After all of my Sweet Sven's mathematical calculations, he came to this conclusion.
"Hunter," he announced, "is good eighty percent of the time."
I don't know about you, but when I was in school, eighty percent was a sure B.
Sure, it wasn't an A.
Eighty degrees is a perfect temperature.
And eighty years old might not seem that attractive when you are a mere sixty-one, like me.
But I bet it'll seem like a real nice number if you are ever trying to blow out ninety-nine candles.
"See," I said, as Hunter continued to bark. "That means that our dog is good most of the time."
But then, Sven started breaking his formula down, piece by piece.
"There are twenty-four hours in a day," he begins.
"And Hunter is pretty good those nine hours that we are forced by his majesty into bed. Unless there is thunder, or coyotes or he has a dream."
"Agreed," I said.
"And he's not too bad that first half hour after he gets up."
"And he is good those ten hours a day while we are gone."
"How do you know?"
"I'm just giving him those points. Because even if he isn't, we can't hear him."
"That's fair," I said. "So that's nineteen and a half hours out of twenty-four. That seems like more than eighty percent."
"Where the problem lies," Sven continued. "Is that during the remaining four and a half hours, he is one hundred percent, terrible."
I had to admit, my husband had another point.
Hunter is a top-notch dick in the evenings.
Like no other.
But Hunter is my baby.
I always fight for the underdog.
And I always stand up for those with less thumbs.
"I think you'd better recalculate that little formula of yours," I said. "Hunter is not bad one hundred percent of those four and a half hours."
I think Sven might have said, "Oh really?"
But it was hard to hear him over all of the barking.
"What about when he eats his supper?" I yelled. "He is really good then!"
"His supper lasts five seconds!" Sven barked back at me.
It was working.
You see, Hunter doesn't like us to fight.
He is a pacifist.
Except when he is out in the woods trying to kill everybody.
Wait a minute.
Hunter just sat straight up.
He is lodged between the coffee table and me.
His head is going from side to side.
Back and forth.
He is suspiciously turning it between his arguing parents.
We are sitting on opposing couches.
This used to work a lot better.
Before he wised up.
His upper lip is beginning to curl into the formation that is about to create another one of this world's loudest sounds.
"Who's here?" I said, pointing at the window. "Sven, did somebody just pull in?"
"I'll go look," said Sven jumping up and heading to the kitchen door. "Yep. Somebody is here. Hunter, come and see who it is."
Hunter just stared at Sven.
So, Sven opened the door and called out to the intruder.
"Hey you. Get off our property. What do you think you are doing out there!"
It was an Oscar moment, really.
But Hunter wasn't falling for that one either.
Sons du les bitches.
Sven shut the door and went straight to the closet and pulled out a flip chip.
"See," I said as Hunter gnawed away at the rawhide piece in front of the crackling fire in the woodstove "Look at how good he is being now."
"That's only going to last two minutes."
"Well, he is always a good puppy-dog while we cook," I said.
"Millie, that dog is not a puppy."
"And he's a very good boy when we go for walks."
Yeah. Well, we can't walk all night."
"No, we can't. But I don't believe you included all those good times in your little scientific study."
Sven just stared at me.
"And he is good during his rub downs," I said.
Unfortunately, I couldn't give Hunter anymore accolades because his flip chip had disappeared.
That is when I performed my academy award winning yell at a squirrel sitting on the birdfeeder.
And that good dog of ours took off out the door like a bolt of lightning.
"Wooo-woo-woo-woo-woooooooooo," we heard in the distance.
I shut it behind him and sat back down on the couch.
"And how about all the times that he is good-on?" I said. "Did you include those?"
"Good-on?" said Sven.
"He is good when he is gone. Like right now."
In the distance we heard Hunter howling into the night.
And that is when Sven changed Hunter's score of eighty to eighty-five percent.
Eighty-five percent is a pretty damn good score.
And you know what?
Nobody is perfect.