The Dog is Going to Get Spoiled

Twenty years ago, I loaded my gear, boarded a C-17, and several hours later found myself in the middle of Baghdad, Iraq for what would be a long year at the start of the Iraqi Civil War. That first deployment would mark a major change in my military career and my life.  Sometimes it seems like not that long ago. I can still feel the heat of the end of the Iraqi summer. I can still smell the fetid open sewage and rotting trash.  I can still hear the "whump" of mortars coming into the base.  Then I remember that in those twenty years, both my parents passed, I got married, had two wonderful boys, watched Sam get married, and I retired from the Army!  It's then when I realize that 2004 was a long time ago.

2004 was so long ago that Samantha grew up, went to school, and became an Army officer - among other things. Being the father and retired "Senior Army Leader" of a young officer, I have to walk the line between sympathetic listener and dispenser of sage advice.  

Shortly after Sam and Mitch got married, they announced that they were buying a dog. A puppy to be exact. A Golden Retriever puppy. A whole $2400 worth of puppy. Prior to getting the dog I dispensed my fatherly advice, "Now is not the time to get a dog. You are both very busy with your careers and the Army could send you both away at the same time." I followed up with, "I am not watching the dog if you get deployed."

 

Do. Not. Get. A. Dog.

So now, of course, the fucking dog is our guest for the next three months because both Sam and Mitch are away from their home for extended military duties.  

Yes, Sam is deployed in the Middle East. Twenty years after I deployed, she is now living the life that I remember so well.  Sam tried describing her base to me.  I stopped her and said I could describe it to a T without ever having been there. T-Walls? Check.  Generators droning somewhere nearby? Check. Container Housing? Yep. Sunshades, connexes, gravel parking lots, NTVs? Got 'em all. Sam is away learning how other places in the world work through the lens of military operations.

Buoy is a very well trained, two-year-old Golden. She is a big, clutzy dog that laps up water everywhere when she drinks, comes bounding into rooms with reckless abandon, and pulls on her leash. She plays with her toys and somehow shoves them farther under the couch than she can reach. She knows shen you are eating something and will sit at your feet and stare. I call her 78lbs of dumb and 2lbs of super smart. She brings an energy to the house that our ten-year-old dog, Lucie, does not have.  

Samantha, being who she is, sent Buoy with operating instructions. Two pages of when to walk the dog, how far to walk the dog, training commands, plus all of the feeding and veterinary information.  

 

Now are lives are filled with a temporary addition that seems like grandparent training. I don't follow the instructions, I spoil the dog with table scraps, and let her bark when Lucie barks.  I think of it as giving a grandchild a chocolate cookie and Coke after 7pm before returning the toddler to the parents. And, you know, that's what you get for not following dad's sound advice. 

 

Woof!