My Dogs, a Short History.

God created humanity to invent comfortable sofas, warm fireplaces, and Purina Dog Chow for the benefit of dogs, and then we invented fence posts upon which meadowlarks can stand and sing.

For many years, my life was too busy and I was away too much and too long at a time to care for a dog. Moreover, dogs are hairy and shed hair, and before dogs, I kept my vehicles and life in general as orderly and as dog hair free as possible. It was probably how I survived in a career that was anything but orderly. In one little corner of my world, in my car, there was peace, calm, and no dog hair.

When I moved on from that career, I met my old guy who is now almost 94, of whom I am the sole proprietor when it comes to his old guy influence on me. He always had dogs and when I met him, he had Annie, an Australian shepherd who shed hair in my old guy’s truck only twice each year: January to June, and July to December. I realized I liked Annie much more than I disliked dog hair everywhere. I slowly shifted from order to love and from control to joy. I crossed a barrier and was ready to dog up.

Romeo.

First there was Romeo, a chiweenie, who was destined for death row until my daughter rescued him because she thought I needed a dog, which I did. Romeo was born with a late middle-aged man temperament, like Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino. He had enough friends already and he wasn’t looking for more. I always thought Romeo’s face looked like the front of a DC-3, which I think is a fine looking airplane.

When Romeo decided it was bedtime, the middle-aged man force in him was strong. He was not to be touched. Touch him and prepare to lose a finger. I decided we could coexist much better if we communicated about the situation, so one cold winter evening, I swooped him up with a thick, bite-proof blanket, opened the front door and dropped him in a snow bank. After a while, I heard him scratching on the door, so let him in and we found that our bedtime difficulties were behind us. There are so many problems in life that can be resolved through open, frank, and intelligent communication.

That event reminds me of a story about an especially foul (fowl?) mouthed parrot. The owner warned the bird several times that if he didn’t clean up his language, the parrot would end up in the freezer. The parrot’s nasty vocabulary was so engrained that each time he was warned, he soon forgot. One morning, after an especially vile tirade, the owner grabbed the bird and tossed him into the freezer. A couple of hours passed before the parrot started knocking on the inside of the freezer door while squawking about how he learned his lesson and would never swear again. The owner opened the freezer door and the repentant parrot jumped onto the man’s shoulder as he promised over and over that he learned his lesson. “But I have a question,” said the parrot, “what did the chicken to end up in there do?”

Romeo had other issues, but my old guy dismissed them as Romeo being Romeo. “Don’t monkey with the dog,” he advised people who wanted to be friends with Romeo. Anyone who decided to monkey with dog quickly learned why it was a poor life choice. Word got around quickly, and few people tried to monkey with the dog.

Romeo went with me everywhere. He rode on our atv, he loved riding in our canoe, he rode in the car next to an open window while his ears were pinned tightly to the side of his head, and once, we went on a magnificent road trip to Yellowknife, Northwest Territories. For hundreds and hundreds of miles, he stood on the car seat, forepaws on the door and his ears pinned tightly to the side of his head by the winds of freedom. He looked like a little man in Carhart coveralls standing there and I enjoyed that thought. We made the trip in the early fall, during huckleberry season, so we spent many happy hours picking and eating huckleberries, which was probably Romeo’s least antisocial skill.

Romeo did not understand his size. He thought he was a match for black angus bulls, backyard elk, and other big creatures. He got kicked more than once, but never lost his taste for battle. One evening, when we let him out for his evening ablutions, we let him out and I heard him barking at something on the mountain behind our house. It was the last time we saw him. Romeo finally wrote a check with his mouth that his body couldn’t cash. He met his match with a mountain lion.

I missed him a lot, but I also admired him for his courage, even if it was kind of stupid. He had a brave little heart.

Chloe Jane.

After a decent period of time, I found myself in the market for another dog because the car stayed so clean and it seemed so lonely when I drove it anywhere. I decided to check on Craigslist and I had only two requirements, 1) the dog needed to be portable, which ruled out Caucasian Shepherds (see below), 2) and it needed a kindly temperament. Romeo was a little too middle-aged and cranky. My new dog needed to be a sweetheart portable dog, unlike like this Caucasian Shepherd, which would make a good saddle dog:

There were many dogs to choose from with a wide range of adoption fees, which I think is another way of saying “used dog price.” Because of the huge variety of dogs (there are a lot of ways to make a dog), I prioritized. I wanted a dachshund for several reasons, including their fierce bravery that allows then to go down into a badger den for face to face battle, then remembered that Romeo was half dachshund and possessed a little too much courage. I found only one dachshund in my price range and it was at the dog pound. I learned I was number 7 on the waiting list for him, so I kept searching.

I found beagles (good choice, but high adoption fees), basset hounds (legs too short and ears too long for snow country), corgis (see basset hounds), poodles (no), chihuahuas (hard no), Jack Russells (too Jack Russell), and missed getting a blue heeler by half a day.

Then I saw a little dog called Peanut who did not have an adoption fee. Peanut was a chug - half chihuahua and half pug. She was totally sweet and in the Craigslist ad, she was sitting next to a baby. I decided on Peanut and drove to pick her up at a nearby town. I think Chloe was built on a Monday, because her parts did quite fit. The skin on her forehead was quite baggy and her tongue was too long, because some of it always stuck out. I think they used the wrong size nose when they boil her and I always worried that it would either dry out and break off in the summer or freeze and break of in the winter.

I decided the name Peanut did not match her, so I renamed her Chloe. My daughter decided Chloe alone wasn’t enough, so she added Jane. Little Chloe Jane. She had almost no faults except for her shyness and short little legs that, in fresh snow, caused her little belly to plow a rounded ditch. Chloe did not like the snow. She also could not get into our car without help. She was the exact opposite of a Jack Russell.

After a few years, she became diabetic, and sadly, she passed away. That’s basically the only drawback to dogs; they never live long enough. I still miss her, too.

Dougie Sue.

My old guy decided I need my own Aussie Shepherd and when his Aussie mini was old enough to start a family, I got to choose Dougie, who was named after my old guy. Once again, my daughter intervened and because she thought Dougie was too masculine, added Sue. Dougie Sue.

Dougie is the exact opposite of Chloe. Whereas Chloe could not get into the car by herself, Dougie can leap 10’ away from the car and fly through an open door. Dougie loves snow, and after a new, heavy snowfall, she gets the zoomies that are half bounding like a gazelle and half high speed, low-level passes with her nose in the snow causing a bow wake.

Dougie is way too smart for my own good. If she sees me doing something, she will do it herself, which is why I always take the car keys with me if I need to leave her in the car. She is probably smarter than most politicians, which is not a high bar, but still. I’m also in the market for a band of a couple thousand sheep she can keep organized. She needs a job. And she needs to be about 30% less possessive of my stuff, which is now apparently her stuff.

This week, I plan to take her to a dog groomer because she looks a little too much like a haystack and I also need to get a few more of those lint rollers, because whenever I go in the car, she rests her chin on my shoulder and my shoulder very quickly looks like an Australian shepherd. In fact, each time I vacuum out the car, I get enough hair to make another dog, although someone told me not to think of it as dog hair, but as dog glitter.

I’ve tried to sum her up in a couple of words, but English doesn’t have quite the right combination. French has the best definition for her, joie de vi​vre. She is full of exuberant joy. If I can feel like that for even 15 minutes in a day, it is a very good day indeed.

I truly hope the world eventually goes to the dogs, because they are better than most people, including, especially, me.