Ode to a Dog

Dear Boc,

Did you know that your name is an acronym? The children have dubbed you Big Old Canine, or Boc, for short.

The Matron far preferred Shakespeare, Caspian, Othello or even, Bach as names. But . . . well, she gives in to children that way. Only no ice cream if you don't eat dinner. That's firm.

Today, you destroyed 6 balls, two couch cushions, one plate of ravioli, one leash (ate through it), and a yam. Why do you like yams? Please clue in the children about the vitamin power of this root vegetable.

At just barely a year old, you weigh 70 pounds. Merrick taught you to 'ride' his back; little does Merrick know this is an invitation for, well, mounting. The Matron discouraged this joint activity.

Merrick: "Mama! Look! Boc likes to wide my back!"

Of course he does. He's a male.

The Matron only has 30 pounds on you, which is why you and four of your newfound friends at the dog park knocked her over today -- twice. Yes. Massive dogs ran at her as an ideal, tiny target. Boom. Down she went.

For friends who live in California or other balmy climates (California is an easy target and international ideal) , being knocked over might not seem like an event. But 'down' in a dog park in Minnesota means falling into five feet of snow and 4 degrees. It is entirely unpleasant. Plus, dogs trample you.

Boc, Satan's Familiar recently removed himself from his safe haven under the kitchen table. The Matron is impressed. It took a huge blood hound to domesticate He With the Cloven Hoof. Good work! She's sure there's still poop in the basement but imagines that now you're eating it. Thank you.

But tonight when adults and dogs collapse into bed and she remembers that you were slated to be 'put to sleep' the day before being rescued -- three or four families in as many months, she's foggy on details, just the impending death -- she's happy you're part of the family.

Even if you do eat everything in sight and knock over small children.

Sucker. And that would be the Matron.