Lucky and me

There’s a big hit movie out now called “Marley and Me,” which is about a man and his relationship with his misbehaving, unruly dog. First the guy wrote a best-selling book about it, then they’ve made it into a movie, with Jennifer Anniston in it. She is not a dog.

The commercials for the movie show scenes with the dog doing all sorts of funny and cute and destructive things. My guess is somehow the people in the movie will, through their relationships with this lovable scamp, learn some things about themselves, and then, as in all good dog movies, the poor mutt will die.

I looked down at Lucky sprawled out on the floor at my feet the other night, lying on her back, all four legs in the air like she had died and rigor mortis had set in, and I said, “That could have been us.”

She grunted, broke wind, closed her eyes and rolled over. I guess the “dying” part didn’t interest her.

I don’t know that a movie about Lucky would be a success, because many of the things she does would not be believable on the big screen.

Take this morning, for instance. It was 13 degrees outside. I let her out of her crate in the kitchen, where she sleeps every night, and she scooted out into the backyard, where she spends most of her time. But since it was so cold, I decided to let her back in this morning after she did her business.

I opened the back door to call her in, and I didn’t see her. She has a doghouse, which is lined with hay so she can burrow down inside it and keep warm, but do you think that’s where she was? No. She was sitting in the middle of the yard.

So I called her. “Lucky, come here.” She just looked at me. I said, “Come back in the house, it’s cold.” She turned her head and pretended she didn’t hear me. I suspect my wife or kids taught her this trick.

Meanwhile, just standing there calling her made my face freeze worse than Kenny Rogers’, so I gave up. Never argue with a dog or a woman.

After a few minutes, I decided to try again. This time, she was up on the patio, so I thought maybe she had come to her senses. I opened the door and said, “Get in this house.” She wagged her tail, bobbed her head a couple of times, let loose a stream of drool, and didn’t move. She just sat there, happily defiant. So I decided to use the only truly effective way of persuading her, which is to grab her collar and drag her in.

But as soon as I made a move toward her, she put a Knowshon Moreno move on me and sprinted back out into the yard. I realized now it was hopeless. I gave it one last futile attempt, yelling “It’s 13 degrees out here!” But dogs have no concept of temperature, so it left her unmoved.

I’m not too worried about her. She has a thick coat, and a place to get out of the wind, and I’ve never heard of a dog freezing to death in Georgia.

And just like in the movie, through my relationship with Lucky, I have learned something about myself: that I have an insane dog.