We left Rosie at the top of the stairs in the middle of an identity crisis. She knew her human servants needed protection and wanted to do her duty, but the stairs alone were frightening and greyhounds aren’t particularly good guard dogs either.
This is part four of an ongoing series. To catch up, you can read part one here, part two here, and part three here.
Rosie the Three-legged Dragon had a choice to make. Though she couldn’t properly understand the full ramifications as either a dog or a dragon, she was at least dimly aware that some moments were more important than others. As she stood at the top of the stairs, which seemed impossibly high because they were wooden and there was no padding to prevent her from slipping on her lone front leg, leading to a nasty fall, she was not only choosing whether to go down into the den to join mommy and daddy, or the wayward daughter and wild son if you prefer. Instead, she was choosing what type of dog and dragon she would be forever more. Would she be brave? Would she do her duty and protect her human servants and her little brother Carlitos in this strange new lair? Or would she prove herself a coward, remaining upstairs, cowering by herself in an unfamiliar corner, and sulking until someone took her home? For better or worse, there was no one to turn to for advice. The human servants didn’t know how to properly communicate, always babbling at each other with their funny little barks, and Carlitos, unreliable as ever, was nowhere to be found, probably sleeping somewhere after falling in the pool and almost drowning. Besides, he was no hero, super spy, or comic book character, just a little old man. Rosie was completely on her own, the decision to be brave or cower in the corner, hers and hers alone.
Though neither dogs nor dragons possess the same sort of narrative memory as humans, where we perceive our lives in some kind of consistent arc and frequently revisit events from the past like we were watching scenes from an old movie, they are not without excellent memories of their own. Standing there at the top of the stairs, afraid to go down, cast Rosie’s mind back to a time in the distant past, at least from the perspective of a canine, when she faced a similar choice. The details were necessarily murky, the before and after unclear, the sequence uneven and even murkier, but she remembered in some way that there was a time when she was new to her beloved lair, the one they had left when it got permanently dark for reasons she couldn’t explain, and the whole enchanted forest she called home. That, the same as she’d arrived at this strange new lair, she had once upon a time arrived at her beloved one and upon her initial arrival, hopping out of the hated automobile with her new human servants, having no idea where she was going or why, she had suffered some trauma which caused her to cower in a corner for several days. Unlike this time around, things didn’t start out too badly back then even though she wasn’t yet a dragon or more properly, thought she was a dragon. She also had all four legs, the incident being long before her brave struggle with cancer. Her new human servants seemed reasonably nice, if a little too clingy and all over her, not respecting a self-respecting future queen’s need for personal space. The new lair itself was large and comfortable, suitable for that sort of queen, as was the forest just outside. For the first few hours, it seemed like Rosie had landed in the perfect spot and this was the ideal new land to conquer, but there was just one problem and that problem took the form of an older sister, Lily.
Actually, there were two problems, but the first was minor. Rosie, being a greyhound who grew up at a race track, had never seen stairs and had no idea how to use them. The first time she went to the second floor, she had no idea how to get down and remained there for more than an hour, reminding her at least somewhat of her current situation, though not nearly as much as the second problem. Lily was a coon hound and in many ways was a remarkable dog. She was fiercely loyal, reliable practically to a fault, and undeniably beautiful with the equivalent of floppy radio dishes for ears, and a sleek white coat with brown patches. Sadly, she was also a victim of abuse as a puppy. Rosie couldn’t possibly know this, but Lily was found roaming the streets before being rescued and for the rest of her days, she bore those emotional scars similar to how a human might. In her, they would manifest as a serious food aggression, a superiority complex, and an at times, nasty temper. Though she could be a sweet dog when it suited her, she could also be a barking, raging, biting menace, the subject of two lawsuits throughout her life and the incidents we know of. As it happened that fateful day, Rosie, not yet the three-legged dragon, came into the lair after a pleasant walk in the enchanted forest to discover Lily enjoying a treat and being a curious, non-aggressive canine, believed it entirely appropriate to have a look for herself at what this delectable concoction may be, maybe even help herself to a crumb or two on the floor. Lily wasn’t that sort of dog, however, and as soon as Rosie got close, bumbling up with all the enthusiasm of a puppy, she lashed out as fierce as Rosie would one day think dragons were, growling and snarling, biting and barking in a moment of pure terror.
