Dog Days

   According to my mom, my first word was doggie. This was rather disconcerting to young city parents, born and bred. Neither particularly liked dogs (although they, my dad especially, loathed cats so it  was not as bad as all that I suppose.) I often wonder if they regretted promising me a dog if we ever lived in the 'country'. With 3 babies born in their first 5 years of marriage, I imagine it seemed a safe thing to promise at the time.
   One of my absolute clear memories of early childhood was the giant "Little Books" series book, The Poky Little Puppy, that my dad brought home for me when I was 3. Another sharp memory was that remarkable moment when the squiggles and baffling code on the page became clear to me in first grade as  we read about the plucky black cocker spaniel Tag. "Tag. See Tag. Tag can run. Tag can play. We like Tag."
Great literature it was not. But that moment of going from nonreader to true reader is a thrill not soon forgotten. As a matter of fact, I get to relive it in school as a teacher, when I help my little friends learn to unlock the code of the squiggles, and it is still a spine-tingling moment.
   These two tales of dogs, opened for me many worlds, including the joys of a specific reading genre, that of dog stories. Oh, and I have read them all, from the insipid My Dog Marly, to the classic Call of the Wild, to the zany Marmaduke and Snoopy.
   Some books, like the Big Red series by Jim Kjelgaard, were worth rereading over and over. Other dog stories came from favorite authors who in addition to being writers were also dog lovers. Many authors take to writing at least one short story about their beloved canine. Even movie stars are known to pen stories of their rescued canines and pampered pooches, and I  gobble up every one.
   My latest dog story book is from a children's author Gary Paulsen; his My life in Dog years is riveting, heartwarming, and harrowing as only the best novels can be. Each chapter, highlighting dogs in his life, is magnificent. These stories are written for fifth graders and I wish more popular adult novelists would compose their prose with the same spare, clear, to the point, style.
  One of his stories, about Rex the farm dog, really caught my imagination as we await the arrival of our new bearded collie puppy. By the way, our puppy has not been born yet. She won't arrive here until this summer, or he, as of course we do not yet know the dog's sex.
  I have never gotten a dog for a specific purpose before, I mean beyond companionship. All our dogs of course have become much more than companions. But this will be our first true working dog and expectations and anticipation run high.
   As our little livestock herd increases, I need a companion to help me with them and my children are fast outgrowing me. Soon, even Joe will be off at college, and so the need for a dog who can move the stock and provide modest protection is a necessity, not simply a wish.
   It is fascinating to me how different species interact. We all of course have had the experience of dogs who are devoted to their owners. Ferocious pitbulls who roll on their backs, while their special toddler friends tug at their ears. Or untrained family dogs who remain by the side of a lost in the woods small child. Or dogs who alert their owners to a cancer or an upcoming seizure. That dogs and people, especially children, are so intertwined is not surprising.
   But I find the relationship between dogs and other pets or dogs and livestock to be equally fascinating. Our Beardie Lily for instance adored baby bunnies. She spent hours outside in the bunny barns watching over them and playing with them. She never met another creature she did not instantly like and spent all her days herding and guarding the small creatures under her watch.
   She was always surprised and a little hurt when the cats would get exasperated with her need to herd them. When they would whirl around in annoyance and swat her nose, she always had the same comical expression of disbelief and wounded dignity.  Then there is my farmer friend who has a magnificent Maremma, who would rather sleep with the stock than go in the house, and who can snuggle up to the newborn sheep in one minute and then leap up and tear apart a skulking coyote. That is amazing to me.
    Of course a good working dog needs to be trained. But it baffles me how much is simply born and bred in them. My beardie had absolutely no herding training for instance. But she naturally gravitated to the animals e and longed to be with them and guide them.
   I wonder what our new beardie will be like? Will I be able to train her to be an effective working dog? As I sit here and type this I can smell old man Bambam, who in spite of multiple baths and doggie colognes, still always retains his au d' wet rug smell. I have never been able to train him not to bark incessantly when people enter the house. Nor have I been able to keep him off the furniture. His hair is always a bit scruffy and if he can sneak food off the kitchen table, by golly it is worth any scolding to him.
   Yet at 13 or 14 (we have lost track) he remains an eager companion, a lover of all creatures littler than him, and a great secret keeper. He can barely see now, and his hearing is starting to go. His only goal in life (besides whatever might be on the kitchen table) is to simply lay near me, wherever I am. He snores in his sleep and his scent lingers on whatever he lay on. But who can resist a friend, even a smelly one, who simply wants to BE with you, that is all, just bask in your presence?
    I am not sure that Gary Paulson, Jim Gjelgaard, or the great Jack London, could ever pen a riveting heroic story about Bambam. But in my heart, he will always be a good story.