Don’t Get in the Way of a Daughter and Her Dog

I couldn’t wait to tell my oldest daughter, Clary, that we’d officially adopted a stray dog that had actually adopted us.

Kenzie—so named after my husband’s ancestral Scottish name MacKenzie—arrived on our back doorstep. She wore no collar, no tags, and was limping from her version of ‘The Incredible Journey” through the Ninemile woods.

Katharine, Clary’s younger sister, was visiting from Arizona on that Labor Day weekend. The moment she spotted the injured dog through the glass door, she had it open and, oblivious to the rain, was reaching out to hug and coddle, much to the chagrin of her husband and father. The former feared possible disease transmitted to his wife in the cuddling; the latter urged, “No contact!” hoping that by depriving the visitor of human affection, she would wander back home. Too late.

Meanwhile our canine children, two German Shepherds named Gus and Cody, barked like Dobermans in pursuit of prey. Glass doors are an advantage when it comes to letting light into the house and increasing one’s sylvan vista; they don’t work so well when you hope against hope the dogs don’t see. Too late.

Long story short: Two months and twenty posters on pine trees later, the little girl was ours. After no one claimed her and the vet verified she harbored no identification microchip, we ordered her personalized collar. Katharine was so enamored she’d begged her husband to let them take her home with them; Clary would meet her during her next visit. I had to warn her.

Clary has a strong attachment to Cody, who suffers from more than an occasional bout of insecurity—being twin brother to alpha Gus can be a tough row to hoe. Clary has a sister close in age. I cannot say that either one evidences dominance, but she relates to the general threat of it. On top of that, change in the order of things is not her favorite challenge. I sensed the formal adoption announcement might not go over too well.

“What? What about poor Cody?” she was nearly crying the comment into her cell phone. “Does he like her? What does he think?”

I pointed out to her that Cody, the most loveable but goofiest of the two shepherds, was not likely thinking at all. Just to get a reaction.

“Oh yes he is!” she defended. “He will think you don’t love him anymore because now you have a stupid girl! Is she mean to him?”

I reassured as best I could, but as I did, I could hear myself falter—I actually stammered and stuttered in the defense of an animal I barely knew. After all, animals are unpredictable—what if she were to turn on her brothers, or vice versa? When I’d contacted the humane society in hopes of locating the owner they’d told me not to bring her there—no room in the Inn.

“At this point we have to hope it works.” Too late?

Each phone call from Clary expressed angst and concern for her buddy Cody, until our banter became the whimsical game we played to link the miles between us until she could come for Thanksgiving. I’d put Cody on the phone to hear her voice, telling him she loved him best and not to “worry about that stupid girl.” When I sent her a photo of the adoptee via e-mail, her reaction was classic: “She looks scraggly. Is she sort of ugly?”

At the moment they met, that all changed. Clary agreed that Kenzie was cute, easygoing, and uncannily accepted by not only Cody, but Big Guy Gus, the true leader of the pack. Until Labor Day, he’d never let another dog come up the driveway, let alone enter the house. Now he had a sister who sometimes even slept on his bed! Clary, the tough nut to crack, had to admit it was meant to be, even tough that admission assumed she’d been a little too quick to resist and that face to face with the situation, she’d changed her mind. It’s never too late.

So Brad ordered the Land’s End embroidered bed to match those of her brothers. No sooner had he typed in the credit card number and clicked on “Place Your Order” than Kenzie growled at Cody, took his Nylabone, and having stepped up the ladder, decided to go up a rung and test Gus.

“She’s testing her power,” Brad told Clary. “She managed to get power over Cody—an easy battle—and now she’s looking at the alpha.”

“See?” Clary’s smug question was tossed at me.

“But Brad’s already paid for the bed!” I pleaded. “Too late.”