Boot Hill

I'm rudely awakened from my nap on the couch by the sounds of a dogfight in progress. The black dog has cornered the small brown one in the hall, has gotten her on her back and pinned to the wall and it sounds as if the world is ending.  I haul her off and send her packing into the next room with a healthy smack and a violent curse - the small brown dog leaps into my arms, shivering and crying, and in the corner of my eye, I see the little daschund peeking out uncertainly from under the bed.  There is no sign of anything that could've been even the slightest provocation but I know the black dog and understand that she doesn't need to be provoked. She watches me comfort and reassure the little ones with no remorse in those dark eyes and I'm sure the only thing she regrets is being caught.

Don't even think about it!  I tell her sharply - very sharply - when she drops to her belly and commences the low crawl toward us.  She looks contrite and confused but her eyes give her away and I'm not buying.  One of these days that temper of your's is going to earn you a one way trip to Boot Hill, I say, Are you trying for a lethal injection?   Her expression turns pleading and seriously soulful and I can feel my anger evaporating.  The small brown dog has stopped shaking and is curled up on a pillow beside me and the little daschund has perked back up - he sits bright eyed and alert on my other side, ready to forgive and forget.  I don't want to, but I relent.

Oh, all right, I tell the black dog at last, But you'd better mind your manners.  She settles for this and comes closer, circles once or twice and then arranges herself at my feet, her head resting on her paws but her eyes watching me, evaluating me.  Discipline has never been my strong suit with her and I'm convinced she knows it, but, I tell myself, nobody got hurt (this time! a tiny voice insists and I push the thought away roughly) and no real harm was done.  There's no sense in punishing her further since I'm sure in her mind she thinks it was justified and anyway, it's already history.  I've dealt with her aggression and jealousy and unpredictable temper for twelve years now - it's a little late to expect or demand an attitudinal correction.  She is what she is and while I don't like her all that much, I do love her dearly.  She's backyard bred, curse the concept and the idiot who thought it was a a quick way to easy money.

The rest of the evening passes uneventfully with the two little ones sleeping at my side, neatly tucked in between a couple of the cats.  The black dog sleeps as well but restlessly, she stirs at every small noise and keeps a watchful eye on us all.