Craig and I have known the joy of raising four Labradors: Bojangles (though he was a mix, to be explained soon), Wendy, Maddy and Frisco. Each was unique, challenging in his or her own way, and filled our lives with love and laughter. Let me correct that: On reflection, each one also taught us valuable lessons…lessons saturated with memories to drive home points. Which meant that those lessons anchor firm places in our minds. And hearts.
Bojangles was definitely the most economical puppy of the lot: He was free, a gift from friends eager to farm out their purebred yellow Labrador Retriever’s litter. The mother Blessing was gorgeous—more in the style of a British Lab, bright and well trained. She was confined to a fenced yard when in heat, but that didn’t stop the male who eventually, and determinedly, jumped the fence. Blessing’s family never caught even a glimpse of the father, but we laughed that whatever breed he was, he was fast and black, as every single puppy was black. Enter Bojangles into the Williford home, and the challenge of one incredibly smart and agile and creative puppy began.
Ever think you should’ve waited to name a child, to better match personality with a name? We joked that—had we waited to name Bo—we would’ve called him Houdini. He was way too smart to confine anywhere, in any manner. (Note: This was long before the glorious addition of dog crates to our lives.) The home we rented didn’t have a fence, and we really didn’t want to chain Bojangles; even if he did wander a good distance, he knew his way home, no problem. But soon we’d learn that there was a problem: His antics at roaming far into the woods and pastures had caused concern (Was he pestering cows?), but little did we know just how MUCH provocation he was causing our neighbor who lived right next door.
These neighbors had one of those garage doors that you lift up—it raised at an angle to move up and out—by pulling up on the handle at the bottom of the door. Bojangles quickly learned how to open it, lifting it easily with his nose. (Told you he was smart.) Evidently, he originally sought dog food stored in there. But then…the neighbor came over to complain. Rather passionately—something easy-going Southerners in that part of the country tend to do only when pushed to their limit. When Bojangles snatched—from the clothes basket next to her washer—her underwear? I can understand how that hurdled her limit.
I apologized, profusely, and told her Bojangles’ wandering days were over. Regretfully, I pulled out the chain, ordered him to “sit,” gave a stern lecture (I’m convinced he understood far more than a normal dog), and clipped him to the house. I fully expected him to bark and run, yanking on that chain to test its limits (length and strength) time and time again.
Nope. Instead, he looked up at me with a face of resignation, one that related a message as clearly as if he’d spoken the words: “Well, I finally pushed it too far, didn’t I? Guess I asked for it. Sigh.” And he lay down, head on paws.
The lesson? One that our ENTIRE CULTURE could benefit from: Take responsibility for your actions, people! You did it; own up to it; take your medicine and/or consequences. And I’m pointing that message at Craig and me, too. I have to admit that our disagreements would be much shorter in duration if we both applied this consistently, unselfishly, and honestly!
Gotta say, if one intelligent but ornery Labrador can admit to his faults, one would think we humans could do better, right? Pilfering underwear or not, maybe a consequence needs to be that we’re chained to the house for a while…
Gotta say, if one intelligent but ornery Labrador can submit to the consequences for his faults, one would think we humans could do better, right? Pilfering underwear or whatnot, maybe a consequence needs to be that we’re chained to the house for a while…