Apr. 27, 2006 – Originally published by CNC, Inc.

Shucks, Ma’am, got anything to chew on over in yonder cabinet?

As faithful readers of this column know, we recently got a new puppy. After our beloved old dog Brandy was put to rest a few years ago, her cremated remains were sent to me in a beautiful gold tin (after thoughtfully agreeing to pay for a private cremation, my husband consoled me while no doubt thinking: "Private cremation? How are we ever going to know it was private? How do we even know it is Brandy in that tin?") The receiving of that tin in the U.S. mail coincided with Christmastime, so Brandy sat on the mantel nestled in my decorations, where my mom wandered by and thought she was a candle. I caught her sniffing the top of Brandy’s tin, and I said, "Mom? That’s Brandy!" to which she replied, "I thought she was a candle! She seems happy up here with the Christmas decorations, honey, and she smells really good."

So, our new puppy, Copper, came to us by way of a Massachusetts animal shelter, where she was shipped up from Virginia. Virginia has lots of great things, like Civil War battlegrounds and great hams and good access to our nation’s capitol, and yet apparently has no real way of dealing with stray puppies of any kind. So, Virginia sent Copper and his brothers to Massachusetts, no doubt thinking, "Those Yankees are so rude, they’ll get rid of these puppies quick! Yessirree Bob! Let’s ride on over to Manassas!" Copper is kind of what you would think a puppy from Virginia would be - half beagle and 100 percent hunting hound. He is a good-looking dog, and one of the longest dogs you’ll ever see - the other day one half of him was drinking from the toilet, while the other half of him was in the adjoining room asleep. He is pretty accommodating as long as he always has something to chew on, and he would prefer that something be human flesh. I am forever handing Copper a new bone or chew toy, and I’m always blowing my new plastic whistle at him that I received from puppy school, while he stares at me bemusedly, yawning. Copper, like all hounds, is a big yawner. In my mind he also has a Virginia accent, and when I blow my little green whistle and yell, "Copper, drop that cat and come here!" I can almost hear him say, "Shucks, ma’am, I’d be glad to mosey on over there since you’re blowing on your little whistle you like so much - ya’ll got anything else to chew on, maybe over yonder in that there cabinet?"

When I first got Copper I had a certain vision in my head of how it would be with us: me, hair streaming behind me, running alongside Copper as we trained for the Boston Marathon (I’m not sure why my new dog would suddenly make me athletic), Copper and I walking along various State Park trails in our bandannas, eating trail mix and becoming one with the local flora and fauna, a local legend for our laid-back friendliness, amazing dog/human bond and knowledge of the mountain (never mind that I got lost on a street in our neighborhood recently - apaved street), and Copper and I, side-by-side, riding through town in our pick-up, above pettiness and local town politics as we ran errands for others (I’m not sure where my Volvo went in that daydream). In reality, Copper and I spend the bulk of our time outdoors with my trying to get his big, long butt into my car. When Copper does not want to do something, he simply sits down, and since he is growing at the rate of about two pounds per hour, this is a problem. So, far from romping at the state park, Copper and I are usually at either end of an extremely taut leash, while I yell, wheedle and cajole him to jump in my car. And, if there are passersby watching, I also have the added stress of making it seem like we’re playing. "Copper," I hiss through gritted teeth, "get in the car now!" To which he yawns, right there in the CVS parking lot, and answers, "No thanks, ma’am. I would like to chew on your arm a spell, though." Then, if someone happens by, I pretend we’re playing. "Aw, come on, Copper, boy, let’s go! You rascal! You funny, funny huntin’ hound! Get on in the car now, sport!" Copper has caught on that he gets away with more in public (I can’t ever find my whistle in my purse) so he sits back and enjoys the whole thing.

So, my plan is to find my whistle, keep working with him, and to get him to stop chewing - at least on people. He’d better watch it - he doesn’t want to end up on the mantle!