AA #6 – I Tried to Be Good

Agatha is 12 weeks old now—big enough to go visiting, but still little enough for new places, new dogs, and too many rules to feel very confusing.

I am a puppy, but I know when something is happening now.

Bags come out. Clothes go into piles. Food goes into little containers. The people walk back and forth carrying things, and Charlie does his ride dance with his front feet.

That means we are going somewhere.

I like somewhere. Somewhere has new smells. Sometimes somewhere has new people. Sometimes somewhere has new dogs. I bounced near the bags because I was ready for the big white machine.

Charlie said we were not just going for a ride. We were going to be guests.

Guests have rules.

I know about rules. There are inside rules and outside rules. There are potty rules and chewing rules. There are also Charlie rules. Charlie has many Charlie rules.

But these were guest rules.

Charlie said I had to represent the family.

I did not know what represent meant, but it sounded important. Maybe it meant sitting very still. I sat very still and waited for Charlie to tell me what to do.

He told me not to run through the door. I should not look in food bowls, climb on things, chew things, chase anyone, dig holes, spill water, make too much noise, or bother anybody.

There were too many rules.

“What if I forget?” I asked.

Charlie said I must not.

That did not help.

We rode in the big white machine. Charlie sat in his little black-and-white seat in the front, directly in front of the cold air. I sat in my big pink seat in the back.

Usually I look everywhere when we ride. I look out this window, then that window, then this window again. There are too many things to see.

This time I watched Charlie.

He kept reminding me to be calm, be polite, and not embarrass the family. My belly started to feel funny. My ears felt heavy.

Maybe representing was dangerous.

When the big white machine stopped, we were at another house. A big black dog lived there. Her name was Misty.

Misty was bigger than me. I am getting big, but Misty was already big. Very big.

I walked toward the house slowly.

“Calmly,” Charlie said.

I was being calmly.

Charlie said not to rush Misty. I was not rushing. Then he said not to sniff anything inappropriate.

I did not know which things were inappropriate. Maybe all the things were inappropriate.

Misty came closer. I wanted to say hello, but I also wanted to run away. Charlie told me to be polite and not to stare.

I looked away so fast that my feet almost forgot where the floor was.

The people carried bags into the house. Misty walked around like it was her house, because it was. Charlie walked around like it was his house too.

I stayed near the door.

Charlie said Misty’s things came first. Misty’s food came first. Misty’s rules came first. Misty’s comfort came first.

I tried to remember everything.

Then I tinkled on the floor.

I did not mean to.

The people moved fast. They got towels and talked to me. Everybody looked at me, and that made my belly feel worse.

“I got nervous,” I told Charlie.

Charlie said not to be nervous.

I tried not to be nervous. Then I got nervous about being nervous.

Sometimes the people called me and I tinkled. Sometimes Misty surprised me and I tinkled. Sometimes someone corrected me and I tinkled.

Sometimes everyone tried to make me feel better because I had tinkled. That made me think about tinkling.

Then I tinkled.

Visiting rules are hard.

Outside was better. Outside had grass and room to run. Outside did not have floors that needed towels.

Misty and I chased each other through the yard. We wrestled. We ran around and around and around.

I forgot about representing. I forgot about the rules. I forgot about my nervous belly.

I was only a puppy running with another dog.

Misty was fun. Misty was strong. She did not fall over when I bumped into her. Charlie acts like he might fall over if I breathe too excitedly near him.

I wanted to play forever.

Misty did not.

Sometimes Misty walked away, and I followed her. Sometimes she lay down, and I bounced beside her. Sometimes she made a low sound.

I stopped and thought about it.

Then I tried playing again.

Misty barked very loud.

I jumped backward.

I understood that rule.

That rule meant Misty was done.

Charlie looked pleased. Charlie likes rules that bark.

We stayed for two sleeps. I tried very hard to be good. I followed the people, explored the house, played with Misty, and tried to remember which things belonged to me.

Almost none of the things belonged to me.

I also tried not to tinkle, but thinking about not tinkling did not help.

On the last morning, the bags came out again. Food went into containers. The people carried everything toward the door.

I knew what that meant.

“We are going for a ride,” I said.

Charlie said yes.

“Home?”

Charlie said yes.

My whole body got soft.

I curled up in my pink seat inside the big white machine and let out all my air.

I like home rules better. I do not always follow them, but I know where they are.

When we got home, I checked everything. My rooms were still there. My smells were still there. My toys were still there.

My people were still my people.

I fell down in the middle of the floor. Charlie went to his bed.

I had represented the family.

I think.

Maybe representing means trying very hard. Maybe it means making mistakes somewhere else and being happy when you come home.

Charlie said the family honor survived.

I do not know what honor is.

But the towels survived too.

Mostly.