doggone


I love dogs. We always had a dog when I was growing up. My dog Belle, a white German Shepherd, was a glorious dog. Once, we left her home alone for a day, and she broke out of the house and walked a precarious two miles, cutting across backyards and shooting down empty alleys, to a friend’s house where my sister often walked her. Looking for us.

I don’t have a dog now, mostly just due to circumstance (might as well wait until I move). Though I’ve been rethinking this a lot lately. Mostly today. My ex-boyfriend and I got a dog when we lived together, but I left her with him when I moved. It was heartbreaking, and I’ll tell you that story sometime. But the ex owns a company where she gets to ride along with him every day, playing with customers’ dogs and generally enjoying a very pampered, very active lifestyle. At the time I was still working in an office and I couldn’t bear to stick her in a cage all day long. It didn’t seem fair. She’s a great dog, a lab, and he still brings her down to visit me sometimes. Now, I work from home, so I could give a dog- or a puppy- a lot of love and attention, too.

Living in Northern Kentucky, it seems like everyone has a dog. Covington- and Newport too, for that matter- is a dog-town. We don’t identify people by their names; we know their dog’s names. Butter, Xerox, Remy, Schotzie, Bill Murray, Travis- if you live near the river you probably know at least one of these dogs. Feisty Robbie is my favorite, a Westie terrier with a big dog personality. I didn’t think that I liked little dogs until I met him. Even the backyard wrestlers on lunch break along the river always melt when they see him.

When my neighbor Lora lost her German Shepherd Lacy a couple of years ago, people turned up from all over to help us go house to house to find her. The outpouring of concern was amazing. And the people we met and talked to helped out even more by looking around, too. Crazy story: A Month to the Day after disappearing, a vet tech saw Lacy sprawled out on the hillside next to Columbia parkway (that’s across the bridge in Ohio, and then some, for you out-of-towners). She whipped around in a somewhat precarious U-turn and pulled the dog inside her car. Lacy had a chip installed, so was soon reunited with her loving owner.

There aren’t really any dogs that I don’t like over here. And you have to be careful, because mention to someone that so-and-so snapped at you, and people will cross the street to avoid that dog for years to come. I’m not kidding. The doggie rumor mill is harsher and faster moving than the Ohio River. Some dogs get a bad rap through no fault of their own. Some may deserve the scorn of their neighbors, but it all feels a little silly to me.

I do sometimes get aggravated with some of the dog owners. There’s a woman who walks two small beagle-mixes and she never, ever picks up after them. The day after I said something to her I found a small surprise on my walkway. That kind of made me laugh, though I do wish she had a better understanding of the diseases spread by dogs. Commonly spread to other dogs, not to humans, which makes it seem even worse, somehow.

Some of the dogs, inevitably, begin to look like their owners. Or maybe their owners look like their dogs. The kind, shaggy man with the sweet, shaggy Shih tzus. The elegant tall couple with the even more elegant greyhound. The funny, lipsticked lady in the leopard coat and her lipsticked (from a morning kiss) spotted Dalmatian. The cool, efficient blonde career woman with the perfectly groomed Airedale. The funky, pretty blonde artist and her cuddly golden retriever.

What kind of dog am I? Well, I’m not sure. What kind of a dog is trusting, loyal to a fault and still believes in the goodness of people? Tries to be like Marilyn but often ends up more like Lucy? Falls head over heels far too easily, and is weary of being bruised again? Am I a pit bull? Or a Newfoundland? A Jack Russell terrier, perhaps?

I’m open to suggestions, dog lovers.

p.s. Last night my neighbor was experimenting and came up with a new recipe for an exotic chicken dish, and he made some extra for my dinner, too. Sweet. I couldn’t help but notice though, the Tupperware dish holding my meal was labeled with his dog’s name.

I’ve had worse dinner dates.

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