Dog is (now) my co-pilot

As a person approaches 40, it's not unusual to observe some shifts in behavior or attitudes that previously seemed fixed but are suddenly fluid.  This can take the form of the stereotypical yearning for a Harley Davidson, or can include subtler changes, like embracing meditation, weight-lifting or Twitter. 

Much to my surprise, I have become a dog person. After years of sporadic and dubious (on my part) interaction with animals (several cats excepted), I find myself admiring every dog on the street, relishing trips to dog-related stores and enthusiastically dedicating whole weekends to dog-centered activities. 

The change happened gradually and involved many people with many kinds of dogs, but culminated in falling in love, not only with my girlfriend Allison, but also her standard poodle Dixie. It wasn't that I hated dogs before; I just didn't see what all the fuss was about.  Why did so many people find slobber, constant shedding and begging at the table appealing? Sure, dogs love their owners unconditionally, but they also love almost everyone else unconditionally.  They are evolutionarily programmed to love people.  Which meant the only difference between dogs and robots, in my mind, was that you don't have to clean up after a robot or worry about it keeping the neighbors awake at night.

I didn't know it at the time, but what I needed were ambassador dogs to show me the way toward canine acceptance that involved more than putting their cold nose on my leg (ewwww!) or breathing heavily at face level during a nap on the couch (uuugh!) or, in a story that is now legendary in my family, plucking my latte from where it sat in the middle of the large, square coffee table, drinking it all, then replacing the cup on the table precisely in its previous location.  In case you don't think Labs can execute a plot worthy of 007, yes they can.  And aaaaargh! 

Interestingly, though, it was that latte-drinking devil dog, Cali, who taught me one of the key lessons of  acceptance: dogs can change.  In a way I've never witnessed in other animals, dogs do grow; they mature.  They even get, dare I say, more refined. This makes them not only more interesting than I'd imagined, but also more satisfying to relate to. Cali went from a huge, clumsy mess to a good-natured, limits-respecting dog (for the most part).  Even I could see that, despite my ongoing latte grudge. I hope she is romping in dog heaven with an endless supply of food to steal, doors to open, and bare legs to nose.

If Cali taught me about doggie growth, Bedford (another (mostly) Lab) taught me the joy of dog walking.  Ella, the first poodle I met, taught me about how smart dogs play.  Last year at the school where I worked, four teachers got puppies in the same month.  Since faculty dogs were allowed on campus, the halls were transformed into romping grounds for a rainbow array of chubby, big-pawed cuteness.  There's a reason those adorable animal pics are all over Facebook, no matter how cynically one tries to avoid hitting "like." Having a constant parade of Youtube-worthy puppies scampering by my room every day was almost more than I could take.  But I had never lived with a dog for any length of time.  I needed an introduction to the doggie lifestyle.

Enter Allison, the girlfriend, and Dixie, the poodle.  Since meeting them, I have experienced almost  every aspect of dog ownership except a visit to the vet--and I'm sure that'll come soon.  I've seen a lot of sunrises I wouldn't have ever seen during early morning visits to the patch of grass outside; I've joined the daily routine of fetch with an inside toy.  I have a dog blanket in the back seat of my car, and a Chuck-It, spare tennis balls and even a dog seat belt in my trunk.  I know how to feed Dixie and what to do to avoid getting soaked while bathing her. I'm learning about gentle leaders, biodegradable poop bags, favorite treats and the combo heart worm/flea pill.  But most of all, I have experienced dog parks.

Dixie at Pt. Isabel dog park

Dog parks are like taking a flight to Hawaii every day.  Unfortunately, dog parks are not tropical paradises full of palm trees and beautiful beaches. What I mean is dog parks are imbued with an air of celebration, of joyous holiday-esque spirit that reminds me of the feeling of going on vacation.  It's not a shock to discover that doctors have uncovered healthy benefits of being around dogs.  The sense of relaxation I feel walking around an area full of off-leash dogs and owners is palpable.  Happy dogs are contagious: that unconditional love they offer also comes with an uncomplicated sense of fun. Dixie can jump so high in anticipation of a game of fetch that all four legs spring off the ground. Other dogs waddle around the park, or amble, or dash.  Owners are congenial; generous with compliments, magnanimous if an apology has to be offered .  Almost everyone is smiling, dogs included. What's not to love?

As a new dog person, I now can't pass a dog on the street without my heart melting a little, much like my friend Kris, whose example was instrumental is adapting to the doggie lifestyle.  Kris and her husband rescued a Turkish street dog named Ruby, fostered her seven puppies in their tiny faculty apartment near Istanbul, found them all homes (not easy in a dog-hostile culture), then transported Ruby (now fixed) back to Denver.  With such a paragon of dog devotion for a friend, there is nothing Allison does with Dixie that seems the least bit excessive. Because nothing is.  I'm fully converted to fetch and treats--not to mention counting each minute until we can go to Pt. Isabel again. 

Can a Youtube-worthy puppy be far behind? 

Dixie and me, February 2013