It so happens that for the past year or two our family has included two dogs of mixed, and, to us, unknown ancestry. To the casual observer, or even the diligent analyst, they share very little in appearance. They arrived quite separately, but since becoming housemates have bonded closely and become inseparable. I had made all the assumptions one does about one’s family dogs, but much of that has been unexpectedly called into question by a surprising incident just this week.
The weather was lovely, and we, meaning the dogs and I, were relaxing in our own back yard. Our peaceful interlude was unfortunately interrupted when our neighbor on the east side started his gasoline-fired mower and proceeded to apply it to his lawn. His motivation for doing this on such a fine spring evening may have been attributable to me, as our own lawn was looking particularly well groomed. It had in fact been trimmed early that very day.
Regardless of my neighbor’s motivations, the dogs immediately and loudly objected to the use of the mower. For several minutes the peace and quiet of the neighborhood was shattered by both the droning of the gasoline engine as well as the loud protestations of both Hayley and Chocolate, the dogs I mentioned earlier. The two were simply inconsolable, and ignored all of my exhortations to adopt a more zenlike attitude of calm and forbearance. Despite my repeated attempts to point out the futility of their outrage, since one cannot in good conscience suggest to one’s neighbor that he eschew his outdoor maintenance simply because of what he would likely have labeled “barking,” the canine contingent grew, if anything, even more agitated.
Having exhausted all my arguments, I was finally left with only a single acceptable course of action, and this I followed expeditiously. The dogs, along with myself, repaired into our own house, whereupon their frenzied indignation finally subsided.
Once they had recovered themselves, I inquired as to the source of their pique, as it was a display I had not previously witnessed from the two. They explained that they were constitutionally opposed to the operation of lawn mowing as well as the diabolical tools used in the practice. Their enmity extended even to the practitioners themselves.
I took minor umbrage at their description of the tools, viz. the simple lawnmower, as “diabolical,” but they were quick to assure me that their selection of that adjective was entirely deliberate. When I pressed the question, they pointed out that this steadfast opposition was common to their entire family, and stemmed from a mysterious incident involving their great-great-grandfather Proudfoot back in 1963.
Proudfoot had received an injury in some sort of interaction with a mowing operation. His injury was not major, at least physically, but it evidently left a powerful emotional scar. As a result Proudfoot had thereafter instilled in his entire lineage the antipathy to mowers, mowing, and mowing operators that I had myself witnessed. Hayley and Chocolate confessed that they were entirely wedded to this family tradition and unable — and, to be clear, unwilling — to move past it.
I allowed that family traditions are in fact powerful and important, and in the case of one so venerable that it had passed down through so many generations, perhaps they were justified in their attitude. Of the two dogs, Chocolate is particularly given to adding more to any explanation, and in this case she went on to suggest that certain aspects of the 1963 incident have, to this day, never been explained to the complete satisfaction of the family. Far from being a closed issue of family lore, it seems that a low-key investigation is even now proceeding. In Chocolate’s own estimation, the inquiry is likely to continue for some time still.
I was satisfied with the explanation, although still disappointed in the behavior I had witnissed earlier in the afternoon. I shared with the two that I was still puzzled by one thing. I inquired whether they were in fact sure that they shared a great-great grandfather. I would have thought that the events of the day had offered up sufficient amazements at that point, and did not in truth anticipate an additional surprise. Nevertheless, one awaited me in the furry dismissal I received concerning my question. I was simply told, and may I say that the message was delivered less gently than I felt I deserved, “not to be ridiculous,” and “it’s a dog thing, you wouldn’t understand.”
I confess that the final dismissive answer overcame any curiosity I still might have harbored, and I simply left the matter as it stood. I remain, however, puzzled about the unexpected conjunction of ancestry, as well as the means by which the family lore might have been communicated not to just one, but both Hayley and Chocolate. Out of simple propriety I have never pressed either of them about their early lives, nor they have not volunteered such intimate information concerning their origins. It does seem clear, at this point, that I have foolishly relied upon assumptions that now seem to be largely fallacious. I expect that in the absence of any further revelations, I shall simply be left to wonder, and even to imagine, things that I will almost certainly never know.
