There are certain purchases that people make that should come with a “risk
factor first” tag on it. At least that’s what I was thinking when
our oldest daughter, Karis, came home with her 'acquisition.' He bounded through
the front door like he owned the place, jumped up to lick Darcy’s face
for a split second, noticed the expansive back yard, and raced on through the
kitchen towards the green grass only to bounce off the glass of the patio door
that he obviously didn’t see closed in front of him. It was about this
time that our cat came around the corner to check out the commotion, saw the
black and white spots on unsteady legs and went airborne, burying every claw
he could find into the back of Karis’ new purchase.
That was our introduction to Karis’ Dalmatian puppy, Ivan. She found
him at the dog pound, obviously paying too much for him. He was sleek, erudite,
and filled with an almost nuclear level of energy. She named him Ivan because
she thought he looked regal and Russian. As she saw it, he had Czar written all
over his perfect face. Russia had several Czars named Ivan. There was “Ivan
the Great” and “Ivan the Terrible,” but there was one other
Ivan that didn’t get as much ink as his relatives. He lacked some basic
skill at the intellectual level. For the most part, they kept him out of sight
and didn’t let him make any major decisions. One of our kid’s history
teachers likes to refer to him as “Ivan the Vacant.” He simply wasn’t
all there.
This is the only Russian Czar that comes to my mind when I watch Karis’ dog
in action. He means well. He appears to love unconditionally. He’s completely
focused on the people around him. But, for the most part, he’s…clueless.
Case in point—Karis had gone to the grocery store and wisely chose to
leave Ivan at home. He loves to ride in her car and hates being left behind,
but the nice people at Albertson’s don’t want to see what the Cornish
hen section would look like if this dog tried to help Karis shop. When she got
home, she had several trips to make to the kitchen before all the groceries were
in. Ivan raced out to her car and climbed behind the wheel in anticipation of
the trip he was certain was awaiting him as soon as she got all of the groceries
in the house. Karis wasn’t planning any such trip. But she figured her
dog was so thick that just leaving him shut in her car while she made her trips
back and forth would give him the idea that maybe he’d actually gone somewhere.
He’s really that dumb.
Karis shut the passenger door and started to lug a couple of bags into the
house when she heard a familiar “click” coming from her car. She
turned around to see Ivan with one paw on her dash and the other on the armrest.
That’s the one that apparently pushed the automatic lock button. Karis
dropped the groceries and raced to her car. Sure enough, there was her goofy
dog, wagging his tail, licking the windows like an idiot, all the while locked
inside her vehicle.
He sat down on her purse—it was in the middle of the front seat—his
skinny little hips resting right on top of her keys. Naturally, it was her only
set of keys since she recently purchased this car and hadn't made duplicates
yet.
And so began a comedy of errors that would rank up there with some of the
best of the Marx Brothers or maybe the worst of Saturday Night Live. She called
two friends who are supposed to know how to get cars open without keys. They
fumbled and bumbled with a series of coat hangers, exasperated enough to want
to get a hammer and just smash open the window. They even tried enticing Ivan
close to the door lock with his paws by holding doggie treats up next to the
window. He wasn’t biting. For him, it was just another adventure, involving
a lot of new friends, and getting the kind of personal attention he loves.
But all along, Karis was aware that this could turn into a crisis. She checked
out locksmiths in the Yellow Pages. A few calls gave her a range of how much
it would cost to bring in a pro to get the door open. It was more than she had
paid for the dog and the groceries combined. But she was prepared to do it if
she had to, and realized that if it had been summer, she would have had to make
the call immediately. In the meantime, her two friends (Dumb and Dumber) believed
they could get the door open. And, eventually, they did. Ivan leapt out, jumped
up on Karis to lick her face, and then proceeded into the house like nothing
unusual had happened.
And in the process, Karis got a crash course in Parenting 101. That incident
with Ivan the Vacant reminded me of many occasions when our children unwittingly
locked themselves in and us out of their emotions, their spiritual lives, their
relationships, their dreams, and their plans. It’s part of the ongoing
give-and-take of a family. In fact, Ivan reminds me a lot of Karis sometimes
(not the thick part—she’s actually quite smart). She takes on life
so enthusiastically that, to her, it’s just one long, ongoing adventure.
Sometimes, however, she unwittingly turns an adventure into a dilemma by hitting
the automatic locks that put her on the inside looking out at parents with coat
hangers on the outside looking in. This is when we give each other those side
glances that tacitly say, “How did we ever got ourselves into this?”
The obvious answer is that love got us into this. It’s the same love
that’s gotten us through all these years and it’s the same love that
will sustain us through the future. We’ve learned that if you can keep
your head on straight, not overreact, and maintain your sense of humor through
the process, the vacant pockets of childhood make us all just a little better.
