There are dogs who pull sleds, guide the blind, assist the disabled, locate missing people and alert their families to danger. There are dogs who do tricks for our enjoyment, sniff out drugs, guard property and protect their owners. Then there are my dogs.
We have two dogs: Rusty is a 6-year old Tibetan Spaniel and Farley is a 4-year old Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. Both dogs are purebred. Both dogs are beautiful. Both dogs are neurotic: Rusty takes strange and irrational dislikes to certain people and no matter what they try to do to win him over (feed him treats, ignore him, talk to him) he doesn't want anything to do with them. He is so extremely suspicious of strangers, that if he were human, he'd count his change twice before he left the register and if he had hands, he'd slam people up against a wall and frisk them for concealed weapons before allowing them in the house. Rusty is always on alert and always on patrol--he figured out quickly that higher elevations provide the best vantage points; when he was a pup, he scaled straight up a vertical book shelf to get out of his pen. It gave me quite a start to see him calmly perched on the 4th shelf, nearly 5 feet off the ground!
Farley, on the other hand, will bark at strangers but he is so food-oriented, anyone can win him over with a liver treat or two. A huge part of Farley's world revolves around his digestive tract: he is a total food whore and is willing to go to any length to get something, anything, to eat. I fully believe that he would sell me out for a chunk of steak. He drools copiously while watching other people eat and before we discovered he had a corn allergy, he would have regular bouts of diarrhea; diarrhea on a long-haired dog is a pain but diarrhea on a long-haired dog who races around in an attempt to rid himself of the mess is just disgusting. The allergy also made him, uh, windy. Since he sleeps between our pillows, both E and I found his emissions extremely volatile. Farley, who does suffer from a congenital eye defect, always barks when he sees A; he barks as if she were a total stranger, even if he saw her earlier in the day, even if she is just emerging from her bedroom or rounding the corner from one room to the next. Sometimes we aren't sure if it's his poor eyesight or his seeming inability to hold onto too many thoughts at once; he is the doggy equivalent of a goldfish who swims to one side of its bowl and says, "Oh, look! A castle!" Then swims around, comes back and says, "Oh, look! A castle!"
Odes describing acts of bravery and heroism will never be written about these two. They lack the temperament to be trained as therapy or guide dogs and have no interest in learning to wind surf, skateboard or ride a Harley. Yes, they have their flaws but they also have one special quality: they are dogs.
To be a dog means to be appreciative--simply and unquestioningly grateful. For food. For affection. For the opportunity to walk and explore in the company of someone they love. For a good tummy rub and a scratch behind the ears. For interesting scents and sights. You know, the simple things in life.
To be a dog means to be accepting--they don't judge or criticize. Dogs don't care what car you drive or whether or not there are designer labels on your clothing. You can cuss in front of your dog without worrying that he'll think less of you for it. You can undress in front of your dog and never fear that he will point out the unattractive parts of your body or comment that holiday eating just might be catching up with you!
To be a dog means knowing when and how to be present. Having a bad day and feel the need to mull in silence? A human will try to get you to talk or offer some advice (I know I tend to do that!) Dogs just are. They give you a lick or a nudge on your hand. They cuddle up against you. They wait you out and when your mood brightens, so does theirs.
Rusty and Farley may not be the dogs of whom stories are written but they, along with their predecessor Kirby, have seen me through surgery and sickness, sadness and frustration, anger and fear, in ways that my human family and friends, no matter how loving and supporting, could not.
I will always have a dog in my life.
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