Dogs have been in my life since I was young. I’ve had 3 cats, all of whom were charming independent creatures for whom I had affection but dogs have my heart. What is it about canines that is so compelling? To me, it’s the unconditional love, their ability to demonstrate loyalty and affection with no strings attached. We are the center of their universe. While elderly owners often slow down their physical activities, a dog will be willing to walk and be up for play to whatever degree the master or mistress is capable. Even the little ones will act as protectors and guardians by, if nothing else, yapping whenever they hear an unexpected sound or see a new person or other animal. And as all dog owners will agree, they are reliable social ice breakers, promoting conversation and connection.
Of course there are downsides to owning a dog, as cat people will often remind us. Dogs can be overly dependent upon their humans and some (I know from personal experience) develop separation anxiety if left alone for more than a few hours. Dogs depend on humans to regulate their lives and cannot even be left alone to eat an appropriate amount of food as cats will do; dogs will eat whatever is left out either until it is all gone or they become physically sick. They are more expensive to procure, feed, and care for. Vet bills might be covered to a degree with pet insurance but I have always paid more for my dogs health care than my own. And grooming is more for my dog than what I pay to my stylist and happens more often. And finally, dogs just require more space than cats which is a consideration for apartment dwellers who also may find that landlords might allow cats but not dogs.
What is the history of the canine-human relationship? It’s a relationship dating back to at least 15,000 years ago when the Bonn-Oberkassel dog was found buried with two humans. In most Western countries dog’s are considered man’s best friend and reportedly 48% of households in the USA have at least one dog. On average women tend to have more positive attitudes toward canines than men. Interestingly both humans and dogs release oxytocin when together. The bond is bidirectional and shows all the attributes of a true bond with dogs seeking proximity to the caretaker to reduce stress. When the caretaker is not there, separation anxiety will be triggered and varies from mild to extreme as when a dog I owned ate off the bottoms of all the curtains and ruined a door while I was gone. Our bond is strengthened by time spent together both in quantity and quality. In other words, dogs require a greater commitment than other pets.
In addition to simply being pets, dogs can perform jobs such as herding, hunting, pulling sleds, search and rescue, are used in the military, and in various assistance jobs to humans such as guide dogs for the blind, hearing dogs for the deaf, mobility assistance, visiting therapy dogs to hospitals, nursing and care homes, companions to mentally ill people, those with autism, and those with seizure disorders.
All the dogs I had were simply pets. As a child there were Beagles and Cocker Spaniels. My mother insisted the Beagles were kept outside. None of those dogs lived to die a natural death, all were hit and killed by cars. I witnessed nearly all of those accidents.
As an adult, my first dog was a German Shepherd given to me by a boy friend who obtained him in Maine. It was ridiculous to think the animal could adjust to living in a Manhattan apartment with an owner who worked. Eventually the dog was returned to Maine when I heard Babe howling as I approached the apartment building as I was returning home. It’s a testament to the structure of the building that neighbors didn’t complain that the noise was coming through their walls.
The next dog was an Old English Sheepdog purchased by my former husband for me from a pet store in Manhattan. He had no idea about puppy mills supplying dogs to pet stores but we lucked out with Fast Eddie Ray. When he was a pup, his favorite toy was a catcher’s mitt. He was a prince and eventual world traveler, coming with us to Nigeria, Egypt and with me to the Netherlands. In Nigeria he was thought to be a juju dog, blind but able to see everything. The bane of his existence were the two African Grey Parrots I had, Pepe and Gracie both of whom could mimic my voice calling, “Ed, Ed, come.” Ed would wake from his snooze, jump up and look around for the Madame. Later, my former husband surprised me (and Ed) with a female Old English puppy from a breeder in the UK. I named her Tess. She was smart and show quality but never as sweet as Ed. Both dogs returned to the US with me, Tess dying in Maine of GVD (‘bloat’) and the following year, Ed in NYC at the Animal Medical Center of the same thing. You know your dog didn’t make it when the Vet comes out with his collar and leash.
