'Mutt'ering To Myself

I occasionally toy with the idea of getting a dog. Especially when I see a really cute dog and I pet the captivating creature. It happened today. I mean who doesn’t like an adorable puppy. Well, I guess lots of people don’t, but I’m not one of them. Thankfully, however, the thought is usually fleeting.

Don’t get me wrong. I like dogs. Most of the time anyway. I don’t have one at the moment; my place has no yard. But I’ve owned several over the years.

Soldier Boy (my parents’ dog) was part of the family when I was born. I have no real memory of him, just an old photo. The first dog I remember was the one my siblings and I got as a birthday surprise for my sister. She wanted a dog and a Turnabout sailboat. We couldn’t afford a boat. The puppy was probably the runt of the litter because our next-door neighbor was only too happy to give it to us. We told her we had our mother’s permission. We lied. We stashed him in the bathroom, but he cried and chewed a hole in the bathmat. He didn’t stay long enough to even get a name. My sister didn’t get a boat either. I don’t think it was her happiest birthday.

Later came Toughie, a cute, Heinz 57 variety mutt. He followed us everywhere except to school, and that’s only because the driver wouldn’t let him on the bus. Oh, how we kids loved that dog. His tenure in our family lasted until the fateful summer all four kids went away to overnight camp. Our mother told us he ran away. I’m not sure any of us totally believed her explanation for his disappearance.

Next came Cognac, a dog my mother chose. Yup, you guessed it–a standard-sized French poodle–thus his name. And he looked like his name. Tawny colored, all poufy and fluffed with a sculpted haircut. He was a bit of a sissy dog and a bit temperamental for my taste, but he was a good dog.

My first dog, the first one I bought as an adult, was also a poodle—a mischievous, miniature ball of black fur with big black eyes. Muffy (in my hands she looked like a muff) was small enough to fit in my purse (that was long before Paris Hilton made purse pooches popular). I took her everywhere—she was part of my dowry and my daughter’s first dog. I was devastated when she died.

There were other dogs after Muffy. Toffler, a rescued dog we found in Venice. Obediah, the Old English sheepdog I got for my birthday that sadly chased a rabbit and was hit by a truck. But the dog to end all dogs was another mongrel variety named Maximilien Bear – aka Bear. He was my son’s dog. Everyone for miles around knew Bear. He constantly escaped our fenced yard and visited neighbors, followed walkers or simply went off on solitary explorations. He didn’t always respond to voice commands either, so we spent countless hours in search of this wayward mutt. When he wasn’t AWOL he was digging up our vegetable garden. He loved carrots. Our vet bills were endless because he had an unusual chronic skin condition. But despite his issues, he’s the dog by which I measure all other dogs.

Like it or not, we become attached to our pets—dogs or cats. We tell ourselves we won’t, but it’s inevitable. And when they are no longer in our lives, it hurts our hearts. We miss them terribly, although I can honestly say there was one dog I did not miss much.

I was not overly attached to Chloe,a Doberman-Shepherd-unknown mix that my daughter convinced us to adopt. I thought she had evil eyes. A loving disposition perhaps, but I couldn’t get past those eyes. One day I came home from shopping to find her sitting in a pile of chewed-open Christmas presents. At least the tree was still standing. She greeted me wagging her tail, quite proud and happy with her handiwork. She’d also left an odorous dump in the middle of the family room carpet. When she turned out to be a fence jumper, we took her back for re-adoption.

Dogs are different than cats. Unlike cats, dogs run with us, splash in the waves and chase Frisbee’s with us. They lick our faces, smell our crotches and chew our favorite shoes. They consume endless bags of kibble, require daily walking, eat off our counters and swallow things that result in emergency vet visits. Yet we still love them. Dogs are forgiving and faithful and they love us in return. Cats mostly stay to themselves—I would know, I’ve had many.

We love these dog creatures so much we have dog parks, dog groomers, dog walkers and sitters. Many companies, Google and Netscape to name a few, allow employees to bring their dogs on campus. We give dogs human names and make them part of the family—no more Spots, Patches or Rovers. We buy them toys, organic food and take them on vacations. Dog-friendly hotels and restaurants are becoming more and more commonplace. Check out the downtown Mountain View eating establishments that welcome you and your dog for dinner.

Whoa! Hold everything. I’m making too good an argument for owning a dog.

Hmmm. I guess that little, white, shaggy critter I saw this afternoon definitely sparked that maybe-someday-I’ll-own-a-dog-again idea for me. That’s okay; I’ll wait a few days and see if the idea is still percolating, if it’s still as appealing as it is right now.

Oh, wait, in a few days I’ll be out of town. Phew! I dodged that bullet again.