Dogs have always recognized my inner beauty. Since childhood, with the exception of a boxer in Alexandria, Virginia that chased me into the family car and held me there until my mother rescued me, dogs and I have had an invisible connection.
At nine I gave my heart to our Miniature Schnauzer, Gypsy. A bowl of popcorn was all it took for her to learn Sit, Shake, Down, Dance and Kiss. She reserved a healthy portion of love for my mother, who allowed her to ride in the front seat and sleep in her bed and my father, who walked her every evening. Gypsy, who I nicknamed "Oofie" after her usual vocalization, had a special affection for 9-year-old girls and our Siamese cat. Heaven was getting them roused into a good game of chase, with each taking turns at chaser and chasee. The day I packed for college I had my suitcase open on the living room floor. Oofie Dog, a veteran of two previous college moves, knew the signs. She climbed into the suitcase, settled in amongst the sweaters and jeans and would not budge. I think the only time the dog ever growled at me was when I tried to get her out of that suitcase. I grabbed a Polaroid camera and snapped a picture. That picture stayed on my college bulletin board for four years, then my work desk for years. I still have it in a box of photos. I need to find it.
When my father was dying of cancer I searched my heart for a way not to let myself collapse in grief. I realized one thing that connected me with my dad was our love of dogs. Dogs do not let people give up on life. Dogs are life on four legs! So, while living in a San Francisco apartment, I set out to find the perfect dog. The dog I found was living in a woman's home-based rescue in Menlo Park. He wasn't a Keeshond, the breed I originally considered. No, after viewing a dozen Kees at the rescue I hadn't found the right dog and the woman, whose name was Wayne, pulled out her ace in the hole. A dog she normally didn't show because he had been through so many shelters and homes she was just going to keep him herself to prevent more stress on him. But, there was something about me... Well, the red dog, who looked like a tall fox, came into the room and made a beeline for me. It really was an instant connection that amazed Wayne, who said the dog, Erik the Red, rarely responded that way to anyone. Trust issues. Erik was 3, a Finnish Spitz, and he became my first dog.
There were many dogs who passed through my heart over the next decade. I helped Wayne with the rescue, fostering other Finnish Spitz, American Eskimo and Keeshonden and placing them in new homes. One dog, a Chow/Akita mix named Jenna, came in because she was mistaken for a Finnish Spitz. After persuading Wayne not to send her back to the shelter in Modesto I worked hard to find her a home, walking her, grooming her and even taking her for an overnight and pet strut. Finally a friend commented that Jenna seemed to have already found a home. Dog Two, in a very small San Francisco apartment. Did I mention there were several resident cats as well?
Erik and Jenna co-existed peacefully but were not great friends. Each dog was dearly loved by me and returned the love. That was enough for them. Both lived to meet my husband, my children.
Being without a dog is foreign to me. As much as I grieve the individual animal I grieve even more the absence of a dog in my life. Charlie Brown occupied space in a very different way than any other dog. For two years he took a great deal of energy from me and while he gave me much, he did not give me what I needed from a dog. At first I thought I would wait a long time before attempting another dog relationship after Charlie. And then, the quiet got to me. The yearning for the companionship. Enter Roscoe.
Roscoe is a cross between a German Short-Hair Pointer and a French Bulldog. He's 9 months old. Roscoe came through a rescue, having been fostered by several different women in his short life. We knew going in that he was great with kids, dogs, people and cats. And he is. He's been with us for 2 weeks now and is feeling quite at home. His major fault is that he is a puppy, wants to put everything (including us) in his mouth, and absolutely hates it when one of us leaves the room. Obedience class starts Wednesday.
Oh, and does he recognize my inner beauty? Not as much as he does my son and daughter's! I can either be miffed that the dog adores kids or take the high road and rejoice that my children have the dog love gene.
Besides, once school starts I'm going to win his lonely heart.
