Mornings With Barney by Dick Wolfsie (e book reader .TXT) 📕

much going on at that time of day, which is why, as you will see, I amended the original job description quite a bit. And my partner-to-be helped me make it happen.

I never intended to introduce a canine superstar to the airwaves. In fact, the first week I took Barney with me, the objective was simply to have a buddy and avoid a divorce. Barney clearly had the potential to cause a broken home. He had already done quite a lot to cause a broken house.

The first couple days, I kept Barney in the car while I hosted the three early morning segments on Daybreak, the Channel 8 morning news show. He wasn’t happy in the car, even though I kept the motor running with the heat on. He didn’t like the confinement, and he made it clear that he wanted to get some air. Little did either of us know that twelve years later, he’d have more airtime than most of the reporters in Indianapolis!

Barney’s siren-like howl was so loud that even 100 yards from the broadcasting site, my microphone picked up the bellowing. I didn’t mention Barney to the viewers the first few days, figuring he would tire of the yapping and finally mollify his behavior enough that he’d be allowed to remain at home while I was at work. There was no realistic chance of either happening.

The racket was so intense that the station did get a few phone calls from curious—and concerned—viewers who wanted to know why, no matter where I went for my telecast, you could hear this wailing in the background. When the receptionist who screened the calls asked me how to respond to the inquiries, I told her to suggest to people it was a problem with their TV set. In my opinion that was always the best way to explain technical difficulties to the viewers.

I tried parking the car closer to each reporting location so Barney would not feel abandoned, but this had the opposite effect and made him even more determined to get my attention. Now that he could see and hear—and probably smell—me, the volume of his yelping only increased.

Because it was winter, some of the segments were indoors. I was reluctant to request of my guests that Barney be allowed to come into their homes or offices. I knew what had happened to my own home and office. I could leave him in the car, but I knew how unhappy he was alone. In addition, it meant leaving the car turned on so I could leave the heat running. He accidentally figured out that the electric windows lowered if he stepped on the button. And that meant he could scamper out the window, which he did twice in the first few months. Fortunately, in the early days he was reluctant to venture far from me, and I found him sniffing around the area. But he gained confidence quickly and leaving him in the car with the heat or AC on just wasn’t viable anymore.

One morning when I sensed his bellowing would wake up the neighborhood, I asked permission to bring him into the senior citizens’ home in Mooresville, Indiana, where I was doing a segment. The residents were putting on a talent show and they had no problem with Barney being tied up inside. They did stress the words tied up. I borrowed some cord from the center and attached him to a doorknob.

One of the first guests was a spry octogenarian whose talent was doing the hula. She wiggled out from behind the curtain and began doing the native dance. Her grass skirt was seductively flapping about. Not seductive to me, I assure you, but seductive to a year-old beagle that chased and chewed anything that moved.

Barney, securely tied—or so I thought—beagle-eyed the hula dancer’s skirt, busted off of his lead, and raced to his intended target. In a flash, he grabbed a hunk of the skirt in his teeth and ripped it off the woman. Completely off.

Fortunately, the woman had worn sufficient undergarments to keep the show rated PG-13, but my cameraman at the time, Marcus Collins, almost broke his neck trying to whip the camera around to feature a more family-friendly picture. He was also laughing so hard, we barely got through the rest of the show.

The residents took it well, considering they hadn’t seen anything quite like that at the Mooresville Senior Citizens’ Home for some years.

When we left, we were invited back (by all the men).

That was Barney’s first appearance on TV. I’m not even sure viewers realized he was my dog. Actually, at that point I wasn’t sure, either. My wife had not granted official permission. A few colleagues at the station asked me about the pooch and why he was with me during my segment. I kept it all low-key; after all, he wasn’t a hit on the home front and if my bosses ended up feeling the same way as my family, Barney wouldn’t have anywhere to go.

Homeland Security

Barney was not winning any popularity contests at the Wolfsies. I dragged him to work with me every day, but he still had to be home the other twenty hours. During that time, I watched him like a hawk, knowing that if I could brag about an unblemished record for even a week, there was a chance that the majority voting bloc in our family would determine a favorable outcome about whether he would achieve squatters’ rights in our home. On some level, my wife knew we were going to keep him, but maybe she held hope that even I would soon tire of his shenanigans and find him a good home. There was no chance of that, of course.

At one point, after Barney had successfully unraveled a complete roll of toilet paper that now snaked through the entire house, I sensed the scales were tipping against us. I delivered an ultimatum to the dog in front of