"Door Art"

"Art" comes in diverse shapes and forms. Paintings. Sculptures. Poetry. Depending on people's personal perspectives, what makes something qualify as being "art" is a lengthier article than Santa Claus' "Naughty and Nice" list!! This I know. It all depends on perspective. Well, Rose created a bit of her own "art" the other evening.... And it was shockingly unexpected!! We had been invited to some dear friends' house for dinner. Rose stayed home. We had not seen these friends in several months. This family resides a nice drive away from us. Not quite in the country, but they do possess some land. We had already enjoyed our homemade pizza dinner, and were dispersed around their home, when it began pouring down rain. Literally. Pouring. Which is nothing out of the ordinary around here!! It rains a lot in our environment!! Then, a colossal KA-BOOM resounded. Thunder!! And it was so close to us!! I heard the thunder, its loud rumbling sound, then stood up from our friend's dining room table. I stared out their window, a combination of both thrill and worry washing over me. I love thunderstorms!! The louder they are, the better!! I love witnessing bolts of lightning stretch across ebony skies like veins within a human being's arm!! But, as I stared out our friend's window, awaiting brilliant flashes, my thoughts were unsettled. I worried. Is she alright? Rose hates storms!! Oh, I hope she's okay!! Should we go home to her? Then I prayed. Please Lord be with Rose. Give her peace. Keep this thunder away from home. Keep her out of trouble. Keep accidents at bay. Please Lord.... My thoughts spiraled out of control. I fret about Rose more than I prayed. After a short while, however, the storm passed, as they always do, and I was allowed to forget my worries. She's fine. She's fine. A little while later, we drove home. My fretting instantaneously returned. I hope she's alright.... I should have known that something was amiss the very second we pulled into our driveway. I should have known.... Our Chevy minivan's engine still running, I stepped out its sliding doors. Rose was already baying!! As though she had been crying and carrying on for a seemingly vast span of time!! Rose never starts until I slam shut our minivan's door. Or turn my key. I unlocked our magnetic white front door. I turned its knob to step inside.... Or tried, at least!! The red throw rug which lies neatly in front of our door was flopped over. This would work as a fine barrier against any masterminded criminal!! Or me!! Oh, well. Rose sometimes decides to lie on that, instead of her comically-sized dog pillow. I just smiled at our flopped over throw rug. I was completely oblivious to the concept that a nearby thunderstorm passed through here. At first. But, soon, reality sunk in. I checked our great room carpet for any accidents. Nothing!! Then, my nostrils lead me to this tell-tale odor: Dog pooh. When you own a Beagle cross, I have learned, your "hound" nose gets some training!! And smells never lie. Sure enough, located in an unusual area, was pooh. Lots of poop. It was at least two different bowel movements!! My heart sank, emotions running deep. Hot guilt brewed within me like some coffee recipe at a cafe. Oh, I felt so horrible!! Why wasn't I there for her? She was all alone!! I would have been by her side the entire time!! Oh, poor baby!! She was all alone!! I reached into my left jeans pocket for an empty plastic bag. I picked Rose's pooh up. I disposed of it outside. No need to firmly, yet patiently scold Rose. For this was no accident!! She could not help it.... I was stepping back inside, when Rose bayed at me through our clear sliding glass door like some screaming, fit-pitching toddler. She wants my attention. I figured. "Just a minute, Babe, I gotta clean up your accident!!" I told her. Attention will have to wait. Sorry!! Before I could even think about disinfecting the accident's location, somebody said: "Your dog really, really needs you. She tried to get through your door...." What? I thought, images of "Marley & Me" resurfacing within my head. I was horrified. She chewed through the door like Marley chewed through basement walls.... Mentally, I cringed at this thought. I walked through our house and comforted a baying, obviously still frantic Rose. I will disinfect the accident's location later. It could wait. Rose needed me. She depended completely on my love right then, like some fussy babe. As I stroked Rose's velvet-soft fur, trying to calm her, making verbal "shhhhing" sounds, my eyes saw the hollow wooden bedroom door. Oh my gosh.... There were scratches on the bottom that looked somewhat like they had been produced from a wild bear cub!! Plus claw marks nearly halfway up our door!! "Oh my gosh!!" was all I could say. It is beautiful, with a twist of heartbreaking. "Door art". And I am nostalgic, knowing all too well that Rose will not live forever. I never want to replace that door!! Never. Immediately, I "played veterinarian". As poor Rose was baying on the top of her lungs, I gently pried open my little girl's mouth. I checked for fractured teeth. I inspected her gums. I checked Rose's claws for any signs of bleeding. I inspected her paw pads, expecting to find slivers. But Rose was still healthy, despite the door's damage!! Huge sigh of relief!! I later noticed that the "boy's bathroom" door, which leads to Rose's "safe haven" during loud noises also had some scratches. Dogs are very observant creatures, far smarter than even experts believe. There were claw marks, scratches clear up the hollow wooden "boy's bathroom" door. To its knob!! As if, in a panic, Rose thought: Mama turns that thing. How hard can it be? I've watched her turn that knob thousands of times!! But I can't open it!! I want in there!! There was also this visible trail of dried saliva on our laminate flooring. In the living room. Down our long hallway. In the kitchen. Down our short hallway, which leads to my bedroom. As resulted, her front legs were drenched in drool. Now, whenever I leave Rose behind, the "boy's bathroom" door stays open. And I fret. Because I cannot control our weather, especially during Spring. But Rose is not Marley. Thank God Rose is not Marley....