Jackson & Poncho

I think I’ve always liked dogs.  I can’t really remember interacting with them when I was a very little person, but that’s either because I just don’t remember, or because my parent’s kept me at more than a flailing arms-length, for my sake and the dog’s.  My family didn’t get a dog until I was in Kindergarden, and then I remember loving Morgan the Scottish Terrier intensely and delighting in pulling her around by that lovely natural handle called a tail.  I hated the thought of her liking anyone more than me, because how could such a thing be possible?  I drew 1000 faithful portraits of her, working many a black crayon into a candy nub.  I defended her great courage and intelligence to all my fellow Kindergardeners (lousy bunch of braggarts), and I even give her credit for landing me my first date, when after suggesting to the lovely Sheena that we get together some time and watch our dogs race, I got myself invited to her birthday party.  There were other kids at the party too and no dogs, but still, “hey, let’s get our dogs together and race ’em” is a pickup line that attracts only the choice few.

Nowadays I walk some dogs that could, and maybe would, devour poor Morgan.  She was feisty as a terrier and once ran off and killed someone’s chicken (“she killed Davie!”). But in retrospect, I’d say she had the patience of a saint.  Too bad for saints, they’re so often admirable only in retrospect.  But I’m reminded of her virtue every time Jackson, Poncho and I walk by the neighbor’s when the yard is just boiling with little kids.  They all yell out “Jackson!” and come bounding over.  As the larger handsomer dog, the kids look up to him more than Poncho, literally.  Poncho doesn’t seem to feel slighted, and in truth, he’s probably relieved not to be the center of that kind of attention.  The kids and the dogs often play in their respective yards separated only by a small chain-link fence, and for the kids, the presence of these large carnivores is only fun, fun, fun!  It’s Out-U-Go! policy not to let people pet the dogs you’re walking, but usually it’s all I can do to pull the dogs away from the kids (and I do, though the only real danger is some little Molly or Jesse getting lovingly bludgeoned by a wildly wagging tail).  The house on the other side has an even smaller child, and sometimes he waves from his perch on his mother’s hip as we stroll by their porch.  “Say, ‘hi doggies!'” says mom, and though the lil’ tyke hasn’t quite managed that yet, I have no doubt he will soon, and ‘hi doggies’ will become one of the first phrases he ever mutters.

Not all people like dogs, and not all dogs like kids.  I’m sure much of that has to do with experience, as in, people never exposed to dogs as kids (or to mean dogs only) are more likely to be cat people, and dogs accustomed to sheep and old folks might not be so thrilled by the less restrained, miniature iterations of our species.  But I walk by kids in strollers all the time, kids so small that they still interact with the world by grasping and grabbing at the images in front of them like a drunken caveman in his first 3D movie (what does that make them, one-year olds?  I’m bad at baby aging. They drool).  And lo and behold, these kids, fresh to the world and unburdened with experience to lend them bias, roll by me and my dog-of-the-moment with arms outstretched, ooing and cooing in a way that can only be translated as “hey, I like that thing there. Gimme”.  I admit it’s possible they are associating these dogs with the stuffed animals in their cribs (and with dogs like Sally or Bisou that’s a very forgivable mistake), but I prefer to think these little humans are expressing a canine affinity that has become so natural and easy in us over the 30,000 or so years of our species’ partnership that one could almost call it instinctual. That may not hold water scientifically, but just imagine sitting on a sofa next to a 400 pound Pug and not feeling a little afraid.  Imagine!  Powerful forces are at work.  Babies all over the world interact joyfully with large carnivores that they should naturally fear. As for the carnivores themselves, lets just say that Bella the German Shepard went from a sweet and goofy pup to full lock-down security guard the moment her owner’s brought their new baby from the hospital.  No one had to say “Bella, guard this little pink loaf with your life,” let alone “Bella, don’t eat it.”  No training required.  And if Bella’s half the saint my Morgan was, that little baby is going to grow up a dog lover, and raise little dog lovers of her own.  There will be generations of little hands pulling patient tails!  And that’s a warm a fuzzy thought for a rainy day.