View from the North 40: Crosswise coping mechanisms

My dog and cat have entered into the next phase of our big, life-changing, house project with all the emotional balance and fortitude of your average neurotic, cross-species, counter-crosswise twins.

The beginning of this adventure saw the cat happy that we were spending time up at the shop, but the dog angry because he wanted to be in the comfort of his home.

It didn’t help that every time we put down a bed for the dog to lie on, the cat would strut across the floor, put one foot on the bed, give the dog a yellow-eyed crazy stare and reach his other paw out toward the him, like “I'm touching you — psych — not touching you. Attacking you — psych — by not touching you.” This would continue until the dog abandoned the bed.

Sometimes it took as long as two seconds before his little doggy nerves failed, then he would respond appropriately by finding the coldest, dirtiest part of the floor to lie down on and stare at us, his humans, like a sullen teenager.

Then the demolition crew showed up, overrunning the cat’s space, tearing out walls and decks, touching all his stuff. Changing things. The affront of it all.

The dog normally has strict rules about visiting strangers: How long their vehicle must be barked at. How long each person must be barked at once they exit the vehicle. How many tires must be marked. People may stand and talk with his humans and display the usual shifting of feet, but any change of location of requiring two or more steps is considered a traveling violation and penalized by no less than 10 loud barks and an assortment of warning growls. No petting his horses. No touching his things.

Rules schmules, apparently, if you are a work crew tearing the cat’s domain apart, touching all HIS stuff, changing things and generally scaring the cat into hiding in the barn. If that happens, then you are the dog’s new two-legged friend. He wants to hang with you.

And by “hang with you” I mean that he’ll insist one of his humans take him home once he’s too hot, cold or bored or it’s nap time, but while he’s there he will happily supervise … and he will steal your things.

Not indiscriminate theft, though. The water bottles he turns over to authorities for a treat refund, but gloves and tools are so precious he sneaks them outside and buries them. As of Tuesday, we can add Starburst candies to the list of items to be buried for future retrieval.

As the strangers drive off the property, the cat emerges from the shadows to watch them leave, clearly telling them, “good riddance.”

He was particularly put out by the fact that, when the work crew last left, a 12-by-14 foot hole remained in the side of his shop.

The good news is that, with all the stacks of materials and changes to the building, neither of them has noticed we threw out their wonderfully hairy and dirt-covered recliner to make room for the work and, admittedly, because we were not as fond of hair and dirt as they were.

The dog is riding high now, and I don’t know how to break it to him that, after the work is complete, we will be moving out of the only home he’s ever known and into the space which was formerly occupied by the cat.

The cat will be all, like, “Mmm, my shop space is a little smaller, but I like what you’ve done with the ambiance. And I do appreciate having that dog closer for ease of attack. Welcome to my humble abode, neighbors.”

The dog, though, will be all “I wanna go home. Where’s my bed? That isn’t where I nap. There’s too many doors to keep track of. Where's my stuff? Why is the cat always lurking around. I HATE this place. Where is MY house?”

I will probably feel a little bit like both of them do. That's how I've been operating so far on this project.

(No, I don't mean that I've had an urge to steal and bury anyone's candy at [email protected].)