On a beautiful summer day, our three preschoolers and I stopped by my parents’ farm to get eggs and show Mom our eight-week-old puppy. After greetings, the kids took their new friend outside to play while Mom and I visited. When I was ready to go home, I went outside and called, “Get Clancy and get in the car.” I didn’t see the pup and asked, “Where’s Clancy?”
Silence. Finally, Lisa, 4, piped up, “Doggie’s down the hole.”
My parents’ house was modern but the white outhouse still stood in the backyard. As we approached the little building, I could faintly hear the small dog whimpering. I opened the door and looked down the hole. The brown and white pup cowered against a cement wall. Obviously, as short as his legs were, he couldn’t have gotten in there by himself. For some unknown reason. the kids put him there. I immediately did what any child does in a crisis–I ran to tell my mother and ask, “What do we do now?
Mom answered, “Well, they’re your kids and your dog. I don’t know what you’re going to do.”
I returned to the outhouse. The little animal looked fairly clean because the only time the facility was used was if nature called while my folks were working outside. It looked like I could reach to pull the pup out if I could coax him to the peak of the mound of dried excrement. I went back into the house, snatched a slice of bread and returned to the outhouse. I knelt beside the hole and dangled the bread to coax Clancy away from the wall. It took about five minutes of cajoling before he started crawling toward my hand. When he was within my reach, I dropped the morsel, grabbed the scruff of his neck, lifted him out of the pit and put him down on the grass. He was so happy to be free that he ran circles around the kids’ feet. When he calmed down a bit, I gave him his first bath before putting him in the station wagon to go home.
I continued to be our family’s problem solver for years. Now, our kids are middle-aged, our grandchildren are adults and my husband is retired. When a member of my family has a dilemma, I have learned to be a good listener. I’m tempted to offer my solution, but I follow my mother’s example of standing back while everyone handles his or her own affairs.
Who solves problems in your family?
I’m generally the problem solver here maybe because of my genealogical background. I enjoyed your puppy story, and it reminded me of a last minute situation that I faced though it wasn’t quite as drastic as your problem. It was in 1975-6 when Karl was in Viet Nam for the second time, I was teaching school, and we were living in Walworth, WI just down the street from Janice and Bob. It was important in the mornings that everything run like “clockwork” so the kids could be ready for school, and I get off to school to teach. Well one morning, I looked at Marc, my son, and where his bangs had been, he had cut a two inch piece out of his hair! I quickly had to even the short piece to match the remaining hair, and out the door we went!!