LETTERS FROM HOME: CRIMES AGAINST CACTUSES AND BIRKENSTOCKS

July 25, 1996

Dear Carolyn,

I came home from work a few days ago to find DC in a funk over the dogs. Can't even remember if it was because Lucy ate her green sandal or because Hank had stolen into the spare room and gotten into the box of Christmas ornaments again.

It doesn't matter. My reaction is always the same: "They're dogs. We're stupid."

By now, nearly a year after they wiggled their stubbed tails into our household, we know that loving Hank and Lucy doesn't mean you can trust them.

We know they will bark ferociously to warn us against an intruder, even if that intruder is a car radio down the street, that they want to spend every waking and non-waking minute jumping up on our laps, and that they'd lick the very crumbs off our plates if we'd only turn our backs. But don't give them 30 seconds alone in the same room with your loafers.

Most people have half pairs of socks. We have the half pairs of shoes to match.

The other worthless carcasses are almost impossible to enumerate, but some of the most tragic losses were a cactus a friend bequeathed to us in the knowledge we'd give it the best of care, the gnawed rungs on DC's antique chairs, the cabinet baseboard (gnawed), the back stairs (gnawed), rugs (despoiled).

DC thought squirrels were getting into her azaleas until she caught Lucy jumping the fence.

That's the thing. They don't usually commit break-ins or crimes against Birkenstocks in our presence. But give them a chance and Lucy and Hank turn into Bonnie and Clyde, thieves of flowering plants and remorseless killers of Santa Claus ornaments.

For all this we are stupid. Carla, our personal dog trainer, showed us a variety of proven ways to keep dogs from trespassing on our lives, but we forget to use them until another calamity occurs.

Forgetfulness is the only excuse we have left.

Even DC's sunflowers are wiser. I was concerned because their necks curve like a swan's and their heads droop like a scolded child's. So I called an expert. He said the heads naturally droop to repel rain. Otherwise the moisture would rot their seeds.

For some reason, an image comes to mind of me stranded recently at the 15th hole during a savage thunderstorm.

We forget to reprimand Hank and Lucy when they misbehave. Carla showed us what good could become of a squirt gun and some treats. Unfortunately, we never have those things in our pockets at the opportune moment. By the time we draw our guns, Hank and Lucy are lying in an affectionate pile, already innocent again.

In their ability to let bygones be bygones, they're the smart ones.

Lucy, we are sure, is the one who has figured out how to nudge aside the gate at the bottom of the stairs, thus making it possible for them to appear in our bedroom in the middle of the night. A warm lick on the ear lobe usually would be welcome but you're quickly awake enough to discern the difference between romance and a jail break.

Love, Sam

~Sam Blackwell is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.