Living With The Family Fun Pack
Chapter 3: Bob Barker
One of my dogs is named Bob Barker. I did not name him because of his penchant for playing The Price Is Right or because he’s an animal rights advocate. I named him Bob Barker because he likes to bark…a lot. When I saw him at the adoption booth, he barked at everyone that approached him as if to say, “Hi! Do you want to take me home? I’m really cool!” That’s when I made my first mistake. I named him Bob Barker. One should never name an animal unless one has already decided to adopt them. In hindsight, it was definitely not a mistake to adopt Bob. He’s taught me everything a dog trainer needs to know about managing excessive barking and, he was right. He is really cool!
Bob is a shamelessly opportunistic lounge hound, a master of serious relaxation. Unless there’s barking to be done, you can find Bob asleep in the master bedroom dreaming of room service and a dog’s undeniable right to breakfast in bed.
Bob’s goal in life, secondary only to barking, is to be comfortable. In the summertime, I don’t need a weatherman to tell me the temperature. I can tell it’s hot because Bob is lying on his side on the kitchen floor in front of the fan.
Bob understands the concept of cooling off with a fan. I often say that I’m his biggest fan, but he still wants to lay directly in front of the deluxe model, 3-speed, 20” box fan. During the heat of summer, enabling Bob’s quest for comfort, I’ve been known to place a bowl of ice in front of the deluxe model box fan. This is when I discovered how much Bob values his possessions. His most treasured belongings are his disemboweled teddy bear and his partially skinned tennis balls. On a blazing July day last year, I discovered Bob lying next to the bowl of ice in front of the deluxe model box fan. On further inspection, I noticed that Mr. Barker had placed his tennis balls in the bowl of ice. I could only construe that this was an effort to cool off his balls.
Some dogs are obsessed with toys. My dog, Jude likes toys only if someone else is interested in a rousing game of tug. MoJo, my Border Collie mix invents his own toys and favors playing with them in secret. He would have us believe that he’s too cool for toys. Bob, on the other hand, thinks that dog toys were invented solely for his enjoyment and destruction.
Bob has laid waste to legions of squeaky toys. Because he can perform a surgically precise squeakerectomy in 8.7 seconds, he has a large collection of deflated, eviscerated items formerly known as plush toys. I have deemed playthings for Bob a futile waste of coin.
Nevertheless, Bob is creative in communicating his desperation to feed his squeaky toy addiction. At the same time, he seems to understand the meaning of holiday gift giving. Because the economy was tanking during Christmas 2008 there was a scarcity of presents under our tree. Sure that my dogs were unable to make the distinction between the holiday and any other day of the year, I decided to forgo the usual gift-wrapped dog toys. Alas, I was shamed by my selfish thoughts when I discovered a shabby, filthy squeakerless plush ball placed carefully and conspicuously under the tree. This could only be read as Bob’s way of saying his supply of fresh toys was depleted. Guilt-ridden, I immediately went to the nearest squeaky supply outlet and bought the appropriate replacements.
Living with the “Family Fun-Pack” is never the least bit uninteresting.