William Southold | Opinion Columnist | The Southold Report
“Speaking fiction to power one story at a time.
I posted a partial transcript the other day of this incident, and now I am “coming clean” (much as the President could do by posting the full transcript of his conversations with world leaders, and not just the parts that his lawyers believe are defensible). If I am to think of myself as a better man, well, that stuff starts at home.
I am not proud of having acted this way, but I take some pride in doing this now. Without further ado, here it is as it truly went down, me in my full glory:
My wife was away visiting grandkids, and I was left alone with “her” dog, Middie. It wasn’t going well. She got me up in the middle of the night to go out, and she constantly sat by my chair whining for me to let her jump up so she could sit with me. That’s my wife’s thing, she allows that, not me. After 4 days of this I decided something had to be done, so I took her to a therapist. It didn’t exactly go as I had planned.
Therapist: So, as I understand it Mr. Southold, your wife is away for a few days, and you are feeling things between you and Middie aren’t going so well.
Me: Yes. To be clear, it’s her dog. It wasn’t my choice to get a dog. But, I ended up with . . . this.
Therapist: Please, Mr. Southold. We are in neutral territory here. Let’s all try to to give some consideration to how we would like to be treated.
Middie: He might start by using my name when he refers to me.
Me: Do you even come when I call you? When I use your name? I go hoarse using your name.
Middie: And what happens when I do come back? Click. Back on the chain gang. (to the therapist) There are things that need exploring . . . maybe if he lost some weight he could keep up. Or simply put his phone away. Or if he could learn to whistle, I like whistles.
Me: (to the therapist) I’ve tried, I’ve honestly tried. I always wished I could do a loud whistle.
Middie: (to the therapist) It’s pathetic. You should hear it.
Therapist: Now please, please. We must all agree to respect others in this space.
Middie: It would be a start, for some.
Me: Like I say, my wife’s dog.
Therapist: OK. Let’s move on. I tell you what. Let’s start with a basic trust exercise.
(At that moment my phone went off. I had to struggle to get it out of my pocket.)
Middie: (to the therapist) He didn’t see the sign in the waiting room - no phones when seeing the doctor - he was too busy looking at the damn thing.
I finally had to stand up to get my phone out of my pocket.
Middie: Jeans a little tight, Southold?
Me: Sorry, it’s my wife.
Middie: Ooooh, can I talk to her?
Therapist: (shaking her head) Sorry Mr. Southold, no phones (pointing to the sign above her head).
Me: Sorry.
Middie: (to the therapist) He has his nose in that thing all day long. He complains about me having my nose where it doesn’t belong. Geez. Watch, he doesn’t even know how to shut it off.
It took me a few seconds to turn off my phone. I put it in my pocket and sat back down.
Therapist: OK. Now Mr. Southold, we were talking about, let’s call them “free range issues”, when you two go for walks and that led to issues about “time away from each other”, and the proper time and how the two of you “reunite” . Isn’t that right?
Me: Yes, I guess so.
Therapist: Well, in these situations there is a level of trust involved . . .
Middie: Yes! Exactly! Let’s talk about that. He doesn’t trust me.
Me: (to the therapist) Well, the truth is, I worry about losing her . . . when she’s gone for who knows how long, doing who knows what.
Middie: Your wife has no problem with it. We trust each other.
Me: But if I ever lost her . . .
Middie: There would be hell to pay, I’ll give him that. His wife loves me for my inner self. I’m not just a distraction to her.
Me: I don’t think you fully comprehend . . .
Middie: He has no trouble trusting me being away from him when he throws the damn ball. Although I never go far. He can’t throw worth a damn. Talk about pathetic.
Me: I thought you liked to play ball. I only throw it so you can have fun chasing it.
Middie: (raising two front paws, giving them a couple pumps) Ladies and gentlemen, now taking the mound, my owner, an “all star”.
She was air quoting at me!
Middie: Please. She tells you to take me out. He tosses the ball then goes right back to his phone.
Me: I do the best I can. There are certain demands on my time that perhaps you don’t fully appreciate.
Therapist: Look. I see what’s happening here. I’ve just made a decision. I think we should wait until your wife returns. When will that be?
Me: I pick her up on the 22nd.
Middie: I count the hours.
Therapist: Yes. I think we should wait until she gets home. Then I suggest we include her in our little group. I think that would be the best in this situation.
Middie: I’m on board!
Therapist: (to me) Do you think she would like to join us?
Me: Well, I can't speak for her.
Middie: Count on it Doc, I’ll see to it.
Me: I’m sure she would consider it.
Middie: Consider it done!
The next, I thought I said to myself, but I guess a little too loudly.
Me: I think I’ll get a cat.
Middie: And - I - am - outta here!
Middie jumped down from her chair and was at the door, evidently left ajar, pushed the door open further with her nose, and left. I thanked the therapist, but by the time I got to the reception area, Middie was no where to be seen. She wasn’t outside when I got there either. I lost no time getting home, just a short walking distance from the therapist’s office, looking for her all the way. But there she was, waiting by our door. I felt immediately relieved, but as we went inside my anger started to build at the thought that she was trying to teach me a lesson. She better hope that the lesson I chose to take from all this isn’t that I much prefer the soothing effects of a loving purr to an annoying whine, and a companion who can do a better job of managing their own needs.
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