Like many rural families, we have a dog.

Tuesday, February 13, 2001

Like many rural families, we have a dog. Our dog is Rose, named after a character from the movie Titanic. She’s pretty smart, though definitely not as well-trained as Traeh, the dog in Sunday’s newspaper, who is being raised to be a guide dog by Benjamin Payne and his family. Owning a dog is a big responsibility, and taking care of them can be a lot of work. It all depends on the dog and the family.

Walking Rose (or chasing her down the road) is one of my daily responsibilities. It’s one of the first things I do when I get up in the morning, and some days, it’s the last thing I do before I go to sleep.

This chore is a lot more interesting in the winter. First, it’s almost always dark when she sticks her nose in my face or rests it on my knee to let me know it’s &uot;time&uot; to go. And it’s always cold, bitterly cold, with wind blowing across the road and fields – into my eyes and up my nose. Taking the dog outside means getting several layers of winter outerwear on. I feel like a medieval knight, strapping on armor and preparing myself for battle, only my armor is a coat and snow pants and my battle is with the wind.

Why not just open the door and let the dog out, you ask? Well, I have tried that. Unfortunately, she won’t budge. She won’t go outside without me. If I just open the door but don’t get my coat on, she sticks her head out, sniffs and then retreats to her dog bed in the living room. Smart dog.

This is the same dog who when the weather is nice feels it necessary to protect us from the vehicles that drive by and the squirrels that mock us from the trees. In spring, summer and fall, if she’s not on a leash or chained to her line in the yard, she’s out in the fields or down the road, claiming the neighborhood as her own. Even though the nearest neighbor is a quarter of a mile away, we like to keep her chained up or in the house, so many times when the door is open, she bolts. It must really be cold this winter.

Living with a dog is a challenge for me. I prefer cats. I know that there are a lot of people who are just the opposite, like my friend Rhonda (a pastor in South Dakota). People like that find cats to be disgusting vermin, that should only be tolerated in the barn. But I like them. I appreciate their independence and their ability to warm up the bed for me on cold winter nights. They catch mice and can sleep in the basement. They don’t need to go outside to use the potty. They can do it in a box.

Dogs aren’t like that at all. They are needy animals, craving attention and our companionship. They drool. They make strange noises in their sleep, noises that make me wonder just how &uot;civilized&uot; they are. Dogs need to be entertained. And they also need to work. Our dog gets bored, and when she’s bored she chews things or digs holes or both. She’s a border collie, and needs to tend a herd. A former colleague at Riverland Community College suggested we get her a flock of ducks. As if we needed a flock of ducks around our house! Last spring, on a day she got away from us, we found her at the cemetery next to our house, trying to herd the people over there into a flock. They were not amused.

By now Rose is a member of our family, and so I’m stuck living with her. And despite my best efforts, she likes me. She listens to me (most of the time) when we are outside. She sleeps on the floor at the end of the bed at night, and right now, as I write this, she’s sleeping behind my chair. She wants to be wherever I am.

Even when the wind howls, the walks are growing on me, though. It’s good exercise. The two of us can cover a lot of territory and tell each other our troubles. And it has sometimes been to my advantage to be the one who walks the dog. &uot;Yes, dear, I would love to sit down and work on taxes with you, but Rose needs to go out right now.&uot; Getting kids into pajamas and bed is often quite chaotic at our hose, a process filled with sound and fury, and it’s usually much more peaceful outside, under the stars, with a faithful dog at my side.

David Behling’s is a rural Albert Lea resident. His column appears Tuesdays.