The incident only lasted a ferocious second, a canine bolt of lightning with a bark for thunder, and to this day, it remains unclear if Rosie was actually bitten, but the shock of being unexpectedly attacked in a new, unfamiliar lair by a dog she thought might make a companion, her sister even, was enough to traumatize her. Rosie immediately bolted to the far corner of the house, as far from Lily and everyone else she could get, still in the harness for the walk, completely with the leash, and cowered there for three full days. There was nothing that could coax her out, not food nor treats of any kind, not kind, soft words, nor anything else. Embarrassing as it was, she peed and pooped right where she lay in both the harness and the leash, barely moving otherwise. If anyone dare approach her during this period, she growled if they got within a few feet and snapped wildly should they dare come any closer. Needless to say, her human servants were distraught, fearing for her very existence, especially after not one, but two people, who were briefly servants (in human terms, they were her foster parents before she was officially adopted), came to the new, now dark and horrible lair to check on her and were too frightened to do anything helpful. In fact, one made things even worse, deciding that they needed to place a device on her muzzle to prevent her from snapping to remove the harness, only to not have the courage to go through with it and leave her in an even worse position, stuck with both the harness and the device like she was straightjacketed in an insane asylum, not that she knew what those things were. Still, it felt like it somehow.
Though Rosie wasn’t aware of it – thankfully not being able to understand many spoken words – one of the women falsely claimed Rosie charged her, that she had it on video, and this might well be only the second dog she needed to put down for attacking people. Perhaps the only one who didn’t freak out during this period was daddy. As we said, he was wild and unruly himself. He had a completely different attitude, insisting the two women were clueless and couldn’t get near Rosie in the first place, forget to take her away from them, what were they gonna do, send in the doggie police? Either way, Rosie was there dog now and she wasn’t going anywhere. Otherwise, he didn’t try to mess with her. Instead, he stayed in his usual writing chair, blasting his music, drinking his beer, smoking his whatever, and just sitting with her calmly enough that Rosie became curious and approached him, leaning against the chair for comfort and allowing him the privilege of an occasional pet before darting back to her corner for comfort. In between, at least someone had the courtesy to try to clean up the mess of her urine and bowel movements. Regardless, it was yet another servant, a male who loved dogs (my stepson, who no longer abides in the lair) who ultimately sat with Rosie for more than two hours, slowly but surely removing the muzzle and the harness, little by little, bit by bit, until she was finally free. Two days later, five days from the original incident, Rosie finally had the courage to emerge from the corner and begin to reassert her claim to the lair. She wasn’t yet a dragon, but briefly felt like one.
While it would be inaccurate to say all of these details surfaced in her mind in a coherent manner as I’ve described it here, the reality that she’d been traumatized before and rather than being brave at first, had cowered for several days to the point of defecating on herself left the same sort of indelible impact on her doggie brain as whatever abuse poor Lily had suffered before we adopted her. Rosie, however, had gone through much worse since then, including additional incidents with Lily and having her leg amputated, and had emerged as a proper dragon. She would not, could not be a coward again, and though she was terrified at the thought of slipping on the stairs, her mommy and daddy needed her and she would not fail. Though Rosie the Three-legged Dragon couldn’t fly, it is no exaggeration to say she took off down the stairs the same as taking flight, soaring the distance to the floor with an urgent, pressing majesty, until she actually hit the floor on her one front leg and skidded to a jerky stop, but at least she was finally down without suffering serious injury. After recovering herself and the little bit of her dignity that was lost by almost tripping at the end of her would-be flight – hitting the tiled floor hard enough that even mommy and daddy took notice, before turning their attention back to the strange, glowing device on the wall that flickered, made a lot of strange sounds, and seemed to hypnotize them most evenings, as though they were half asleep or in some kind of trance. To be sure, that only served to emphasize Rosie’s belief that they were in desperate need of protecting. Since they were doing the same thing here that they did in their own, proper lair, maybe there was something wrong with them and they’d been tricked somehow, not even realizing they weren’t in the usual lair, confused as to their very location in life.
