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| Zelda's beauty shot. Note her mustache. :) |
Dog Tails
A few
days ago, my 10-month-old puppy, Zelda (who, yes, like F. Scott Fitzgerald’s
wife, must, on a regular basis, be locked up) decided to take an unauthorized
tour of the neighborhood. She escaped from me as I was attempting to put her
outside on her chain. I had just gotten home from work and was still dressed in
my work clothes, complete with pantyhose and red high heels. As she dashed down
the driveway and across the street, I followed her as quickly as possible, a
demented Dorothy in ruby slippers trying to retrieve a very poorly behaved
Toto.
Zelda was
not trying to run over the rainbow, but rather indulge in a neighborhood-wide
game of “Chase.” Looking over her shoulder she would let me get almost close
enough to touch her, and then she would bound out of reach. It was a great
entertainment for my neighbors, who, for some reason or another, were reluctant
to join in the game. Well, it could be the fact that Zelda often appears with a
muzzle on (a vain attempt to discourage constant barking and grass-eating) or
perhaps the huge Beware of Dog sign on my house, meant to discourage unwanted
visitors when I am not home.
So, my
neighbors stood behind their fences, laughing and pointing as Zelda, a golden
retriever mix with a huge tail held up like a flag, raced back and forth, with
me hobbling after her in my workday finery and red shoes. Finally, I was able
to corner her against a fence and drag her disobedient furry butt home. She
immediately drank an entire bowl of water, and collapsed on the floor, with an
expression on her face that clearly said, “now that was fun.”
She had
the same look on her face when it was discovered that she had chewed my
daughter’s entire wardrobe of underwear – an act that clearly warned the
dangers of leaving unattended laundry baskets on the floor. It’s an expression
that Zelda sports anytime one discovers her chewing on things she shouldn’t,
such as vacuum cleaner cords and watchbands. To add to the aggravation, she
usually has her own dog toy right next to the illegal object, as if to say,
“Oops, I chewed the wrong thing.”
Having
this puppy in the house brings back memories of all the dog mischief I have
been subjected to my entire life. Now some families are not dog families and
cannot comprehend why we are willing to subject ourselves to this. To those
families all I can say is — you haven’t lived until you come home to find your
house has been gleefully redecorated with the fragrant contents of your kitchen
garbage can, or the family is reduced to sitting on folding chairs to watch TV,
because, the couch belongs to the dog.
However,
if you are a dog family, you understand that the joy and companionship far
outweigh the chewed up camera straps and stained carpeting. And the stories of
the dogs that spend their lives with you become the stuff of family legend.
The dog
that I grew up with was a good-natured Bassett hound named The Red Baron. A
show dog with a championship bloodline, I occasionally would show him in the
Junior Showmanship section of American Kennel Club dog shows. But unlike the
professional dogs who arrived in crates with fancy grooming tables, Red would
ride in the car like one of the kids, his paws resting on the back of the front
seat and his nose constantly knocking off my father’s hat. This was also the
lazy, slow moving dog who, at the mere mention of bedtime, would be off like a
shot, flying up the stairs as fast as his short little legs would carry him. If
you weren’t able to catch up with him, he would jump in your bed first; settle
in the exact middle with his head on the pillow, forcing you to sleep,
blanketless, on the edge.
Later, as
a single young woman living alone, I felt the need for a dog not only for
companionship but protection. This was naturally what I was looking for when I
fell for a miniature dachshund in a pet store. I named him Max, after the song
Maxwell’s Silver Hammer. I can’t explain why I felt the need to name my dog
after a musical serial killer; however, I think he took it very seriously. Max
was the only schizophrenic dog I have ever had, and all I can say is, thank
goodness he only weighed 5 pounds.
At
certain times, Max would station himself under a chair and attack anything,
including my feet that passed by. Attempts to clip his nails induced a mania
that required 3 people to control. And once, while romping in the yard at my
parent’s house, he bit down on a stick so hard, the ends snapped off, leaving
the middle of the stick firmly lodged against the roof of his mouth. It took
the entire family to hold him down, open his mouth and yank out the stick. He
promptly rewarded my father by sinking his teeth into his hand. Biting the hand
that fed him was Max’s hobby.
Gypsy was
the dog who served as the “first child” when I was married. A devoted and
well-trained German shepherd she was popular in our circle of friends. But
friends are in short supply when your dog goes out in the yard and meets a
skunk. No one wants to come over and help you douse her with tomato juice,
orange juice, baby powder and vinegar. Kids run away screaming, slamming their
bedroom doors and yelling “she’s not sleeping in here tonight!” So much for all
her years of loyalty.
So, now
we have Zelda. Born in a junkyard and bottle fed by a kindly family who rescued
her from a malnourished mother, Zelda still feels the need to be cuddled and
held. The problem is, she is almost 50 pounds, with a tail that would be more
appropriate for a horse. Days and nights are spent keeping her body off the
furniture, her paws off guests, her head out of the fishbowl and her tail away
from anything not nailed down. Her extreme distractibility means that she often
takes a drink of water, forgets to swallow it, and proceeds to dribble it all
over the first person she encounters.
I’ve been
trying hard to come up with a solution that keeps Zelda occupied and doesn’t
involve house demolition. Finally, yesterday, I turned down a road I don’t
usually take, and passed a huge facility called Canine Academy. There, behind
sturdy, tall fencing was an elaborate dog obstacle course, complete with things
to jump over, squeeze under, crawl through and run around. The perfect place
for Zelda and her Olympic-style dog tricks. I made a mental note to call the
school right away and get information on how she can join in — just as soon as
I catch her.
©2008, 2009, 2012 Noreen Braman
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