The Parable of the Wee Dog

The Wee Dog is a terrier mix.  Or as I am fond of saying, “part terrier and part mama got out.” I call her the Wee Dog because she weighs in at a whopping 14 or 15 pounds.  However, most of it is muscle with the rest some very wild, wiry black and white fur.  The fur over her eyes has a tendency to grow and droop over those organs. The Wee Dog’s mother aka Robin works diligently to keep this area trimmed as well as the rest of the wilderness that is her coat.  For whatever reason through my anthropomorphizing eyes the Wee Dog always looks very worried.

Being a rescue dog the Wee Dog has some issues, most of which she has grown out over the last year or so.  When we first got her it was obvious that she was afraid of men.  Back then she had two modes with me, either barking at me hysterically or if I got close enought that she really felt threatened she would do the submissive roll over.  Now she greets me hysterically when I come home, and since I give her a treat as I leave she is glad to see me go.  It is not uncommon for me to be sitting on the couch and realize that a critter has weaseled her way onto my lap.

The Wee Dog loves to play chase with other dogs.  At the dog park she darts up to another dog then streaks off.  She keeps at this activity until she finds one willing to give her a chase.  She does have an advantage.  Being so small she can run full out under the benches and tables there while many other dogs have to go around.  She loves to be outside. She will lie for hours soaking up the sun, listening to the birds, lost in a contemplative canine trance.  You can almost hear her reciting her mantra under her bushy eyes.

All in all she is just about the sweetest Wee Dog to ever toss a chew toy in the air.  I cannot imagine a more idyllic life for an animal that spent several months at a no kill shelter.  However the Wee Dog has an aggravation that in her feral mind is a serious worry…squirrels.  Our back yard and the neighbor’s yards are full of tall, old trees that are full of squirrels.  They go busily about their Sciuridae lives without even deeming to acknowledge that the Wee Dog exists, except on those rare occasion when she manages to find one not in a tree.  She has yet to win the race that would block the fellows from scampering up the trunk of the nearest elm.   When she sees one traveling from branch to branch, or scurry across the top of our fence, tantalizingly close, she goes wild with barking.  She frequently has to be brought into the house to calm her down.  She absolutely, totally loses all self-control when she sees a squirrel.

I was ruminating on all this the other day.  Somehow or another I made an analogy of her squirrels, and people’s worries.  We have all these issues that are giving us fits that seldom come down to the ground where they really affect us, yet we will spend an inordinate amount of time fretting and occasionally losing control over them.   Several years ago I begin to tell myself, “I will worry about it when I need to worry about it.” Otherwise, if it really does come to be, I will deal with it then.  Worrying is a lot like barking at squirrels cruising the arboreal highway who could care less about your poor canine fetishes.