Idiosyncratic Details

Seen Marley & Me? You should. And bring a box of tissue. It's a modern day old yeller featuring a gorgeous labrador and a guy with a crooked nose. It got me thinking: Why in the world do we love pets?

For me, much of it is found in the idiosyncratic details. Sometimes accommodating a dog is more a matter of developing coping skills for your own sanity and survival. I've loved (and lost) a number of dogs. The ones that were dearest to me were the ones that were the most magnificent pain in the behind.

Walter, a dog of resplendent French lineage, was a proud member of the great Pyrenees breed. Alas, to his everlasting shame, he was tainted with several large black spots on his otherwise pure white coat. But this didn't stop him from flexing his herding instincts. One of his oddest behaviors led to the untimely demise of our spa cover: he was a climber. He ALWAYS sought the highest vantage point. I'd have surmised the allure of the hot tub cover was the heat- but Wally even maintained his perch through the hottest summer days. He would just sit up there as if to proclaim his glory to all passersby. And he held a deep resentment for Sea Gulls.

The late Huckleberry was but a lowly mutt obtained through canine free-agency (the pound). "All the world's a stage," Huck once told me. Further, he inspired me to look past the modern caste system known as the AKC. "After all," he quipped, "all dogs go to heaven." I like to think that's where Huck is- someplace with lots of squirrels to be chased and endless places to swim. I had to put Huck to sleep the day we moved into this house. He had a neurological problem and was physically unable to urinate. This led to multiple emergency catheters for poor Huck before we eventually put him down. I held him when the vet administered the Kevorkian. I cried my eyes out.

Maceo, the Chesapeake Bay Retriever, had tremendous promise. As a Chessie, he was capable of withstanding the most frigid waters. And he delighted in jumping in any body of water he could find, no matter how cold it was. I will never forget him splashing down in the canals of Nampa. He was a natural bird-dog, too. He was extraordinarily protective of me. He was a warrior, and he knew it. Sadly, he did not know to look both ways before crossing the street. Poor Maceo was killed by a speeding car on Locust Lane Road while gallantly chasing another dog. That was when I was just getting to know Joy.

And that brings me to Gunner. The bizarre lab/weim cross. Gunner was born to be owned by a psychotherapist, such are his eccentricities in number and intensity. Chiefly, Gunner suffers from near-crippling separation anxiety. He simply MUST be where I am at all times. EXACTLY where I am. Any thing else is simply unacceptable to Gunner, as communicated by incessant whining and crying. Gunner has a vindictive streak- he has learned to torture me by picking up the largest bone he can find and throwing it on our wooden floors. The ensuing "crash" is intended to lure me into play, I suppose. He is (by far) the most playful dog I've ever known. He's mired in puppy never never land- he simply will not grow up.

To be continued...