THE FIRST STEP

Every dog has strengths. Shamrock led with his kind heart. Clover is a problem solver. Hooligan... well... Hooligan has big feelings.

As most of you know, we don't allow the puppies to use the stairs until their bones have finished developing. Clover completely ignored that policy. She looked at the stairs, looked at us, and apparently thought, “That's a cute suggestion.” So we had to install gates to keep her off them.

Hooligan, on the other hand, had been the perfect puppy. He'd follow me everywhere, right up to the stairs. I'd take the first step, and he'd stop. Mission accomplished. Good boy.

A few nights ago, I must have gone up and down those stairs a dozen times. Just like always, Hooligan followed me. Just like always, he stopped at the first step. Or so I thought.

A few minutes later, I heard absolute chaos erupt downstairs. Not barking. Not whining. The vocal equivalent of, “MOTHER!! THE END TIMES HAVE ARRIVED!!”

I walked over to the stairs and looked down. There he was, both front feet standing on the very first step. Just... the first step. Tears were literally pouring out of his nose because he was so upset. Poor guy had accidentally gone farther than he'd ever intended.

Clearly, there was only one reasonable solution: panic.

He decided he was going to fix this himself. He attempted to move both front feet onto the second step at exactly the same time. He missed completely and collapsed. Now he was draped across the staircase like someone had unplugged him. Half wolfhound, half throw rug.

Then he saw me. Perfect. Mom's here. Rescue has arrived.

Instead of trying to stand up, he threw back his head and let out the most dramatic werewolf howl you've ever heard. Not, “I need help.” More like, “Tell my story. Don’t let me be forgotten!”

I hurried downstairs to check on him, but he refused to help himself. When I bent over to lift him, he started chewing on my hair. Not aggressively. Just, “I HAVE PANICKED SO HARD I'VE FORGOTTEN WHAT HAIR IS.”

At that point, I stood up and said simply, “Well... you're clearly not injured. You're on your own. Figure it out.” Then I turned around and walked back upstairs.

Ladies and gentlemen, I had apparently betrayed him. The crying somehow got louder.

Then, because life apparently wasn't difficult enough already, he started chewing on his own tail. Not because he wanted to, but because it happened to be the only thing within reach. Naturally, he bit it too hard.

The screech that came out of that dog probably startled wildlife in three counties.

I turned around and looked down the stairs. The moment Hooligan realized I was watching, the performance ended. He immediately stood up, started wagging his tail, and looked at me like, “Oh! Hi Mom! Whatcha doing?”

I've come to realize something about Hooligan. He isn't manipulative, and he isn't dramatic on purpose. He just experiences every single emotion at approximately 947% intensity.

A tiny problem becomes an international crisis. A minor inconvenience becomes a three-act opera. And one stair—one single stair—briefly defeated the largest puppy in the house.

Honestly, the world needs a Hooligan. Life would be a lot less entertaining without him.