The Seven-year itch

He looks at me with those eyes. I’d like to think he is sorry, but it probably hasn’t crossed his mind. Maybe it’s the Seven-year itch. I’ve heard about this. They want to know what’s beyond the horizon: if the grass is truly greener somewhere else. You would think that he was satisfied at home, but apparently he gave in to his baser nature, and let curiosity overrule common sense.
It all started when I went out with my friends on a Sunday afternoon for a birthday party. It was the first nice Sunday since the big December storm. Our “son” Brutus came over to clean up the yard. He raked and swept and scraped and chopped. By the time I got home, it was beautiful. I was grateful, but soon I noticed something was wrong. I looked around the house, I called his name, and there was no answer. At first I thought maybe he just ran up to the store, or maybe he ran over to Joe’s apartment. But when he missed dinner, I was concerned. And then I realized that he didn’t have his ID with him. What if something happened? What if it was like that guy who had amnesia, and he forgot us? What if he just joined another family?
I called neighbors and friends. Both of my sons called me every hour. Joe even gave me a little lecture, implying that it was my fault that he left. Finally I went to bed. It was a sleepless night. But I had been through this before, and he had always come home. I just had to face the fact that someday he would be gone for good, and this was just practice.
In the late morning, a black van pulled up outside, and he walked up the driveway as if nothing was wrong. He was wearing a bandana scarf around his neck, and the expression on his face told me he had been having a really good time. He was not the least bit repentant. He gave me a kiss, but wasn’t talking about his little escapade.

After a little sleuthing, I found out that he had been with some girls. When I touched him I could tell he had a bath. Sure they were willing to play with him, but did they know how old he was? Did they know I had to give him glucosamine and chondroitin? Did they know how badly he snores, and that, that he howls when he’s disturbed? Could they put up with his constant barking at squirrels and blue jays? Did they know he’s a Beagle? The man who brought him home had seen some posters I put up around the neighborhood. He said that his daughters fell in love with him. I told him I was sorry about the nocturnal barking and howling, but he said he was quiet all night. Hmm. Just like kids who are on their best behavior for strangers.

He’s ten years old, and if each year is equal to seven in dog years, I guess I shouldn’t begrudge the old boy a little seven-year itch. Yes, it was my fault that Happy went missing, because I had forgotten to put on his collar before I left for church. And when Brutus came over, he didn’t think to make sure Happy was secure in the house before he opened the gates. Besides, Happy usually comes home after he sneaks out, unless he meets girls who can’t resist a pretty face. I guess I can’t resist a pretty face, either. And as much as I complain about him, I realized I’m not ready to lose him.