The Perfect Pet: A Cautionary Tale, Part 8 of 10

Most little boys want to be like Jimmer when they grow up. Danny does, too. Only not the Jimmer you're thinking of.

*****

“What is this?” Scott asked one evening. He picked up a small wrapped package that I put on his pillow.

“Just a present.” I said.

“What for?” he asked.

“Just because.” I smiled. Actually it was the first step in my “Protect Turkeyboy At All Costs” plan. Though Jimmer had proclaimed himself to be Scott’s Best Friend Forever, I had a hunch that his intentions were not what they seemed. It was up to me to keep my husband safe. Especially since Scott was completely clueless about Jimmer’s mystical powers. Scott spent hours throwing Frisbees to Jimmer, proving that Jimmer had already wiped out Scott’s ability to detect the passage of time.

Scott opened the package.

“A can of mace?” he said, his eyebrows raised. “What is this for?”

I shrugged. “You know…just in case.” Just in case Jimmer decides to go for your jugular, darling.

I pointed out that it came with a nifty little clip that could hook on to his belt loop.

“That way you can take it with you whenever you go outside.” I said.

“Gee…ah…thanks, Chelsea.” He said.

The second part of my plan was harder to carry out: making sure that Scott and Jimmer were never alone together. When I was able to, I would sit outside and watch them play. When Scott wasn’t looking I would narrow my eyes at Jimmer and make the ASL sign for I’m watching you.

You might think this was time consuming and tedious, and it was, but I worked hard to get such an extraordinary spouse, and I wasn’t going to let Jimmer take my husband without a fight. Plus, I had to hang around just to make sure Scott didn’t forget who I was.

One afternoon I was sitting on the back porch steps, chaperoning Scott and his best friend as they frolicked together in the yard. While I watched I reminisced about my pre-dog life and ate chocolate to calm my nerves.

Scott was training Jimmer with the Frisbee, hopeful that Jimmer would someday become the world’s most amazing Frisbee champion. It was hard to tell who was having more fun, the man or the dog. I heaved a sigh when I noticed Scott wasn’t wearing the little bottle of mace I gave him. Well, it is a good thing I’m out here, I thought.

When Jimmer was too tired to run anymore, Scott came and sat by me on the steps. Jimmer squeezed in between us, panting.

“Down,” said Scott. Jimmer instantly flopped to the ground and leaned against me.

“This dog is so smart. He has totally exceeded all of my expectations for dog intelligence.”

“Mine, too.” I answered.

“He already knows five commands, can fetch balls, and catch Frisbees in mid-air. And he’s only 5 months old!”

I did have to admit it was pretty amazing. And ironic. Our son Danny was 18-months-old and he still hadn’t walked yet. (Not only that, but his vocabulary consisted only of “DA!” which, with only a slight change in intensity, meant both “dad” and “dog.”)

I reached down to give Jimmer a pet (I try to pet Jimmer at least three times a day, just for appearances) and as I ran my fingers through his thick coat, thinking how it would make a lovely bathroom rug, Scott said, “He’s so soft, isn’t he? And he always seems so clean. It is like the dirt just doesn’t stick to his coat.”

I nodded and took a bite of chocolate.

“He’s such a good-looking dog, too. Just look at his eyes…you see the see black all around them?”

Yes. I thought. It makes him look like a bank robber. Jimmer looked up at me and his white teeth gleamed. No…he’s too smart to be a bank robber, I thought. More like a terrorist.

“I think he looks like Zorro.” Continued Scott. “You know, I was flipping through the channels last night and I can’t believe there aren’t any dog channels.” He was clearly perturbed about this. He scratched behind Jimmer’s ears and Jimmer gazed at him devotedly. Then after a while he said, “Don’t you think it would be fun to get Jimmer a mate and then they could have a litter of puppies?”

I almost choked.

He smiled, “And I could quit my job at Duke and we could be full-time trainers and breeders.”

I started to cry.

“I’m just kidding, Chelsea.” Scott said, clearly remorseful. “Its okay, I won’t quit my job.” He probably would have put his arm around me, too, if the dog hadn’t been in the way.

After I pulled myself together he asked, “Hey, by the way, why do you put numbers up above Jimmer’s food bowl?”

