Sandra Bullock and the power of Squeaky Toy

DAVID SILVA

I’m spending a lot of my time these days dealing with the infinite

complexities of a new relationship. This has forced me to look deep

within myself for everything I know about communication and

psychology, patience and trust. It’s been a lot of work, but the

rewards have been tremendous.

I’m referring, of course, to my relationship with my girlfriend’s

dogs. Or more precisely, I’m referring to my two relationships with

Sharon’s dogs, because each presents its own unique challenges.

The most important of the relationships is with Sara, a

ruddy-blond Australian cattle dog. Sara is the dominant of the two,

and she lords over her little fiefdom with all the ferocity of an

Afghan warlord. When I first arrived on the scene, Sara made it

immediately clear that this was her house and that I was her guest.

And if I wanted to remain her guest, my No. 1 priority was to keep

Sara happy.

It works like this: If I don’t keep Sara happy, Sara will use her

Afghan warlord powers to make sure the other dog isn’t happy. If

neither of Sharon’s dogs is happy, then Sharon isn’t happy. And since

Sharon’s happiness has a direct bearing on my happiness -- well, you

see where I’m going with this. Keeping Sara happy is everything.

Fortunately, keeping Sara happy is a relatively easy thing, a

process involving bacon strips, belly rubs and baby talk (“Goo’ Sara

choo such a goo’ doggie yeah”). Occasionally, Sara’s delicate mood

calls for more aggressive measures. At such times, I generally reach

for Squeaky Toy.

Squeaky Toy is not to be used lightly. Make no mistake: Although

it resembles a blue rubber ball, Squeaky Toy is, in fact, not a toy.

It is canine crack cocaine. More important, it is canine crack

cocaine that squeaks.

I don’t know why, but there is something about that squeak that

drives Sara insane. Sharon keeps Squeaky Toy on the highest shelf in

the house, out of Sara’s sight and reach. This is so Sara will be

able to focus on other things, such as eating and sleeping. Whenever

the situation calls for it, I will take Squeaky Toy down and show it

to Sara, who at first will regard it with the same mild disdain she

holds for anything not related to meat. But when I squeeze Squeaky

Toy, and it squeaks, a frightening change comes over the old cattle

dog. Her ears pop up, her jaws snap shut, and her eyes both widen and

narrow at the same time. At this point, I take the wisest course of

action, which is to toss Sara the ball.

Once in possession of Squeaky Toy, Sara will retire to a corner of

the room and squeak and squeak. And squeak and squeak. For hours.

This is another reason why Sharon keeps Squeaky Toy on the highest

shelf in the house.

One time, I got it in my head to hold Squeaky Toy behind my back

and squeeze it, just to see how Sara would react. Unable to see

Squeaky Toy but hearing the squeak emanating from my person, Sara

snapped her jaws shut and narrowed her eyes at me. Suddenly, I had

become Squeaky Toy.

“Goo’ Sara choo such a goo’ doggie yeah,” I said quickly, and

tossed her the ball.

If Sara has the temperament of an Afghan warlord, Sharon’s other

dog, Lady, acts as if she works behind the cosmetics counter at

Macy’s. A border collie-cocker spaniel mix, Lady is dominant of no

one but scrub jays, and even the scrub jays refuse to take her

seriously. This is particularly true after she’s come back from the

groomer resembling a fluffy-eared Sandra Bullock. As near as I can

tell, Lady’s role in the household is to preen, pout and defer to

Sara, as if Sara is the one who’d gotten her the job at Macy’s.

Sara shows Lady a lot of affection in return, but has little

patience for Lady’s tendency to dawdle when called. Sharon will open

the door and cry, “Sara! Lady!” and in a flash, Sara will charge into

the room. In the meantime, Lady will sniff the flowers in the garden,

examine her nails and bark at the scrub jays, who ignore her. “Lady!

Get in here!” Sharon will shout again. Finally, Lady will amble

through the door, where an angry Sara will snarl at her and nip at

her behind. I can’t speak dog, but I’ll bet good money that snarl

translates to: “We’ve got a good gig here! Are you trying to blow

it?”

With all Sara’s aggressiveness and Lady’s prissiness, it took the

animals a while to warm to me. Sure, they’d let me pet them and feed

them bacon strips, but the real acceptance just wasn’t there. Since I

suspected that this was a test of sorts that would determine whether

Sharon and I were truly compatible, I was determined to find a way

into their furry clique.

Finally, that moment came, and when it did, it was by sheer

accident. I pulled up to Sharon’s house one day while she was still

at work and was shocked to see water pouring down the driveway. I

rushed to the backyard to find that the pool cleaner who had come by

that morning had forgotten to turn off the pipe that feeds the pool,

and the entire patio was flooded with about 2 inches of water. And

there, huddled together on a raised platform in the middle of all

that water and looking utterly miserable, were Sara and Lady. The

cold, churning water had just begun to edge up over the platform

across the frightened animals’ paws.

I looked at Sara and she at me, and her eyes silently communicated

that she had never been more happy to see someone in her life. I

looked at Lady, whose depressed expression told me that if she could,

she would have cried, “Oh my God, and I just washed my hair!”

I rolled up my pant legs and carried the two animals inside.

From that moment forward, I was no longer “that big guy who keeps

coming around and hogging our rightful place on the couch.” I was now

Noah, friend and savior of dogs. My place in their hearts had been

cemented.

And it’s truly a good place to be. I’ll sit on Sharon’s couch, and

Sara and Lady will jostle for position just under my hand so I can

pet them. And at least once a night, I’ll turn to them and, with eyes

wide, shout, “Scooby?” And the dogs will fly into paroxysms of joy

because they know I’m about to toss each of them a Scooby Snack (yes,

there really is such a thing). Spending time with my girlfriend and

basking in the dogs’ love -- it’s a good life.

Now if I can only get Sharon’s cats to come around.

* DAVID SILVA is a Times Community News editor. Reach him at (909)

484-7019, or by e-mail at david.silva@latimes.com.