For almost 40 years my family has kept Golden Retrievers, but several years ago my older sister, showing her independent streak, fell in love with black Labs. She’s never looked back, and two years ago after her old, black lab passed away in her sleep, my sister came home with a new black Lab, a scared and skinny rescue puppy named Abigail.
Abigail is, hands-down, the smartest dog in the world, with uncanny problem solving skills, like when she roused my sister at 3AM to tell her that my mom fell and broke her hip. According to the vet, Abigail has the vocabulary and reasoning skills of a four-year old, which means she is considerably smarter than most of the children in our extended family, who are her chronological, if not intellectual, contemporaries.
This was clearly manifested several weeks ago when my cousin and her husband brought their 2-year old son to visit. This child is, by all accounts, a monster, and through some rare stroke of good fortune, I had managed to never meet him until now.
The monster came into my sister’s house and within minutes had shattered a favorite vase and all hope of tranquility. When he was reprimanded, he kicked his mother and punched his father. Soon after, my mother, taking full advantage of her 90 years, decided she had a headache and, muttering loudly about what she would have done if one of her six kids punched her, went into her bedroom, turned on Dr. Phil and closed the door. Since she is as deaf as a rock, the TV is kept at an ear-shattering level, so we all heard Dr. Phil discussing parents who can’t control their kids.
While the adults made a vain attempt at conversation, the monster decided to make Abigail his personal punching bag. He punched her in the side and pulled her tail. He squeezed her nose and poked her eyes, laughing maniacally the whole time. “Most serial killers start by abusing animals,” said Dr. Phil.
Like all Labs, Abigail is gentle and patient, enduring the abuse while the monster’s parents said nothing and my sister, through clenched teeth, kept saying things like, “Play gently with the puppy,” and “Don’t hurt Miss Abigail.” Eventually the monster pulled Abigail’s tail so hard she yelped, so she retreated to the back corner of the walk-in closet, her refuge from thunderstorms, fireworks and other threats to her existence, but he found her and dragged her back out. “Incorrigible children tend to become bullies,” said Dr. Phil.
As we assembled for an early dinner, I saw Abigail, eyes narrowed, looking speculatively at the monster while he ate with the grace and charm of a starving hyena. Abigail knew that snarling or biting would only land her in the doghouse, but like all Labs, she has a whip-like tail, so the next time the monster approached her from behind she waited until the right moment and wagged her tail like a demon dog, smacking him in the face hard enough to knock him onto his butt and causing him to scream. Abby waited, eyes downcast and tail low, for the reprimand that never came “The puppy is happy to see you,” said my sister, not batting an eyelash. With that tacit approval Abby’s head and tail popped up and she had a plan.
For the rest of the afternoon, whenever the monster approached, Abigail waited until he was near and, with impeccable timing and aim, would wag her tail hard enough to knock him down, each time causing him to scream louder. In retaliation, my mother turned the volume up higher on Dr. Phil.
“Remember, ” said Dr. Phil, as we watched the monster and his parents drive away, “The child is not bad, he’s the victim of poor parenting skills, ” while Abigail triumphantly wagged her tail in agreement.