Madigan, Come

We are alive.  We slept through the night.  Only at 5 am did he bark to be let down.  I let him down off the couch.  He did a tour of the room. I worried what he was up to but couldn’t wake up. He returned 5 minutes later. I hoped he’d not peed or pooped anywhere too grizzly.  He actually let me sleep 3/4 of an hour.  That’s when the hair pulling and crawling across my face began.  I couldn’t stand it. I believe he  knows this puppy torture of his is effective.  I get up. The lumbering giant moves. The little dog wins. 

I go to the washroom. He pees on the carpet right beside the pee pad. I’m flummoxed. I can’t wait till this bowel training phase is over. Also the needle teeth playfulness.  

I seem to recall life after this with Gilbert. I find myself remembering my old buddy sitting with me in the truck watching the woods, taking a treat while I ate a sandwich and drank a coffee. The wise dog listening to his master discuss women and God and work.  Looking serene and wise.  I know Gilbert and Stuart and Shinto all passed through this phase of feces piss and teeth but it’s hard to believe. They were such intelligent helpful considerate companions. 

Madigan is adorable.  There’s the incredible inquisitiveness. He’s just fascinated by everything. He’s utterly enthusiastic. He’s not at all worn down by banal Neuro ratio bullies who lack insight and just goose step in fear, lemmings unable to hear Pink Floyd.  Chameleons that can’t feel Bach or the Beatles but instead seek marketing jingos from artists. If Mozart were alive today they’d use him to write commercials.  Madigan has no idea. He’s innoscent.  Maybe I once was too. Long before the ultimate defeat by lying lawyers and her multitude of minions. The sheer weight of the masses of pure evil. 

While I’m using the toilet he poops on the pee pads. Thank you Madigan.  He retrieves the yellow ball I’ve thrown several times. Woot! Woot!.  Thank you Madigan.  He’s so smart despite the devious playful evil har pulling , toe biting, and uses of farces as a passive aggressive weapon moments.  I walk gingerly back to the fearing land mines of mushy squishy.  

I’ve just woken up and I’m already a bit exhausted. My back hurts from another night on the couch.  Grinding coffee the aroma is heavenly.  I make my first espresso of the morning and return to the couch to savour the elixir.  Ethiopian coffee.  

 He’s now barking at me. It’s hard to call that comic piping sound a bark but that’s what it is.  It’s the harbinger of conversations of pure joy, the future voice of alarm.  I haven’t a clue what he wants.  I don’t know what he means but I know the tone. I’m being ordered to do something. Commanded by the little adorable pip squeak. Okay. I reach down and pick him up. And that’s what he wanted. A cuddle. Now he’s off down the couch looking for a toy to chew as I’ve again been uncooperative in offering up my fingers to his teething issues..  

I’ve noticed he’s thinking more too. He cocks his head as I talk to him. I’ve noticed now that he knows when I say ‘come’ that he’s considering coming when I call.  He’s considering that ‘word’ “come’  as something he knows.  The big guys says ‘come’ and wants me to come to him.  Should I come? What’s in it for me?

 Madigan  comes. It’s hard to imagine a drill sergeant faced with raw recruits. The sgte knows the troops want to please but don’t yet understand that commands will need to be in the ‘marrow’ of the being for the recruits to survive.   The word ‘come’ must become second nature for Madigan if he is to survive. The same with word’s like ‘no’ . As yet he sees ‘no’ as only a ‘suggestion’.   His life depends on instant responses to certain words as ‘commands’.   I’m beginning his life training. 

‘Come’ is the most important and the first of commands. 

It’s then I think of Jesus. “Come,’ he says.