A few weeks ago I had taken down the dog stew recipe (which Scott didn’t find humorous) and replaced it every day with a different index card. Each card had a number on it, in descending order.

“Well,” I said, “If he’s so smart he ought to know his numbers, right?” I smiled pleasantly. Jimmer looked up at me, narrowing his eyes. He could smell my lie. Actually, the numbers are a countdown. I want Jimmer to know how many days he has left before he is neutered.

“See? You are coming around, Chels. I’m glad you’ve been such a good sport, putting up with having a dog. Isn’t she, Jimmer?”

I got up and left. But not before I gave Jimmer the rest of my chocolate.

Here are some videos of Jimmer taking over Scott’s mind. I mean playing frisbee. Enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aM2Q2IbfGWQ&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wxX_4b3DB-w&feature=related

The Perfect Pet: Epilogue

This story is 95% true.

Of course I didn’t send Jimmer to Australia. I also fibbed a little about how long it’s been since I’ve had zits.

Okay, maybe 75% of the story is true. I didn’t have a dream about Jimmer using my computer, nor did I give Scott mace as a present. Oh yeah, and the message in the dog food--that also wasn’t true.

So my story is 50% true. Jimmer really did bite Sophie (that is where the whole idea for this story began) and he really would (and still does) stare at me for hours on end without blinking. It is also true that he beheaded the brunette magnet doll, but he did the same thing to the blond and the redhead.

Writing about Scott is really fun, since I didn’t have to fabricate many of the things he said. His quotes about getting Jimmer a mate, his frustration that there is not a dog channel, his admiration for Jimmer’s unique appearance, his delight in Jimmer’s intelligence, etc, etc, etc…these were all things he really said. Most of these I wrote down, word for word in my story, taking liberties only with the context. I read every installment to Scott before I hit the “publish” button.

I did not intentionally put a moral in my story, but looking back, I guess you could say the moral is this: things are never as bad as they seem.

As for Jimmer, he mellowed out quite a bit during the course of this story. Eventually, he stopped leaping up on me and the kids (as much), stopped nipping (as much), learned to calm himself down, and learned a bunch of pretty cool tricks. For instance, I taught Jimmer to fetch the newspaper.

Here is a video on how I did it (7 minutes long): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=syftSzQtA0Y

Here is the short version (2 minutes long): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HVb1Vtlt5jo

I also taught Jimmer to pick up his “road kill” toys in the yard. I have to admit, he is very smart and very trainable.

There are also some benefits of having a dog that I had never expected. Like meeting new people, for example. In the past three years I’ve walked our neighborhood dozens of times, seeing the same neighbors over and over and giving the same polite smile and wave. But now that I have a dog with me I am suddenly someone of interest. People now stop me to ask about my dog, its breed, his age….and when I tell them his name is Jimmer that begins a whole new conversation and before I know it we’ve laughed together, cried together, talked about the First Vision and I’ve invited them to be baptized. (Here’s a tip, Mormon friends: Name your dog after Book of Mormon characters and/or presidential hopefuls and you are bound to end up talking about the church. I can just see it…. “King Noah” the bull dog, “Mitt” the dachshund.) A dog is a natural conversation piece. I have to admit it is a little fun. To really tell you the truth, more I wrote this story the more I liked Jimmer. Which, at last, makes my story 25 % true.

The final word:

As you might imagine, there are a couple of little readers in my own home that were following this story, and when the final chapter was published there was quite an uproar. They wasted no time in telling me that my ending was unacceptable and that it needed to be rewritten. Ah, critics! But since these critics are near and dear to my heart I will change the ending, just for them. So here is the “real” ending to the Perfect Pet:

Halfway to Australia Jimmer realized two things: 1. that he never wanted to eat peanut butter again for the rest of his life and 2. that he must somehow get back to North Carolina. He knew that he would never be happy without Scott and the dear little Dyrengs. So after breaking out of his crate he found his way to the cabin and charmed the flight attendants into letting him into the cockpit. Once there he hypnotized the pilots and made them turn the plane around. They landed safely back at Raleigh where Jimmer then took a taxi back home and was smiling on our doorstep the next morning, much to the happiness and jubilation of everyone in our family, even me who grasped Jimmer around the neck and cried out, Jimmer, I’m sorry! You’re the best dog in the world!

And they all lived happily every after.