Guess I'll Have Those Words on a Sandwich, Pass the Dill Pickles

Too big. Too messy. Too much of a chance.

I was sure he wasn't the dog for me, the timing wasn't right, I didn't have time for a dog, blah, blah, blah.

Then Bernie and I went for a walk around the block. On the other side of Zumstein Street, a little dog ran out of a yard. "There he goes," I said to Bernie as the mutt scrambled down the sidewalk at full speed. But as the dog came past the cars parked over there, he dashed forward, across the street ... right at me. Wiggling madly, he came to my feet to greet me with recognition and delight. There was one white dot on the back of his little red neck, a dot that looked exactly like the dot on the back of the neck of a shelter dog called "Hoagie" that I had met and petted months before -- like last August. "Can this be Hoagie?" I said, just as his owner came running across the street, shouting, "Hoagie!"

"It IS Hoagie! I met this dog at the shelter," I explained to his owner. Bernie and I chatted with Brett for a while, then we went on our ways. I was glad to see that Hoagie had found such a doting owner.

Yet it gave me food for thought. If Hoagie, a dog I petted in passing six months ago, remembered me, what must that big pup think of someone who spent twenty minutes petting and playing with him, someone who just turned around and walked away and never came back?

I'd referred to him (after I met him when talking to Alex) as "that froggy mutt down at the shelter." And standing by my bedroom door looking out at the rain, I thought, "What would I do, call him 'Froggy?' Stupid name for a dog." And I'm not kidding, I heard something like a small voice say, His name is Kermit.

We went down to see him again this morning. Oh, boy, did he ever recognize me. We took him to the Adoption Room to let him interact with us in a quiet setting; we were impressed with his calmness mixed with happy spirits. He didn't bark, he didn't jump. He sat beside me, he came when we clapped for him. I put a leash on him to test how hard I'd have to pull on him to get his attention and direction ... not much at all. And then, on the leash, he just lay down and relaxed.

He'll visit the vet in the morning when Animal Control takes him there for neutering, and by evening, I will have a big, smelly dog with me, a dog named Kermit.

Not Him Either

Last week I went down to the local Animal Shelter to look at a dog. Alex had been down there volunteering, and came home with a tale of a nice puppy reputed to be a Labrador Retriever/German Shepherd mix.

We took him to an outside run and messed with him for about 20 minutes, then I had Alex call Bernie and tell him to come down and look at the dog, too. For having been in an animal shelter kennel for more than a week, he was remarkably mellow, and easily came to lean against my legs; he had a happy demeanor, and was willing to sit. His feet were enormous, though; plainly, even though he was a big puppy, he is going to be a much larger adult. I didn't really see any Shepherd in him, but the Lab was quite evident.

On a whim, Bernie dragged me off to an adoption event at German Shepherd Rescue of Modesto. We petted German Shepherds for about half an hour, big ones, puppies, in-betweens. We came home without a new dog.

The next evening, Alex and John had to go out of town, leaving us in charge of the girls. And of Eperis, who naturally slept in our bed with us because he believes that dogs do sleep in beds with people.

When I woke in the morning, Ep was already watching me, ready for a snuggle. Then I knew that the shelter dog was not for me. That huge puppy would require attention 24/7 for a long time, and I'm not willing to give up the interaction I have with Ep.

The other thing that I realized, thinking about the dogs I'd looked at over the weekend, was that all the German Shepherds we petted didn't really speak to us: they were all looking for their foster-owners. All looking for someone else. And the part-Lab? He wasn't looking for us, he was looking for anybody.

The Lab would have been too big to be a lap dog, anyway, whereas Eperis is obviously not.

I don't know if I'll find another companion dog for me in my life or not. Howie would be a hard act to follow. For the time being, Ep fills in as best he can, at my heels in the kitchen if he hears me get out the cutting board or opening the wrapper of a loaf of bread, greeting me in the mornings with many kisses, staring intensely into my eyes with optimism and good nature.

I'm content for now.

No, Not Him

I had Alex accompany me to the animal shelter this morning. She volunteers there for a couple hours each Saturday, and keeps me updated on what's new. Last week she told me a border collie mix had been brought in as a found dog the finder couldn't keep.

Our first dog in the Pilarski household was a border collie mix: Desi, who was so cool we didn't need an air conditioner. So personally being without a dog currently, I thought it might be a good idea to go check out this shelter mutt.

It was a crowd event; all four Queens were there with us to see the dog. He eagerly greeted Alex as she slipped a leash around his neck. That was the good part.

A good-looking little fellow, he was scared of the loud barking of the other dogs, and Alex had to tow him past the cages. Once we got him in the exercise run, he was happy to scamper about off-leash and immediately lifted his leg and peed on the fence, exposing a pair of testicles that would have made any Doberman proud. Hmmm.

Although he initially responded to Alex and Lil's invitation to play, he made a thorough circuit of the run, not only looking to see if the fencing was indeed closed, but also looking up, gauging the height of the fencing. That was a bit disconcerting. And then he pretty much lost interest in the people. A toy got his attention, but me snapping my fingers didn't even merit an ear twitch.

"He's a good looking dog," I said to Alex, "but he's not mine."

The right dog would have been attending to the other three creatures in the pen with him, sorting out who was who and who was the boss, seeking comfort after the sterile environment of the shelter he'd lived in for the past week. The only thing this dog was seeking was a way out.

Have I been pining for another dog? Not really. But all our dogs have appeared at amazingly odd times: Desi when I was nervous about how much Bernie was away from home traveling with work; Babe when one of my co-workers blurted to me, "Do you want a dog? I gotta get rid of my dog!" Howie was so serendipitous that I still have to laugh at telling Bernie I was thinking about getting Babe a companion dog, one that was a German shepherd mix, male, about four months old, neutered ... and then Bernie called me from work a few hours later after reading a newspaper that advertised a German shepherd mix, male, four months old, available for adoption at Delta Humane Society. Sebastian came home with the Queens after they went for a walk past a house that was giving away border collie mix puppies; Eperis arrived after John found a "Free To a Good Home" ad online after Sebastian's untimely death.

Speaking of Ep, he was waiting near the door when we came home from the shelter. He trotted to me instantly, and then sniffed my hands to determine what I had petted. I washed my hands and called him to me again. Eperis flung himself to the floor on his back, begging for a belly rub.

"You da dog," I told him.