Posts from — August 2008

I finished reading Merle’s Door last night; I cried like a baby through the last forty pages.

At this point, since bringing Hooper home, I have read about a dozen or more books about dogs: dog training, dog breeds, dog behavior, dog health care, dogs; the last category includes your typical dog memoir or reflection on living pets, and so far Ted Kerasote’s book totally nails it. Granted, Merle is a fantastic dog, living in fantastic conditions, but the story is still a real rags to riches story, rife with dog care and training tips—and, what I feel is one of the most important skills required of any dog owner, observational tips.

Ethologists will piss all over this book as a 400-page homage to anthropomorphism. And while I admit there is a lot of the author inserting plain-english words into his dog’s inner monologue, we all do that. Every dog owner out there knows they’re guilty of making up Fido’s inner thoughts while out for a play session in the dog park, and you know it.

So, getting past that, you have a wonderful story of a man who takes in a stray dog and together they teach EACH OTHER many important lessons of life. These are lessons I’m learning now, taught by Hooper, and having read “Merle’s Door” are lessons I’m absorbing and cherishing much more deeply, knowing Merle’s—and all dogs’—ultimate fate. And I guess that’s lesson number one that dogs teach us, is that life’s too short to sweat the small stuff.

I loved this book.

Brenda, Hooper & I all piled into the car today for a drive to Denver, to attend a birthday party for some friends of ours. Partners Greg & Ted share birthdays a day apart. Greg aged a year today, and Ted did the same yesterday. And so a joint birthday picnic/barbecue in the park near the Denver Zoo was in order, with dogs.

Greg & Ted have a pair of winning canines; Guinness the Pug, and Lucy the Mutt (I used to threaten to kidnap Lucy and take her home with us from their parties ever since we moved to Boulder; she is adorable and built just like Hooper). Many of their other friends have dogs as well, and so dogs were invited to the birthday soirée.

And so it was that we loaded a backpack with Nalgenes of water and a Tupperware container to act as a bowl, poop bags, dog treats and a couple of tennis balls, and rolled out towards Denver. We also had a secret weapon. We brought the basketball.

You see, Hooper is quite the ‘baller. He has an uncanny ability to dribble a ball around a field using his muzzle and his front paws, and this is a skill that he demonstrated the very first time I produced a bright yellow utility ball on one of our walks back in November of 2007. Hooper took to that ball like Pele, coaxing it around the field under the moonlight for over an hour, managing to steer the ball back to my feet every once in a while so I could try to kick the ball past him (which rarely happened). But suddenly, a pop and a hiss was heard, and the fun ended.

A regulation basketball is 30 inches in circumference, and comprised of a tough leather cover that can resist a dog’s attempts to bite through it, and we have one of these objects. And today, we felt that if Hooper was to be allowed to roam free on the grass of the Denver Zoo Park—with heavily trafficked roads bordering us—we wanted a reliable distraction to keep him close, hence the basketball.

When we arrived, we rolled the ball out onto the grass and Hooper immediately began working the field with the ball. People immediately inquired about how we “taught” him to do this. Shrugged shoulders and allusions to that cold November night followed. Hooper spent the next several hours rolling that basketball around, beckoning me and anyone else who was interested to kick the ball around, and to engage him in some goalie practice.

Brenda had mentioned to me that a couple of the small children present at the party were terrified of dogs, and that we needed to make sure Hooper steered clear of them, and I was paying strict attention to his movements around the guests. But at one point, a couple of kids showed up with Hooper’s basketball, and they were fighting amongst themselves over who should be the one who kicks the ball toward Hooper. I watched with great interest and joy, as Hooper adapted to the kids’ erratic movements and gestures.

This one kid was literally pushing his friend out of the way, directing the action. He was moving the ball around and gleefully watching Hooper’s attentiveness and reactions to his direction. I had a great time watching Hooper play with the kids, but when I heard on the ride home that the one kid was one of those “afraid of dogs” kids, I just beamed.

Hooper is turning into quite a gentleman, and an ambassador. A saint.

I am unable to speak—have been for days—because I saw Bob Costas’ Olympic hair. You have GOT to be fucking kidding me.

One year ago today, Brenda & I brought Hooper home from the Boulder Humane Society. What a year it’s been.

Freshly grieving over the loss of our cat Emma, we both fell in love with this little, black Labradorish-looking puppy, and brought him home with us. He was afraid of his own shadow, afraid to get into the car, hopping on all the furniture. A couple days later, he (we) learned his first command, “sit”. I went on a streak of dog book purchasing, which continues to this day. We purchased dog toys and treats like they were crack, and the high of watching our dog take to these things with varying degrees of interest was equally addictive. We discovered the baseball fields behind our house serve as an excellent local gathering place for the neighborhood dogs and their owners; we’ve made new friends, as has Hooper. I’ve learned to bake, to bake dog treats. I have considered becoming a veterinarian. I read about dogs all the time. I think about Hooper whenever we are apart. I bring him to work with me. I started a Facebook group so fellow Boulder dog lovers could share hike ideas and dog treat recipes. We’ve had Hooper’s DNA tested so we could know exactly what he was made up of—not that it mattered, but we were curious. I’d say Hooper has had quite an effect on my life.

This past weekend, Brenda & I celebrated our eighteen year anniversary as a couple, and we brought Hooper with us. He’s an inseparable member of our family, our pack.

I can’t imagine life without a dog now. He’s my buddy. I had some dogs as a kid, but they were always transients, except, unfortunately, for the stupid, barky, nippy, West Highland White Terrier that I hated (hated!) when I was little. I always wanted a big black dog that would fetch and roll over and be goofy, and now, at forty, I finally have one, and some mornings, when Hooper is running around with his tongue hanging out, a tennis ball jauntily carried in the side of his mouth, I feel like I’m ten years old again.

Hooper has a ways to go. He pulls on his lead, he still jumps up on people, he barks when he shouldn’t. But that’s just standards. That’s me being picky. Really, he’s just perfect, and I’m looking forward to many more years of friendship with this strange little creature who seems to trust me, to like me, to love me. When you have a bond like this with no words, just actions, it’s hard to, well, put into words. I’m just happy, and I think Hooper is too.