The Troll Within

The unsung heroes of our childhood fairytales have gotten a bad rap.  Take in point the troll in the story “The Three Billy Goats Gruff”, one of a collection written between 1841 and 1844 in the book “Folk Tales of the Norse”.  The bad guy lives under a bridge, is constantly hungry and after being fooled by the trio is butted into the river and never heard from again.  Life just isn’t fair…

Let’s consider his reasons for his rather abrupt, even to the point of being rude, behavior.

Perhaps his Troll mother wasn’t particularly efficient in her kitchen and the creamed rutabagas and cod (with a side of buttered pasta) had worn out its appeal.  That would certainly lend to his wanting other food choices.  Maybe he was the only wage earner and collecting toll provided the means for their meager existence. In the story, maybe the “wet paint” sign had blown off the rail and he was tasked to deny access for crossing the bridge on that particular day. And the list goes on and on…

I’ll never quite understand his purpose either. This is all background to get you to help me diagnose what “Dallas”, the miniature poodle, has against the people who cross her bridge.

She lives in a small condo, with her mistress, on an island community. It has an appropriately sized back yard with double deck, potted annuals, and waist high picket fence.  At the north border of the downstairs deck is a permanent bench which she jumps onto in order for her to monitor the walkway leading from a gated neighborhood to and across the main street on the island.

Foot traffic, sometimes two feet (times the number of people) and sometimes four feet (again times the number of dogs)…sporadically crossing “her section” of walkway throughout the day and into the late evening.  All sorts of activity requiring the parading of strangers by her house; sometimes, the activity occurs to either end of the walkway, but still she feels duty calling and audibly investigates whatever is happening.  She is incensed in the realization that they are trespassing without having invited her participation.

Some try to stop and talk with her, their dogs stop and try to communicate.  She would rather have the first and last words and the pairing just continue their walks.  It’s just like the before and after of a wild roller coaster ride through a tunnel.  You are visibly changed when exiting the ride.  She always leaves them in a different frame of mind.  Dog owners just smile and mime (because I can’t hear them over her barking) “Hi, how are you two today?  I see Ms. Dallas is on duty…does she ever stay INSIDE?”

Well, yes, she stays inside, when the weather is challenging or I’m not there or it’s nap time. And yes, I lower the blinds to block her view on the downstairs French doors. But on the upper level, in the master suite, she has a permanent window at the bottom of the door, because her owner feels that her stress level will be considerably less if she can see and ward off any intruder.

I have worked with her, but she has been unwilling to offer a compromise.  Even if I tuck her under my arm and greet whomever, she always has the last word.  So, what, sets her off?

Unlike the troll, her cuisine is enhanced by sprinkles of parmesan and her treats are regular throughout our days together. So nix the bad cook theory.  We have decidedly more lap time than I usually allow. She is not the sole provider for her family of three and the boardwalk hasn’t been painted EVER.

It’s not only her “mouthiness”, she also jumps right to the tip of the fence post but does not feel the need to clear it. Well let’s revamp and state that she has cleared it only once to chase a cat and having lost the race has not attempted a second escape.

If I am inside and she is out and she is alerted, it’s a comical attempt on my part to grab her and wait for the intruders to pass. She has sand rather than grass at the borders of the deck and I don’t like sand attached to the soles of my feet.  But if she is wedged between fence line and deck, I have no other option than to stand there with her in arms and just allow her frustration to resolve itself and the fidgeting to cease and her focus to return to the chameleon running atop the adjoining picket fence.

She is warning me. She is warning them. There is no need to apologize.

I’ve been with her for years and the snow bird population that dots the island during the fall and winter seasons knows that she’ll be forever the troll (in poodle clothing) at the foot of the bridge.