Godzilla
I call him The Creeping Thunder. The dogs call it just plain unnecessary.
It started benignly enough. I thought he looked cute sitting in the slightly used baby
walker with the duct taped seat. Besides, at four months old Tyler wasn't sitting up well
enough to play with his toys, and the walker had this little tray on the front to keep the
plastic keys, rattles, and stuffed dinosaurs within his reach. It worked too. He
would sit for hours and delight at my retrieving the toys as he gleefully flung them to
the floor... again. (I tried to train my dogs to pick up them up, but they both claimed
the toys were too slobbery to put in their mouths.)
Then at five months old my son discovered that thing had wheels. The reign of terror had
begun. He was mobile. At first he could only move on the wood floors. Since the dining
room is an island of wood in a sea of carpet he was contained in his own version of the
invisible fence (minus the shock collar). He would roll to the beachhead facing the living
room and look longingly toward the dogs lying peaceably on the carpet by the patio doors.
The dogs would glance back just to make sure he hadn't bummed a cracker off anyone and
return to sleep.
But soon he grew weary of sucking the backs of the chairs and smearing baby drool on the
wallpaper. All the good stuff in the house was on the carpet. So, with his feet in their
best Fred Flintstone form he strained at the rug until he broke the barrier. He seemed
rather surprised at the development himself as he looked around to locate his audience. As
his eyes met mine he proffered a grin that I probably won't see again until he's old
enough to ask for the car keys.
He took a couple of steps in each direction to kind of get the feel of how his new wheels
handled. Then his eyes lifted and he scanned the room. His face brightened as he locked
his radar on my 90 pound slightly arthritic retriever. His arms began to flail in time
with his stomping feet. The warm-up complete, he set off across the room in a manner
strangely reminiscent of Godzilla squashing plastic tanks through Tokyo.
The dog opened one eye to see what the ruckus was about. Her eyes kept getting wider as
the creeping thunder approached. She looked plaintively at me as if to say, "Hey! I
didn't think he could do that!" Then she decided that whatever the maniacal child was
up to it wouldn't involve her. Faster than I've seen her her move in years, she bolted for
higher ground just as the walker bumper thunked off the patio doors.
The dogs spend their time in the window of the raised entry way now. Believing the
two steps will protect them now as the carpet had before. And it will, as long as The
Creeping Thunder rolls. But soon, he will crawl.
