In the Doghouse

There's a running argument in our house that revolves around the title "the greatest dog that ever lived," the label Jeremy and I have each given to a dog (or a duo of dogs, in my case) from childhood that set the standard against which we measure all other dogs (none of whom ever measure up).  For Jeremy, it was Simon the tan mutt farm dog that shadowed he and his brother as they toddled the fields as small children.  For me, it was the mother-son duo, Lady and Smokey - a stray German shepherd and her mutt-mix son - that occupied the pet positions of our family for over a decade of my childhood and adolescence.

These animals were special members of our families and our childhoods would have been incomplete without them.  Of course, they had their place in the hierarchy of the family, but they were still valued members of the family for the love, protection and fun they provided.

We've known ever since I was pregnant that we wanted our children to have that same experience, to be able to tell the story as an adult of the greatest dog that ever lived for them.  Towards that end, when I was pregnant, we adopted Aurora - Rory, for short - from the city's animal control facility (we'd been rejected from the area's humane societies because we admitted we planned to keep the dog outside - no, seriously, don't get me started on that topic).

A month later, we sat in the veterinarian's office, saying our final goodbyes to her, this sweet-spirited golden retriever mix who grew noticeably excited at the mere sound of children's voices.  She'd been exposed to distemper in the shelter - for cost reasons, dogs aren't vaccinated against it until after they've been adopted, but already exposed to many other dogs in the kennels - and slowly deteriorated over the four weeks we had her.  It was heartbreaking.

After the euthanization, we gathered and cleaned all the toys and accessories we'd so proudly purchased for her just weeks before and stored them away in a dark corner of the storage shed, closing away that chapter, needing a couple of years to heal from the disappointment and pain of that month of watching another living being die.

This summer, though, we finally decided it was time.  After seeing Gideon play happily with Jeremy's aunt Cindy's dog during our summer road trip, we thought we were ready to take the plunge into dog ownership.  We found a dog on Craigslist - a three-month old "tuxedo lab", which is just a fancy phrase for a labrador that has just enough mutt in her to give her a white chest, feet and tail tip.  She was cute, but a little shy at our first meeting.  Jeremy liked her and decided she was the one.

In the almost three months we've had her, we've learned a lot about ourselves - foremost, that we may not be the "dog people" we thought we were, or maybe just that we at least have a lot shorter temper than we'd imagined, or even that we're just lazy and set in our ways.  It's been a hard transition.

The dogs we had as kids were farm dogs - strictly outside (except perhaps when the occasional thunderstorm blew up), left to roam acres and acres freely and at will.  Training just seemed to happen without obvious attention to the matter - the dogs were always obedient, respectful, loyal.  They knew their place in the family hierarchy, they came when called.  They got plenty of exercise on their own and rarely seemed to chew on things they shouldn't (of course, why would you choose to chew on a shoe when there's plentiful bones to choose from or small wildlife to chase and catch).

But raising and keeping dogs in the city is something new and something we're having to fumble our way through - and not so admirably at times.  Having a puppy is like having a toddler - they're always pulling things out and mouthing around on things they shouldn't be.  They have a lot of energy that we have to help them expend and ours wants to be with us, which means being inside more than I would have liked originally.

I've spent a lot of time yelling at both boy and puppy and often feel like my parents must have on long road trips when the game of push-and-pull that one minute was making my sister and I laugh suddenly turns ugly and ends in fighting as I get caught up in refereeing Gideon and Sally's odd game of pushing and pawing at each other that illicits giggles from Gideon one minute and screams from him the next.  It's easy to see why most people get the dog first - it's hard to give puppies the time they need when you already have a small child demanding your attention.

We've not done so well so far.  Early on, Gideon did not take to her as immediately as we'd hoped, and we too easily became disheartened by his requests for her to stay outside when he was in and vice versa.  She's been left on her own in the backyard too much - a small corner of chewed-away siding is testament to that.  She doesn't get walked daily, despite the fact that we know she LOVES it and desperately needs it to burn some of the endless energy she seems to possess; we just cannot seem to work it into our daily routines yet.  We don't believe Gideon should mistreat her, but on the other hand, we believe that she should also put up with just about anything he dishes out, but we can't quite figure out how to walk that fine line of teaching mutual respect and just end up yelling at both of them or putting her outside and then unintentionally, but easily, forgetting about her.

But there are moments these days, moments when she frolicks and he giggles.  There's a hole in the backyard that they dug together - taking turns with paws and plastic shovels.  Sally goes into her kennel at night easily and never makes a peep during the night.  She doesn't pee inside anymore.  We've even bitten the bourgeois bullet and enrolled her in puppy training classes at the local PetsMart and we feel like we're starting to make progress, like we're becoming better, more responsible urban dog owners.

So it's come as quite a blow to our little family to learn that our newest four-legged member is no longer welcome at the home of some of our extended family.  She's too boisterous and makes messes, causes inconveniences for these family members.  I don't deny these truths, but they are nothing revelatory for a puppy - they are to be expected, as we've had to learn the last few months, and she does not take these habits to an undue extreme.

We are practical people.  We know a dog's place in the world.  We know who we're grabbing first if the house is on fire - not the dog (or even the crooked-tail Korean cat we flew across an ocean).  However, we also know we've taken on the care of this animal, who now depends on us - for food, for shelter, and for love - and we want to do right by her.  For now, that means letting her be inside more than we'd imagined because it makes her happy to be with us and teaches her to trust us (and leaving her to her own devices in the backyard for too long makes her even more hyperactive and destructive than normal).  It means taking her along with us when we go out of town - or at least leaving her in a safe, loving home of a friend or family member - until we feel she's had enough training and exposure to different people and animals to board her somewhere.

We haven't been blessed (yet, anyway) with a large passel of children.  So we've chosen to build our family with pets.  Sally is a member of our family and to have her banned from a family member's home leaves our little immediate family feeling awkward and unwelcome, rejected.  Not to mention creates a wall - an obstacle course - of additional hassles, complications and cost to spending time at the home of these family members, who simultaneously (and continually) insist on their desire to host their family and have loved ones near.

Even though she's just a dog, Sally has already taught us - or at least reminded us - of things critical to being part of a family.  Like learning how to be flexible and adjust one's life to fit someone or something new or different, and having to think of something outside of ourselves and what's convenient for us.  Being part of a family means keeping our hearts open, having compassion for "even the least of these", and loving even when we're frustrated, disappointed or hurt.  Not easy tasks, but ones we must persevere in - they go right to the core of what life is all about.  Family.