The Imperceptible Beep of Terror...

My dog and I have a complicated relationship. For convenience sake, you could say it's love-hate, with each of us feeling both emotions in equal measure. I don't think I was well suited for being a large dog owner and Hank wasn't well suited for...well...not much of anything.

Hank's major issue is that he is a bundle of nerves. He's nervous. Of everything. Most of the time. Well, in the house he's alright. But that's about it. Which is why he lives a cloistered life, since his introduction to new people, scenarios, enviornments, has largely been met with ultimate disaster.

It's not an ideal situation for any of us, but it is what it is, and we work it out as best we can. We have an equilibrium that seems to be enough for now. I've come to accept that this is the best we can hope for.

Sometimes though, you just have to shake your head at some of the stuff he pulls. Par example; my husband and I were watching tv the other night in our livingroom, where Hank is usually a fixture in the evenings. An entire hour had gone by, a show completed, when it dawned on me that Hank was nowhere to be found. Very unlike him to just wander off to another part of the house on his own...unless he's up to something (like, oh I dunno, barfing in our bedroom or leaving a calling card in my craft room).

I got up, checked the hallway, called out for him and then it dawned on me. The door to the downstairs bathroom, because of the unlevel floor, swings closed on it's own unless pushed all the way open where the bottom corner will catch on the floor. This has happened before. What makes him go in there, I don't know, but I went and pushed the door open only to find a sheepish faced Hank staring back at me from the darkened bathroom. I just shook my head and gave him a little pat. A whole hour. And not even a whine.

Just a few nights ago, I was getting ready to go to bed. Hank, who's usually underfoot while I'm on the couch, followed me upstairs as I started my evening routine. Change, go to the washroom, bed, light off, unconcious. Off to the washroom I went when suddenly, this 100 lb + German Shepherd breaks in (door must have only been ajar) and attempts not only to get under my legs but actually behind the toilet. He frustrates me at the best of times, but this was a violation of privacy and personal space that I just could not tolerate at nearly midnight.

My entreaties to get him to leave were unsuccessful, so I just simply left, wherein my big scary black dog followed as close to me as humanly possible back to the bedroom. Something was up. He was being weird. I climbed into bed and Hank decided that he'd do the same. Which is a big no-no. He's never been allowed on the bed...ever. Just not the kind of habit you want to get into with a 100 + lb dog with dominance and authority issues. But he was insistent. I can't get physical with him, cuz he'll get physical right back (with his teeth) so my only hope was that he would obey my commands and get the hell off my bed. He did. But then got right back up. So I did the only thing I could think of. I kicked him out of my room, put the baby gate across the stairs and called my police officer husband who was on duty to bitch about how weird our dog was.

I must admit that I was getting a little freaked out by his behaviour. Something was spooking him and it was starting to spook me. If someone were lurking around, he wouldn't hesitate to let me know, but this was something else entirely. So I called my husband. While I'm on the phone, the dog is trying to climb over the baby gate at the top of the stairs. Which has now woken my daughter. And is pissing me off to no end.

So I put him in his crate, which is in our room. At which time he starts pawing and chewing on the wire. Now I'm really at the point of WTF. What do I do with this dog who won't settle down? I'm not doing a perimeter check at this time of night. Wait, I know someone with a flashlight AND a gun. Maybe I can persuade him to check things out. I call him back and ask him to swing by to see if there's anything in or around our yard.

I let the dog out and we're standing in the hallway when all of a sudden, I hear it. It's faint, ever so faint, but I hear it. *beep* In that instant, it all becomes crystal clear.

My heart softens. I offer words of comfort to this pathetic creature, of whom so many of my friends are afraid. 'It's alright buddy,' I say. 'I'll fix it.'

I grab the step stool from the next room and climb up to check the smoke detector in the hallway. Hank trys to climb up my leg. Wait, no battery. That can't be it. I hear it again.

*beep*

I call my husband again. "Where are you?"
"I'm right outside."
"Can you check the smoke detector in the apartment please? I think the battery is dying."

Early on in Hank's life, the smoke detectors, particularly the one just off our kitchen, left a traumatic mark on his psyche. They are super sensitive, so much so that just setting the oven to 400 or above would set them off. You can visibly see whatever mental fortitude Hank can muster crumble under the weight of an errant smoke detector. His eyes wild, his breathing laboured, the poor animal simply cannot cope. And I think even more difficult for him to deal with than the actual smoke alarm going off is the intermitent *beep* of a dying battery.

Remember, this is coming from a dog who doesn't know any better than to poop uphill.

Long, unecessary story short, my own personal constable on call saved the day, I explained to Hank that we got it all sorted out and that he could calm down now. He uttered a huge sigh of relief and then promptly let his entire body weight just fall to the ground, as is his way of lying down. Usually body checking the bed in the process. There he would remain, snuggled up on my side of the bed, as he always does, until morning, wherein I will figure out how to step over a massive, sleeping pile of dog and our little dance will start all over again.

I have to go have a little chat with him now. He's outside trying to catch crows.

*sigh*

Until later...