The Doggy Lifestyle

Dogs # 13 and 14: Sophie and Lady

We went out for a midmorning, dog-finding walk, the study of Ancient Egypt having become a bit too staid for my seven year old. TyTy decided he needed to be on his scooter, so I created some new rules for meeting dogs when on a scooter.

1. Get off your scooter.
2. Drop your scooter.
3.  Approach the dog on foot.

We got to the sidewalk and TyTy debated in which direction he wanted to ride. We set out. I glanced back for some reason and spotted gold: a lady walking two dogs! We changed our course to intercept.

I didn’t want to freak her out; seven year olds on scooters can be somewhat intimidating if you’re not used to them. TyTy and I stayed on the opposite side of the street. I told him that when we came abreast, we could hail her and then cross. But then she turned the corner! We quickened our pace but she was soon out of sight. We reached the corner just in time to see her going around the next corner. Crossing the street again in pursuit, we got to that corner just a few paces behind her. Still unaware of our pursuit, she took the dogs off their leads just as TyTy dropped his scooter. She was picking up some dog poo when he arrived at her side.

“Excuse me! Can I pet your dogs?”

“You want to pet my dogs? Yes, of course.” She had a European accent of some kind, possibly eastern European. “This is Sophie, and that is Lady.” She indicated first the small dog, and then the larger dog, who had wandered twenty or thirty feet beyond us. Sophie was a tiny dog, built like a Rat Terrier or a Jack Russell, but black and tan instead of white with spots. Tycho was immediately on the ground next to her and she was in his lap licking his face. Lady, black with a ghostly muzzle, was obviously older but did not act like an old dog. When she saw what was going on, she loped back to us, tongue flying sideways out of her mouth, to get her fair share of the petting.  We learned that Sophie was actually the neighbor’s dog and that she and Lady were best friends and walked together. Sometimes, when her owner has to work nights, Sophie has a sleepover with Lady.

The dogs’ friendly behavior was a bit surprising for me so I started trying to figure out why. I think it has to do with my preconceived notions of dog owners and ownership. Now don’t get me wrong; just because I don’t own a dog now does not mean I don’t enjoy dogs or haven’t owned dogs in the past. I grew up with a succession of dogs: Butch, Buffy, Cinnamon, Tiger, to say nothing of the dogs in the neighborhood and friends’ dogs. A lot of cats too, over the years, but we won’t get into that now.

The thing about dogs is that they are a lifestyle choice, like getting a tattoo or learning to sky-dive. Having a dog affects other choices you will make. I think that’s pretty obvious, but my brain has made other assumptions that I’m becoming aware of, and these are based on nothing but my own experiences and prejudices.

1.  Dogs are a lot of work.
2.  If you have kids, you might have dogs.
3.  If you have dogs (plural) and walk them in the middle of the day, you probably don’t have kids.
4.  If 3, then your dogs will be freaked out by a crazed lunatic 7 year old on a scooter.

Because of my current and recent life circumstances,  for me dogs represent a lot of extra work. I must admit here that when my sweet love Blue Dog died in the summer of 2009, at the age of eleven, I was saddened but also, in one corner of my mind, slightly relieved that I would not have to put her through the stress of moving across country from Oregon to Louisiana. She was my Oregon dog; I think she knew my plans somehow and decided she wanted to stay there. She’s buried at my friend’s house in Philomath, in the Oregon countryside.

I mourned Blue, but not having a sixty-pound dog made the move so much easier.  And even though Tycho is not growing up with a dog in his house, he has my mom’s dog, Pepper, our friend’s four dog pack, and the neighbor’s dog, all of whom he sees several times a week. I try to maintain a balance of getting him out enough to see other dogs so that he does not pine for one of his own. I’ve told him we can’t get a dog anyway until our cat, Hallas, grows old and dies. He treats Hallas like a dog and tries to play with him, with predictable results. Then we go out looking for more dogs.

As with almost every other meeting we’ve had in our 100 Dogs quest, TyTy wanted to tell this lady about “his” dog, meaning my mom’s dog, Pepper. He always tells people that Pepper is really big and that she is a rescue. When he told Lady’s owner, she got interested.

TyTy: My dog Pepper is a rescue.

European Lady: Oh really?

TyTy: We meet a lot of rescue dogs.

European Lady: A lot of dogs need rescuing.

And her statement just further emphasized to me that owning dogs is a distinct lifestyle choice, not to be done lightly. Although Blue was not a rescue, our other Oregon dog, Thor, was. He was a pedigreed Jack Russell, with papers, who was given to us by a family who had bought him at a pet store in the mall. And even though the word “rescue” always sounds a bit dramatic to me, I felt it was very appropriate in Thor’s case. This family kept him in a kennel until it was time to go outside. He lived in that kennel 22 hours out of 24. The first day we brought him home he ripped around our backyard for twenty minutes straight, he was just so happy not to be in a box anymore. At that time I had a lifestyle that allowed and supported dog ownership. I know that I do not have that right now, and I’m hoping TyTy understands that. 

Fourteen down, eighty-six to go.