By ML Van Valkenburgh
I have this dog, Jed, and life without him would be unthinkable, so, though he is a mannerly and not bratty dog, he is consequently extraordinarily spoiled. He does not wear clothes – I refuse to degrade him in this way. But he eats the best of foods, has the newest of collars (and leashes), and has more toys and treats than Baron Trump. He has a ratty bed that I would replace, but he just doesn’t like other ones, and he sleeps with me at night, anyway, hogging at least 3/4 of the bed so he can stretch out.
We don’t do walks because his idea of a walk is to pull my arm out of the socket, then the leash out of my hand. But he likes to keep fit, and his preference has always been the disc. He’s getting a bit older, so his accuracy is not as great, but he used to be spot on – he could snag that thing every time. If we’re at the lake, he’ll dive underwater if it sinks until he’s found it, which amazes me because he was terrified of water til he was nearly four after a fall into a walled pond as a pup sent him into a panic. He finds ball an acceptable substitute game, and if you’re strong enough to play tug with the rope bone, you’ve got a friend for life (jaws of steel on this guy, I tell ya). Him, that is, not me.
They say you can always teach a dog obedience, like staying off the furniture, and so on, but my question is, “Why?” I like the way things are in my house. I have a good dog. My neighbors love him and give him treats. He scares off strangers and the super, both of which are good things. He’s a snuggly, sweet guy who just wants love and proximity in return. My couch is pretty crummy, so what do I care if he lies on it? My bed has been his space since he was a pup, and I don’t intend to give that up. And if some trainer wants to tell me that Jed’s got me trained, and that he’s the leader of my pack, well, that’s a load of bullshit. Jed knows who the boss is. He listens well and does what he’s told. “Stop barking!” means “Stop barking!” If he’s really having trouble letting go, I switch to German (he’s bilingual) and he knows he’s really in trouble. Yet I’ve never hit him, or threatened violence against him. I’m just the boss, and he’s kind of like my point man.
There’s this new doggy boutique that’s opened on Division between Western and Damen. They carry the food that I have a helluva time finding anywhere else, and good treats that last him awhile (they assure me they’ll get Greenies so I don’t have to go to more than one place for my doggy needs), and they carry fun toys, and clothes for you saps who buy into that, and leashes and collars and beds, and doggy ice cream, which is a favorite around here – Jed just tried Rockin Apple Ice Cream for the first time. Good stuff, apparently. And they’ve got these tubs so you can wash your dog with their special shampoo, and stay dry in a smock, and all kinds of other cool stuff.
Having a dog that you love more than you love life itself isn’t cheap. It has its perks, though. Someone loves me, no matter what. For that, I can live on frozen Mac-n-Beef for some time to come.
Posted on September 16, 2006