Needless to say, she had no way to ask them if that was the case, nor would she have understood their response, so she did what dogs and dragons on high alert tend to do: She planted herself more obtrusively than usual between them and the glowing thing which would likely keep them occupied for several more hours before going to sleep, keeping a close watch on everything except the glowing thing, checking the entrances and exists, sniffing the air, checking them twice, and sniffing again to make sure nothing unusual except the strange new lair itself was afoot. While greyhounds certainly aren’t guard dogs and neither are dragons, they have many of the same skills that could be put to good use here. The hearing, the sense of smell, and as sight hounds, keen eyes. It is no exaggeration to say that when Rosie attempted to take in all of her surroundings, she could effectively see through the walls of the small chamber, outside the walls of the lair into the yard, even glean something of what was happening in the other lairs nearby, where she found other humans also watching the same strange devices, some with more comfortably perched dogs and even cats, a few more wild critters roaming here and there. Though there were no immediate threats, there were a couple of key challenges facing her. First, neither mommy nor daddy expected this behavior from Rosie and rather than accepting she was doing her duty to protect the family, helping to ensure everyone makes it home to their beloved lair, they were convinced something was wrong aside from not being at that beloved lair. They insisted upon doting over her, stroking her under the chin and behind the ears for comfort, running their hand down her silky smooth back, whispering soft words of comfort to her, which she would normally have desired, but under these circumstances only served as a tremendous distraction. How could she concentrate on the task at hand with these two on her the entire time, making her feel far better than she should or even wanted to?
Second, greyhounds don’t generally have the attention span and the discipline to remain on high alert for long. Bred for speed and short races, they – and probably dragons as well – are prone to burn themselves out quickly, needing a nap sooner rather than later, especially when they are being doted on in the first place. Faced with both of these challenges at once, it wasn’t long before Rosie the Three-Legged Dragon found herself fighting to keep alert and on guard against the onslaught, battling herself to remain both true to her duty and true to her nature as a greyhound, a war between disciplined diligence and utter relaxation. Perhaps, you will not be surprised which side won out in the end. Before the hour was up, Rosie was tucked in with her mommy and daddy as she would have been at her lair and at least a part of her no longer knew the difference. Though she went through the motions a few times later in the evening, doing a patrol around the new sleeping quarters, testing mommy and daddy’s bed to make sure it was safe, deciding it was actually comfortable and stretching herself across it so thoroughly, mommy didn’t even have room to get in and had to seek a spot on the couch. This, however, Rosie rationalized as simply daddy needing more protection than she did. He was the wild, crazy one after all, who couldn’t be trusted not to get himself into trouble, and if either of them needed to be watched throughout the night, it was him, but at this point, even a part of her was beginning to understand these were just excuses. She was more comfortable than she thought possible nestled next to her human servant on the bed and while she still had several fears and concerns, they had been almost completely overwhelmed by the love she felt for her family – even the other human servant and Carlitos who were so unconcerned during this entire period, they took their rest in another area entirely – and the love they felt for her.
When morning finally came around and they’d been there for almost a full day, Rosie began to think that maybe this new lair wasn’t merely a temporary one and they would remain here permanently, but rather than causing her to whine in disgust and fear as it would’ve at first, she realized it didn’t truly matter and started her day as she normally would, by demanding being worshiped followed by a proper meal. Her lair, her home after all, was where her servants, no, her family were even if they could be strange and confusing, frustrating and confounding, neither dogs nor dragons, but something different, even Carlitos who fancied himself a secret agent of all things at times. For a short period, it seemed there was a valuable lesson here about what was truly important in life and how sometimes, going through certain hardships was the only way to get to the truth about yourself and your place in the world, but for better or worse, that lesson was completely lost when Rosie noticed that the human servants were busy packing up all their weird boxes once again, running around the new lair gathering all of their things and making far too many trips to the dreaded car for nothing to be happening. Apparently, unbeknownst to her, they were leaving this new lair soon, it seemed, and for all she could tell, heading into the unknown once more to an even stranger, more dangerous place. Though she dreaded the ride there in that infernal contraption and she was sure to circle around it several times before entering to let everyone know she wasn’t pleased, she realized the destination didn’t matter as long as they were together. Whatever crisis had happened to cause them to abandon the first lair and their enchanted forest was nothing compared to the bond between them, and she would face the future with renewed confidence and faith that things would be alright – assuming she got her meals, treats, near hourly worships, they brought at least a few toys, etc., etc.
Alas, this was another lesson that didn’t last very long. When the car pulled up the long path to her beloved lair and the enchanted forest beckoned in the distance about an hour later, or perhaps something just short of eternity for a dog, Rosie the Three-legged Dragon forgot about everything else and was simply happy to be home, having survived an unexpected adventure and learned a thing or two, if only she could remember, but isn’t that the same for us all?
THE END
Confessions of a Conservative Atheist 