Misbehavior

The two of them had different ways of handling misbehavior. His high expectations led to stern, reproachful pronouncements. She was always warm and empathetic. To him, misbehavior represented a transgression, a broken promise. To her, it was a weakness worthy of forgiveness. His voice would become loud. Hers was soft and supportive.

When the doorbell rang, the misbehavior began, and when to door cracked open it escalated. As the costumed kids with new-found candy in their bags turned and walked back to their father on the hill, the dog dashed out the door and began barking and jumping at the man.

The two of them stood in the doorway watching all this unfold. She remained still. In abject horror, he spoke sternly about coming back inside. Neither technique worked. The man and his kids just walked away.

She turned around. He came walking out. The dog didn't bother to look up and instead dashed, head-down, to the doorway. But she was no longer there. Without even looking back, for he sensed that pursuit was close behind, the dog ran inside and slid around the corner, making a mad dash down the hall.

Pursuit was indeed close behind, unmistakably announced by a slam of the door and the candy bowl on the table. Clearly the dog heard both.

Now, if you were a dog; and if there was one in the family who was warm and forgiving and another with high expectations and a "reproachful manner"; and if you had just dashed out the door, knowing full well such dashing is not allowed; and if furthermore you had barked and jumped and generally misbehaved as you certainly knew you mustn't do; and if the warm and forgiving one was in the study sitting at the desk while the other was slamming doors and advancing down the hall, what would you do?

The dog made a frantic turn into the study.

Sliding around that second turn, he dashed to her side and began several desperate attempts to jump into her lap. But she was engrossed in her email and didn't notice. And of all the times when a small dog might hope that a lap-bound leap might succeed, this was not it, for each time he jumped, he missed her lap and landed back on the floor.

The stomping ceased, and a figure stood in the doorway. Having failed in his effort to gain sanctuary and seeing his pursuit arrive, the dog dashed under the desk, thinking that safety could be found in low places. His tail was between his legs. His eyebrows belied a trembling dread.

... and perhaps we should just end the story there.

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