Dog Ownership for Dummies

In 2001, before Joseph and I celebrated our first anniversary, we got a dog.  We had started to research which breeds to get.  We had started to figure out what we wanted in life.  And we had just moved into a new place.  But before we had even really looked up dogs on the internet, Joseph surprised me by picking me up from work one day with a puppy.  And let me tell you, puppies are jerks. 

We named him Dinky, which was the name that my Gram called my dad when he was little.  I thought it was a grand joke, but Dad wasn’t as humored by it.  Dinky was a rescue mutt.  He was a Siberian Husky and a Border Collie mix.  And though we didn’t know it when he was a cute puff of fur and eyes, those two dog breeds are very, very anal retentive. 

Dinky was the worse!  He chewed through blankets, he chewed through beds—let me tell you, coming home from work to see that your bed was really a giant hole that went from the comforter through the top mattress, through the box spring, and down to the floor is not a good end to a long day.  He chewed through window sills, he chewed through walls, and he chewed every last button off of my favorite cardigan.  Just the buttons, the sweater he kept intact and used it to snuggle when I wasn’t there.  Puppies can be cute!

 

When we moved to our new apartment, Dinky developed separation anxiety.   We were the first dog owners allowed to bring our pet into a certain apartment building of Seattle’s Capitol Hill.  The owner of the building had to type up a dog agreement for the very first time to give to our building manager just for us.  And in this dog agreement was a very specific clause, if the dog noise bothered anyone the dog (and his owners) would have to go. 

So imagine our horror when we discovered he could be heard from a block away, screaming his heart out because we were gone.  To this day, I don’t know why nobody complained.  I would have if I had to listen to that racket all day.  We almost gave Dinky away!  (Thank goodness Margaret didn’t take him!)

 

We got Dinky acclimated to his surroundings, and hired our friend Kate to babysit while we were away.  But there were times when we left for a coffee or a movie, and Dinky felt he should have gone with us.  It was these times that Dinky’s very smart, coldly calculated mind would spring into action.  He would destroy something valuable to us (usually to Joseph) and he would leave the pieces of the object arranged in a row in front of the door so it was the first thing we saw when we entered the apartment.  Joseph lost many electric razors, and we had to replace quite a few TV remote controls. 

I was horrified to discover that dog walks were not something you did every other Sunday when we first had a puppy in our lives.  I was meant to walk him at least once a day.  And this was a chore, until I realized I loved it.  Walking Dinky taught me about cool morning air in the city, with a warm travel mug of coffee in my hand.  He showed me that the line between day and night is obscured by those people who hadn’t gone to bed yet.  And Dinky was very pretty to look at, he still is in his dignified, wolfish manner.  Many people had to stop to talk to us (and a word to single people, dogs get you hit on a lot). 

Two years after Joseph and I brought Dinky into our life, we hired and wheedled a friend of mine to baby sit Dinky for a week while we made a wild drive across the country on vacation.  That’s when we stumbled upon our little souvenir, Sally, a dog I named after my Mom to keep the peace in my family. 

 

I was expecting Drama (note the capital D) from Dinky when we strolled in after a week of abandonment with a new puppy in tow.  But I was shocked to discover that Sally kind of flipped a switch in Dinky.  Almost overnight, Dinky’s separation anxiety was relaxed.  It was as though he knew he wouldn’t be abandoned, because if we didn’t come back for him, surely we would come back for the new puppy.

 Dinky took a very active interest in Sally’s upbringing.  One of my rules for dogs is that they are not allowed in the kitchen when I am cooking.  When puppy-Sally sauntered over in her overly self-confident way, Dinky grabbed the scruff of her neck with his teeth and pulled her back out of the kitchen.  Sally looked at Dinky, who was sitting at the kitchen’s edge, and she sat down there, too.  I never had to train her with the kitchen rule, Dinky did that for me. 

 

Having two dogs is not much more bother than one dog.  You’re doing all the same motions, only you hold two leashes instead of one.  You scoop an extra scoop of dog food.  And it gave Dinky that edge of sanity he had always been lacking.  His nerves were shot and Sally was his Prozac. 

So, in closing, I offer any new or potential dog owners this advice: have patience; learn to love dog walks (dress up for them if you are single); get a mutt, this might reduce some of the over bred insanity… though Dinky must have got it from both sides of his family tree; remember to love them, they don’t live forever.  Get used to farts and poop; after all, you do it, too.  And when all else fails, get a second dog.