Dead Dog Thing

You're trying to explain something and not doing too well. The person you’re talking to just doesn’t get it. Eventually, even you’re not sure anymore. The other person doesn’t have a clue. So, you tell him or her it’s a dead dog thing. Oh! That makes sense. Now they got it.

Where did the phrase come from? Here’s where. It was about forty years ago or so. I was sitting all relaxed and comfy. I had a cup of coffee and a good book. All nice and relaxed. Then the phone rang. It was my mom. She wanted me to come over to her house. There was something the matter with her dog. Something he matter with her dog? Of course there was! He was a vicious, mean-tempered, unholy terror! He was born in Hell. Satan couldn’t handle him and set him loose on us. I was disappointed that God would allow this menace loose. The damned miniature poodle bit all the kids in the family and half the adults. He’d latch on to my mom’s ankle and wouldn’t let go. We finally had to get her some leather straps to wear around her ankles. My brother, Rick, got them. I don’t know where he got them, although they looked like something from an adult store. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t admit it. He did say,“ Let's see if they fit or I’ll take them back to the girl.”

When I got there, my mom asked me to check him. Check him? To do that, I’d have to touch him. No way. I’d rather check a rattlesnake. Mom wouldn’t settle with me tapping him with my shoe me to check him. She said he was a deep sleeper. I had to do something she thought was enough. Can’t have my mom thinking I was afraid of a tiny little poodle. I looked at him and he didn’t seem to be breathing. That was encouraging. I carefully reached over and felt his chest. No, no breathing. My mom asked if e had a heartbeat. I put my ear down and no heartbeat. OK! Not okay but less fearful.

“ Mom, the only thing the matter with this dog is that he’s dead.”

“ Oh. Then take him out back and bury him.” Well, that was a long mourning period. for her but I was too happy to fake it. Couldn’t do it. Because my mom wouldn’t listen to her heart specialist, we kids had taken all her tools and ladders. I told her I’d have to go home and get a shovel. Then I’d be more than happy to bury the dog.

She reminded me that if we kids hadn’t of stolen her tools, that wouldn’t be necessary. Never mind. Alvin was coming over the next day, and he could bring a shovel and do it. Fine. I took the dog out to the enclosed back porch. I put him in a garbage bag so he wouldn’t smell. I went home. End of story? No.

The next Saturday was our family reunion. The whole family was there. When I went to greet my mom, she told me she was mad at me. She’d get over it, but right now she was mad. I asked why. Mistake.

She said,“Because you killed my dog.”

“No, mom, I didn’t. He was dead when I got there.” I was thinking my father was the likely culprit. He’s back her up just to see if I could see me get out of it.

“No, you didn’t know that. You’re not a vet. When Alvin went to bury him, I said,if only I could be really sure he was dead. Alvin told me that if he wasn’t dead when you put him in the plastic bag, he sure was now. You killed my dog.”My mom was sort of a space cadet. Reality wasn’t her strong point. There was never any way to argue my mom’s logic. Rod Serling couldn’t have done it. I’m not sure a “special person” could. The rest of my family supported me with such things as “ Killing mom’s dog. What a crappy thing to do.”

“Bunk. You aren’t sorry he’s gone.”

“I wanted to do it but I didn’t another black mark in her book.”

“I’m not sorry the dog’s dead, but you shouldn’t have killed it. I guess my share of the estate just went up.”

So, I told my mom I’d dig him up and get him stuffed and mounted on a block of wood. Maybe use him as a doorstop. It wouldn’t look like a dog unless it was one from Steven King’s Pet Cemetery. She said that’s fine, but he used to follow her around the house. No, he didn’t. He used to drag him around. So, I told her I’d put caster wheels on him. What about going up and down the stairs? OK, I’d put a slinky in the middle. I told her I’d put a small battery operated saw in his mouth if she wanted me to. I was getting cranky. I sort of wished I had killed him. The saying is-‘”do the crime, do the time.” Don’t do the crime and still do the time. Maybe you could dress it-him up at Christmas. That would be different. Everyone would be talking about it.”

“People are talking about it now.”

My siblings stood behind her making funny faces, with my brother farting hoping I’d laugh and get mom all riled and,maybe, slap me for being a heartless son. “Whoever raised you did a piss poor job of it. Why are you at my family reunion anyway?. Come up here to kill one of Alvin’s cows?”

That’s the origin of “it’s a dead dog thing”.