21st birthday. I have always had a tender spot for animals, but if it was/is my animal I'm a lost cause emotionally. Anyway, since I lived in Oklahoma, occasionally the meteorologists would come to our school to teach us about severe storm and tornado safety. This particular day I was listening intently in the library of the school where all of the elementary school had gathered. He was talking about how quickly tornadoes can come upon a community and how necessary it is to have a good plan for evacuation to a cellar or a safe place in your home that the whole family knows to go to. He said the worst place to be during a tornado was outside. I was riveted, because I knew Muffy didn't know all of this information and she was an outside dog. I'm not sure what else was said that day, but I do know that I raised my hand in front of all of these kids and said, "What about animals? Is it OK for animals to be outside?" His response was something about animals being smart, but if there was enough warning, and all the people in the house were safe, it would be a better idea to bring the dog inside the cellar or the safe place in the home. I was panicked. I knew my mom. I knew she would not bring our dog inside for any reason. But I asked anyway. She of course said something like, "Muffy would be fine in a tornado and no, I won't bring her inside."

So I wrote a letter to the news station and said something like this:

Thank you for coming to my school. My mom said that even if she had enough warning she would not bring my dog inside during a tornado. Is there anything you can do about that?
Sincerely,
Jennifer

Guess what letter they chose to read on the air during the news? Yep, my pathetic letter of desperation, pleading for help for my dog. I, of course didn't hear it, but my parents friends did and knew about my, let's say, obsession, with animals. They told my parents about the public reading and about how the whole news team laughed at how "cute" the letter was. They laughed. I still can't believe they laughed. I was very serious.

Now you understand why my dog slept inside last night.