I have both owned and worked with so many dogs that its hard to relate them all. In my original plan, I was only going to have one entry devoted to this title, but I have since given up. Describing one dog alone is plenty for a blog entry. In fact, if I had the time, I could devote book to talking about the dogs in my life.
I sometimes think that I traded my ability to deal with other people for the ability to deal with dogs. Reading canine body language is second nature for me, and at a glance I know how a dog is going to behave. The difference between a dog growling in fear and one growling in anger is as clear to day to me. I do not fear dogs, even ones that can and will hurt me. I do respect them, though.
Its no wonder, when my dad told me to get a job, I choose to work at a kennel. Creatures Great and Small has become a second home to me over the past four years. The things I have learned there, both from the dogs themselves and from my employers about dogs expanded on my natural inclinations.
My life can be very clearly defined by the dogs in it. From the Siberians of my early childhood, to the Anatolian Shepherds I work with as an adult, each has brought something to my life.
When other children had imaginary friends, I had a pack of wolves and dogs. Instead of dressing dolls, I put clothes on the dogs. My mother was amused by my antics as I followed the huskies through the house on all fours, pretending to one of them, and she was infuriated when I would feed them things like pineapple and chocolate syrup. To this day, with little prompting she will tell the stories that end in “BUT MOM! They said they wanted Chocolate!”
Sometimes my habits got me into trouble, and I still bare the scars to prove it. My mother was terrified one day to find me standing at the storm door, screaming bloody murder as blood poured down my face. After a trip to the E.R. and several stitches in my face, I did learn my lesson. Respect the dogs.
I find it hard to understand people who don’t love dogs, especially if they haven’t another preferred animal. What’s life without an animal companion or two (or 6)? I find myself judging people based on how they treat dogs. Good people have dogs or cats that they clearly love, and as an important distinction, love their animals for being animals. Crazy people love their animals beyond love. These people will spoil their animals to death with treats and food, never train them because they cannot see discipline as a form of love, but rather as cruelty. Rotten people either do not like animals or, treat animals as tokens of the American lifestyle. They often have a golden retriever or a dumb lab as part of their 2.3 kids, white house in suburbia with a two car garage housing the SUV and mini van.
If you talk to your dog, give it silly nicknames, and worry about the smallest details of its life, while at the same time, are able to tell it ‘no’, you are my kind of people. If not, well, we’ll have to wait and see if I like you or not.
My own dogs and the dogs of others, have shaped my life in ways I could never untangle in a way I could explain. Lesson’s of life that I have learned from the dogs will stay with me forever.
Despite my love of dogs, I rarely cry when an old dog passes. It was a lesson I learned early and well. While I am saddened by the death of a good friend lost, I rejoice at the memories of a good life well spent. I have seen dogs hold on long past there time to move on and cannot stand to see an old friend brought low by age. To put down a dog, such a struggle for others, is, while never easy, not something I flinch away from.
I would be more upset to see them suffer.
Right now, I can look over and see Pearl curled up on the couch. She is surrounded by the squeezy toys that she loves, and next to her is a recent prize, a practically empty jar of peanut butter left on a low table. Before I go to bed, I will have to throw it away. I know if I peek into my dads room, I will find him asleep and snoring amidst his furry sons, Southwest and Graham. Perhaps a black cat or two will be curled up in there as well.
These three are only the latest in a long line of canines to grace this home. In time, their stories will go down in the legends of those that came before. Bandit, Northwest and Buster lie in graves by the wild roses. Next to their graves is plaque for Raison. One day, when Sadie joins them, I hope my mother will allow her to be buried among her old pack, for she is the last of them. In time, other packs will come and go, and I will remember them all, treasure them while they live and miss them when they’ve gone on.
They forever will define the periods of my life.
0 comments:
Post a Comment