A few years ago I picked up Rex at the dog pound. He’s a small black Dachshund, and my life hasn’t been the same since. If Rex were the Road-Runner, I would be Wile E. Coyote. If Rex were Stan Laurel, I would be Oliver Hardy. I can never win . . . I can never win.

Rex and I had been fighting for a few days. You know, petty little things that build up and go unresolved. My not washing his food bowl twice a day, not changing his water as soon as His Majesty would require, buying cheap dog food.On his part, chewing up a sofa pillow as a silent protest against my making him watch a PBS special on housecats, tracking mud into the kitchen from the back yard, snoring too loud all night long and hogging the bed, robbing me for weeks of a decent night’s sleep.
Where before we would spend hours together, my petting him as we watch TV, going out for ice cream cones, or going for walks along the beach. Now… now there was not much more than a nod as we passed each other. I found myself spending more time in the garage puttering around, to avoid his cold stare or a muttered woof as if to dismiss me.
Last night I tried to narrow the ugly gap between us: I offered him some of my cheese and crackers. In our “happy” days, I would put him on the opposite chair in the kitchen and break off a small piece of Velveeta and put it on an Oyster cracker. I would nonchalantly slide it across the table. He would appear to be not interested and then, like a flash of lightning, he would attack the treat with such speed his snout was but a blur. He would chew for several seconds and then give a big theatrical swallow and wag his tail as he awaited the next installment. But last night he sat there and looked out the window, as if I were a potted plant. Yes, those happy days were gone.
I had been considering a separation, either asking my neighbor Kate to keep him for a while—which he would probably love, since his girlfriend Millie belonged to Kate, or I had even considered my moving out, and having a pet sitter come by to feed him.
But those seemed extreme measures. Perhaps I should make a move to get things back to normal, since he had given no indication he was willing to initiate a reconciliation.
I cornered him in the kitchen as he watched a small spider crawl across the floor.
“Rex, we need to talk.” He ignored me. “I know you can hear me. I know you are ignoring me just to get back at me for making you eat tofu for dinner last night.” The spider moved slowly on the floor, as did Rex’s attention.
“Rex, let’s let bygones be bygones. I’m sorry for all the bad things I did to you. All we seem to be doing is getting back at each other. We need to move forward, with positive things, not retaliations and paybacks. How about if we have pizza tonight… with pineapple and mesquite-fired free range chicken with extra cheese—your favorite? Side of garlic bread sticks?” He wagged his tail and ran over to me. I picked him up and he licked my face. We had made up.
We went out into the backyard and I watched him run around the perimeter, showing off with the tight corners he could cut. I threw him his tennis ball and he brought it back to me, wagging his tail. I threw it out to the back fence. The ball thudded into a fresh mound of dirt. I walked back to fence to investigate. Rex ran up on the porch and dove through his doggie door.
I worked my hand down into the fresh soil. My fingers touched something hard. I shimmied my hand around it and lifted it out. “Nice job of having buried the remote control, Rex. Beautiful. Just beautiful.”