Unfortunately the Old English is the breed most prone to GVD. Here they are in Nigeria, Ed before I cut his hair with the sharpest shears I could find in the market and the second is of both dogs after my unskilled grooming work standing with Christie my very dear house girl who was afraid of nothing including the dogs.
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Christie was so comfortable with the dogs, she brought her children to play with them while she worked in the house. Ed went on to sire a (planned) litter of puppies with a Boxer while in Nigeria, all of whom were different. The owners of the Boxer sought a male in Ghana and Nigeria but found none so Ed was drafted. When the litter was born, one which the Nigerian Vet took resembled Ed, one a Dutch friend took was a brown furry OES -looking beauty and the Boxer’s owners took the one looking most like their dog with the rest going I don’t-recall-where. I wonder if his genes live on in this life.
After the dogs died, I got a Samoyed for a nominal fee from a breeder who could no longer keep Chowder because he and his father fought. The breeder continued to take Chowder to shows where he placed second and third. Unfortunately he was a runaway, sometimes going far afield looking for females in heat. Eventually the breeder took him back and he went to someone else while she continued with him on the dog circuit.
After that rascal, I was a few years without a dog, believing they shouldn’t be alone for hours at a time. I did acquire another dog when I was in the Southwest, an over-grown Lhasa Apso who lived with congestive heart failure for a number of years and finally was diagnosed with cancer before he was euthanized in old age. He liked humans but not many other dogs. Buster Brown’s greatest problem was severe separation anxiety. He was the one who was destructive when left alone. The Vet made it clear I had 3 choices: get rid of him, have him board in someone’s home, or bring him to work with me. I chose the later. He stayed under my desk, never bothered clients and both of us were happy.
My current dog Coco (so named by the rescue in Houston) better known as CocoLoco, Cocaloca and Cokiloki, is a curious mixture of poodle and dachsund. Yes, he is and he’s the only dog I’ve owned whom I call cutesy names. He looks rather like a poodle with very short legs. Not having met him until he arrived in New England in a huge dog transport and then sent to quarantine did I know he was so much smaller than I expected. At only 20 lbs he is the smallest dog I’ve ever owned and the oldest when adopted. As I have mentioned in previous posts, he is now a special needs dog since becoming both deaf and blind. My schedule revolves around him which I manage. He still enjoys his very restricted life and remains patient and sweet, even allowing young children to use him as the victim when they play medic. It’s not quite time for him to pass on but it’s coming, I know it.
I’ll certainly miss having him but don’t plan to get another pet. It’s a mistake to take on any animal when old and have that pet end up surviving you. Then what? No, I’ll get my dog fix from other people’s animals. And I’m thrilled my late Sister Friend’s daughter M. and her family are awaiting a female Yellow Lab puppy who will eventually become a visiting therapy dog which her mother would just love the idea of. As M. said, they will make lemonade out of lemons.
I’ll end with another Mary Oliver poem. This one is about one of her own dogs.
Little Dog’s Rhapsody In The Night
“He puts his cheek against mine
and makes small, expressive sounds.
And when I’m awake, or awake enough
he turns upside down, his four paws
in the air
and his eyes dark and fervent.
“Tell me you love me,” he says.
“Tell me again.”
Could there be a sweeter arrangement? Over and over
he gets to ask.
I get to tell.”
Frances, beautifully said. I often think that my life could measured out, not in the words of T.S. Eliot "with coffee spoons", but by sunsets, starry nights, and canine companions. My German shorthair pointer (GSP) is a treasure, and Beau will be with me for some time yet, but when he passes away, another dog will not be coming into my home. I have reached the age where another dog would most likely survive me, and it would not be fair to subject a beloved doggy friend to the grief and bewilderment of losing his or her human, the uncertainty of rehoming.
Oh that face, he looks so wise and kind 🤎