The actual, unretouched inspiration for this story

Both regular readers know that I am the chagrined owner of Jake the Wonderdog.  He is a non-descript male Labrador Retriever who has immeasurably enlivened my days in the field while simultaneously destroying my neighborhood relationships, lawn, home, bank account and self-esteem, in that order.

Jake isn’t really bad.  If he were a small child, he would probably be described as “busy”.   He still behaves like a puppy yet possesses the strength of a fully-grown draft horse.  While other dogs his age have taken to lying by the fire, Jake is still loves knocking people to the ground and running at top speed toward the horizon.

Recently the Wonderdog had somehow escaped his kennel for the third time in less than a year.  After each jailbreak, I increased the security measures until it is now impossible to feed him without disarming an assortment of alarms, booby traps and a trip flare.  Apparently Jake had specialized military training as a pup.

Jake has grown gray in the muzzle and is starting to develop health problems.  Because of his propensity for barking and utter incorrigibility, he has become quite a burden especially considering that we haven’t hunted together in three years.   Jake is probably willing but I can’t stand the stress.

Several days ago I noticed the kennel door was open yet again as I stood at the kitchen sink trying to wash down two aspirin.   I was instantly furious that Houdini had escaped from my clutches again.   Stomping around, I informed the children that Jake had taken a walkabout.  The announcement was met with very little surprise as it is a common event.

During that day, a tiny thought began creeping into my head.  It was immediately dismissed, but kept popping back up like sprouts from a willow stump.   Soon, I confronted the idea and began to submit to it: Jake would be found, as usual, in town and hauled to the dog pound where someone would likely adopt him for Christmas.   If I simply did nothing, he would no longer be my problem.

Now I’m sure everyone reading the newspaper has jumped up from the Barcalounger, spit on my picture and shouted things that you shouldn’t say in front of your mother.  I can see writing implements and witty retorts are being sharpened to verbally skewer Yours Truly.  The truth is I probably deserve everything.

One day later I did find Jake in dog jail, looking forlorn.  I sat in my car, considering his fate and mine, weighing the burden of inaction versus the future hassles that would entail if I brought him home.  I took one last look into his dark eyes, said “Good Bye” and drove away.

I was not sure how to finish the deplorable deed.  Telling the kids was not a problem; they would accept my explanation that Jake had packed his bags and gone somewhere fun with another family.   My wife, however, is not naive and would demand answers.  She can also see right through my shoulder shrugs.

Tell or don’t tell- that was the question.  Eventually, honesty and crushing guilt won the morality contest and I revealed the plan while she got ready for work.  I was stunned at her reply: “Do whatever you think is best”.

We both knew she had absolutely no plans to give up Jake without a fight but her strategy left me speechless.   I had anticipated a fight with heated words exchanged back and forth like flying straight-razors but I was not prepared for the entire question to be quietly and cunningly thrown back onto my shoulders.

I left to run errands while trying to mentally justify my decision about Jake, who committed no crime greater than simply being a hyperactive dog.  However, all the time and effort this particular canine required from his owner kept weighing down the other end of the decision scale.   In the end, the decision was a selfish one.   There was just one question still remaining: when would the guilt go away?

When I came home two hours later, Jake wrenched free from my grasp and bolted inside even before the door was fully open.   My son saw the dog running toward him and the smile lit up the room full of holiday decorations more brightly than if I had plugged them directly into the sun.  The boy and the dog, born in the same year, would be together for at least one more Christmas.

Happy to be home, Jake expressed his gratitude by leaping into the Christmas tree.

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