These days, all I have to ask is, "Do you want to go outside?"  Jackson, my 18-month-old boxer, acts like it's the greatest plan that's ever been launched.  He can jump straight up toward the ceiling from a sound sleep and look at me as if to say, "That's the best idea I've ever heard!  Yes!  Yes!  Let's go outside!"   

I don't have to take him to a theme park, a fast-food joint, or a rock concert.  All I have to do is take Jackson for a walk around the perimeter of my property and he's as happy as if he has been to summer camp.   

He'll never come to me and complain that the other dogs have prettier collars than his.  He could care less.  Jackson will not make me feel guilty by saying, "But all of the other dogs get to run around the neighborhood with their buddies.  Why do I have to stay in this yard?"  And I'll never have to say, "If all the other dogs jumped in front of an 18-wheeler, would you want to do the same thing?"     

I thought my kids would never hush, but one day they were teenagers and they hushed.  My relationship with one of my kids was a lot like the President and Congress.  He spoke only four words a year.  One day as I was separating an egg, the whole thing cracked and slithered to the floor.  He looked at me and said, "Way to go, Mom."  I was so touched that my eyes misted.  I didn't think he even knew who I was. 

There was a story of a man in Wisconsin who said his teenage daughter and his dog did not get along.  One of them had to go, so he put an ad in the paper that read, "TEENAGER OR DOG MUST GO.  TEENAGE DAUGHTER IS GOOD-LOOKING BLONDE, BUT IMPATIENT.   DOG IS GERMAN SHORTHAIR, 2½ YEARS OLD, SPAYED FEMALE.  YOUR CHOICE, FREE."  He received more than 20 calls from people interested in the dog.  One caller said he had a brunette daughter and an English setter and wanted to know if they could swap.

Jackson doesn't talk, but he listens.  Well . . . that is, if there are no distractions, such as frolicking grandkids, a barking dog in the distance, or a playful cowboy.  When we're alone and I'm talking to him, he looks intently at my face and hangs on every word, in hopes of hearing, "Do you want to go outside?"  I can call Jackson and when he comes running to my side, I can say, "I don't want anything.  I just wanted to know where you are."  Try this with a kid and he'll break your knees.

Jackson is perfectly content to sit with me through "Dancing with the Stars," "Dateline NBC," or "Boston Legal."  If I can't find the remote, it's because I can't find the remote.  Jackson never entertains friends, forcing me to retire to my bedroom like I'm a felon serving time.  He never stretches the truth and never gets upset if I buy Ol' Roy Dog Biscuits instead of Purina Beggin' Strips.

I could never fix my children's broken hearts.  Ah, but Jackson's? 

Fixed.

cindybaker@cableone.net