I live with an American Cocker Spaniel, buff and white color, that uses the moniker Happy. There are a few varieties of cockers, but basically either English or American are your two leading brands. The American has a flatter head, and a very short tail. Mine is an American, and has a short tail and a short temper. It likes to bark at anyone who does not live in my house. If you are greeted at the door, it is usually Happy barking and ready to fight, somewhat like my wife if I wake her up from her nap on her chair at night. She doesn’t bite, but her bark IS worst than her bite. The same is true with Happy.
Happy has other jobs around the house that she performs at a very high level. Happy: eats, sleeps and poops. Her pooping is at a fever pitch, as she places it all over my yard. If you look out after the newly fallen pristine snow, what suddenly appears are the hot spots and brown discard that she so lovingly places wherever there is none.
The Little Woman long ago taught Happy to notify us immediately if she needed the great outdoors for her duty time. At the base of the sliding door leading out to her private latrine there is a small bell hanging from a ribbon or string of some kind. If we are not attentive to her need to poop, she will go over to the bell and smack it with her paw. Of course Happy picks only the best times to ring it, when I am ready to sit down and eat, or when I get comfortable in my chair to watch TV or read the newspaper.
Some people tell me she is a great watchdog. I believe this is so because that is all she does when I am eating. She sits on her hind legs and stares at me, waiting for me to give her some. She will growl if I don’t. She will spend a great deal of time when someone is cooking, waiting for something to fall on the floor.
When Happy is not sleeping, eating and pooping, she is staring out the front door, waiting for people who are minding their own business to go by, so she can give em’ hell. If you step on my street at the very beginning, which is about a mile north, she will start barking.
Vacuum cleaners are her worst nightmare. When she does something that makes me angry, like the time I picked up a garlic knot, with stuffed cheese and pepperoni, she jumped up and snatched it from my hand; I threaten her with the vacuum cleaner. All I do is go to the closet where it is kept, and she trots off upstairs to hide until it blows over.
My Happy is a dog that loves lettuce. Yes, Happy LOVES lettuce. No, we don’t have to season it, just drop it on the floor, and she’s “Happy.” When I used to work at home, every afternoon around 5 p.m. Happy would come up to my studio and get my attention. It is time to cook, get out my lettuce. Feed me!!!!! If I didn’t move, she would nudge me with her snout. Like any woman, very demanding. You have to treat her right.
As far as reputations go, hers is famous. Everyone knows that “Happy is a misnomer.”
You must wonder why we call her Happy. So do I.
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