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NOTES FROM THE HINTERLAND
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PUPPY DAZE |
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By Laurie Meunier Graves
In last month’s Notes from the Hinterland, I wrote about how we had to have
our old dog Seamus put down and the grief we felt over his passing. “No more
dogs for us,” I said to my husband when we learned that Seamus’s cancer was
inoperable. “They’re too much work, and it’s too hard when they die.”
“Right,” he agreed. “No more dogs.”
Our resolved lasted approximately one week after we had Seamus put down.
Without Seamus, the house seemed so dull, so blah, so empty. Even at
thirteen, he had had an energy and a presence that kept things humming.
Without Seamus, who would bark whenever we used the microwave? Who would go
out with me when I hung laundry on the clothesline? Whom would I talk to
when everyone was gone? Long dogless days, empty and blank, stretched out
before me, and I didn’t like the way they looked.
“I need a dog,” I soon said to my husband, and he just nodded. Fortunately,
he felt the same way as I did.
So off we went to a Shetland sheepdog breeder not far from where we live,
and home we came with a fuzzy black, white, and brown puppy we’ve called
Liam. (We decided it was best to stick with our tradition of Irish names.)
Poor little Liam! A short time ago, he spent his time in a pen with his
littermates. True, he was confined, but he lived in blissful freedom, eating
and playing with the other puppies, biting and tumbling. Life was simple.
There were no rules. Now things are different, and Liam has come to live in
the House of No. No biting the carpet. No biting feet. No chewing the leg of
the chair. No, no, no. Sometimes he listens, and sometimes he doesn’t.
Sometimes he just stares at us, and his bright black eyes sparkle. Other
times, he barks, and our eldest daughter Deirdre has dubbed him Yip-Yap.
Thirteen years is a long time to go between puppies, long enough to forgot
what kind of merry confusion they can bring to a house. Was Seamus ever such
a little pest? Did he mess on the carpet, try to drink from a bucket of
dirty water that I had just used to wash the floor, and make relaxing at
night in front of the television a thing of the past? Well, yes he did, and
in the exhaustion of keeping up with Liam, we can vaguely remember those
days. Needless to say, the house is no longer dull.
In addition, many things have changed since Seamus was a puppy. Back
then, our daughters were still young, and Seamus had to share attention with
them. Liam, on the other hand, lives in a childfree household and is
surrounded by three doting adults (our youngest daughter Shannon, now an
adult, lives at home). My husband and I both work at home, and our days
revolve around Liam, his nap times, his playtime, his outside time, his
training. Each week, he gets a new toy (more on this later) and a bath.
We’ve already taken him to the Dairy Queen for a child-size vanilla, which
he eats with puppy gusto and which doesn’t seem to bother his digestive
system at all. We love staring at him when he’s asleep, his little white
paws curled by his black velvet muzzle, and, at times, it seems to us that
he’s a human baby rather than a puppy. Shannon even bought him a little
fleece blanket for nap time, and it’s easy to see why childless couples make
such a big deal out of having a pet.
Then there’s Petco, the store of stores for people who have pets. Imagine a
store with a dog bone bar filled with so many treats that a dog could be
thrown into a frenzy just staring at it. Imagine a whole aisle filled with
dog toys, some just for fun but others designed to be developmentally
challenging to a puppy and that cost about $8 apiece. Imagine a store where
dogs sit in shopping carts and are pushed around by their owners, who just
love to stop and listen to puppy stories from enthusiastic new owners.
When Seamus was young, this kind of store didn’t exist in central Maine, and
Seamus had a rope toy, a ball, and a rawhide bone to chew on. Liam, on the
other hand, has a whole basket of toys—stuffed animals, squeaky toys that
look as though they came from outer space, and toys within toys (designed
for safety, of course!) to stimulate his doggy curiosity, which truth be
told, does not really need stimulating. Both Shannon and I have spent more
money at Petco than we care to admit, but the really pathetic thing is that
we both look forward to our weekly outings to this store. It seems that dogs
have become a part of the consumer society, and Shannon and I, who are both
so frugal with ourselves, are more than willing to indulge Liam.
While I’m on the subject of spending money on the dog, I might as well come
completely clean and admit we have even started a puppy scrapbook for Liam.
It has pictures of Liam when he first came to our house, and it has pictures
of Liam on outings to various parks in the area. More importantly, guests
who come for dinner are obliged to have their pictures taken with Liam for
the scrapbook. Will there eventually be invitations to doggie parties?
With the way things are going, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were, and if
they ever do come, into the scrapbook they will go.
Why do we do it? Why are we so dotty about Liam? Why do we love to watch him
race around the table and through the house, his belly low to the floor and
his ears back against his small head? Why do we love to take him for walks
and outings? Why do we love to kiss his soft little black muzzle and spend
so much time with him? In my piece about Seamus, I asked a similar question.
That is, why do we get so attached to our pets?
Then I remembered a passage from The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. In it,
L. Frank Baum describes the grayness of Kansas and the importance of
Dorothy’s relationship with Toto, one of literature’s most famous dogs.
When Dorothy stood in the doorway and looked around, she could see nothing
but the great gray prairie on every side….The sun had baked the plowed land
into a gray mass…Even the grass was not green, for the sun had burned
the tops of the long blades until they were the same gray color to be seen
everywhere….It was Toto that made Dorothy laugh, and saved her from growing
as gray as her other surroundings. Toto was not gray; he was a little black
dog, with long silky hair and small black eyes that twinkled merrily on
either side of his funny, wee nose. Toto played all day long, and Dorothy
played with him, and loved him dearly.
I don’t think it’s overstating the case to say that Toto is vital to
Dorothy’s emotional well being. Because of this, when she risks her life to
save him from the cyclone, we understand why he means so much to her and why
she would do such a thing. Kansas isn’t the only place where life can be
gray, and dogs, with their zest and vitality, help relieve the grayness.
This is such an incredible gift that it’s more than worth the puppy daze—the
lack of sleep, the constant vigilance—that most owners feel when dealing
with their young dogs. A few months of messes and chewing are more than
worth what dogs give to their owners. After all, to be saved from grayness
is no small thing.
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