I’ve lived most of my life around dogs, learning to appreciate the old adage, “Dogs are a man’s best friend.” It’s surprising how much a person can bond with an animal, as K9s are so abnormally suited to the task. Their desire to please raises the bar beyond reach, making it nearly impossible for their owners to reciprocate that same level of loyalty. It’s as if dogs have been charged with the task of helping us become better people.
I find it interesting how much dog culture has changed over the years. Back in the day, I remember dogs running around the neighborhood, strolling from yard to yard, looking for a pat on the head while sniffing the premises. The Dog Catcher would occasionally stroll through the neighborhood like the ice cream truck, chucking dog treats out the window. Drivers knew to slow down around certain neighborhood streets, keeping watch for dogs napping in the middle of the road, soaking up heat from the hot pavement. It felt like Thailand with monkeys having run of the town, only dogs instead.
Today, not so much. It’s rare to ever encounter a dog off leash. People have become much more reluctant around other dogs, myself included. Granted, a Shih Tzu anklebiter wearing a pink bell tassel doesn’t really pack the same punch as a spike collared Rottweiler or Pitbull barely able to support the weight of their own muscle mass.
Our own dog is no exception. With spit and sass pumping through her veins, Mia really isn’t a great people dog, and I’m pretty sure she hates kids. Let me rephrase that, she’s rather ‘intolerant’ toward children, along with anyone else outside our family for that matter. As I like to explain it, she’s our best friend, and everyone else’s eeehhh friend. It’s deceiving since Mia looks like a completely harmless Benji with her scruffy beard, button eyes, and droopy ears.
Honestly, I’m surprised our insurance provider doesn’t require us to hang a clipboard stacked with wavers in our entryway to avoid liability when guests arrive. Yep, you guessed it- rescue dog. Mia’s one saving grace is that people quickly discover her openness to bribery with either treats or allowing her to lick their plate after dinner. She shows absolutely no shame in crawling into the dishwasher to perform her ritual pre-rinse cycle, a highly underappreciated act of service when conducted in someone else’s home.
People always want to know what kind of dog Mia is, to which I answer, “She's all kinds of dog.” Her unique genetics would completely obliterate a DNA analysis machine. Our best guess is that she’s some variation of a Smeagle (Schnauzer and Beagle mix), motivated solely by food, and plagued with serious drama queen issues. It doesn't help that she’s hyper-instinctive, completely obsessed with hunting. I mean Velociraptor-like hunting. She’s successfully killed three squirrels, a rabbit, a horde of butterflies, countless ground hornets, and a mole.
My wife and I feel kind of bad about the butterfly incident. While hiking along a river one afternoon, we discover hundreds of butterflies spread across the ground like a tie dye carpet. As soon as Mia figures out what’s beneath her feet, her ears perk, tail stiffens, and then commences in a delighted frenzy of butterfly stomping. At one point, she turns around with a mouthful of smashed wings as if mumbling, “Can you believe this, butterfly buffet!”
Probably her most impressive trophies are the squirrels she killed in our backyard. Mia discovered early on that she can camouflage herself by blending her marble tan fur in with the bark chips. One unlucky squirrel made the mistake of hopping across the yard to the evergreen tree, failing to notice Mia crouching in ninja stealth mode. I watched the whole thing go down as her body began shaking while reciting in her head, “wait for it…wait for it.” At the opportune moment, she pounced, followed by three quick chomps on the neck. Then comes the gloat parade, prancing around the yard while dangling the limp carcass from the sides of her mouth. Beaming with pride, she presses it up against the sliding door on display for us to see, asking permission to bring it inside. Later that night, we discover the plague of squirrel fleas in our bed that had leapt into Mia’s fur at some point during her hunting expedition.
One of my absolute favorite memories of Mia was back in her puppy days. While running in the park one afternoon, I noticed her slacking since my leash was tugging like crazy from behind. Looking back, she had apparently decided to be done with running for the day, comfortably sliding on her side while taking in the view as I continued tugging her Royal Highness across the grassy field.
Another time while running with Mia, a German shepherd came bolting at us from across the street with a foaming mouth, ready to eat us whole. Before I could even slip on my brown pants, or conjure up some imaginary karate skills, a huge Suburban screeches to a halt, plowing straight into the poor mutt. A strange mixture of shock and relief washed over us. Mia and I didn’t even turn around to assess the damage, but just kept on running. I don’t like seeing any animal suffer, but I got the sense that neighbors felt some relief as well, witnessing the demon dog’s reign of terror cease for the moment.
It’s interesting comparing Mia with the dogs that I grew up with. The first dog that I remember was Pup. Yep, that was her name. Our family found her collarless in a grocery store parking lot. I can still hear my Dad stubbornly repeating “No way Jose” in the midst of five kids strapped in the back of the car crying-up a storm out of pity for the poor lost puppy. However, the power of majority rules laced with tears trumped all rational thinking, and we ended up taking her home with us.
The best part about Pup was her sideways-propeller-tail-twirl that made her run all crooked when she raced down the driveway to greet us as we clamored off the school bus. Even more hilarious was her smile, not to be confused with personification. She actually smiled! A passerby would always double-take glances at her when she smiled because it seriously looked like a doctored video clip- unreal.
One of Pup’s highlight moments was when she stubbornly smashed her way into her bed that had been hijacked by our cat, Claude. Despite daggers of disgust and disdain raining down from Claude, they both eventually settled into a fragile, yet mildly satisfying moment of shared body heat and snugly fur- just this once.
Next, there was Abby, a full blown Black and Tan Coon Hound, and boy could that dog track scent. My brother and I would be throwing the football around in the backyard, occasionally catching sight of a squirrel making a beeline across the yard to the woodpile. A couple hours later, we’d notice Abby wandering across the lawn, stopping dead in her tracks where the squirrel had been hours earlier. With nose to the ground, she’d track that varmint straight to the woodpile or tree as easily as if someone had painted a yellow brick road in its path.
One day, I remember seeing Abby tugging something out of the woods. About a half an hour later, she makes some progress pulling it closer to the house. Wouldn't you know, that dog dragged an entire deer carcass a quarter mile through the woods from a road clear on the other side of the swamp. Completely exhausted, she looks up at us as if saying, “Check out this find. It’s enough to feed us for an entire month!” I’m not sure how my dad disposed of it, but I imagine it entailed a bloody hacksaw, and a swarm of maggots in the garbage that week.
Abby and I tore up countless miles of singletrack mountain biking trails together. The following winter, we’d retrace our tracks on cross country skis. She was an absolute beast on the trail, leaving me in the dust every time we rode together. She quickly memorized our routes, racing ahead until barely out of sight, yet always turning back to check on me from the crest of the next hill. Abby would even follow me along the shoreline while I kayaked the lake. If a fence blocked her way, she’d follow it all the way back out to the road, then race back down the other side to the lake again, always maintaining sight of me.
I’ll never forget the day I tried leaving the house on snowshoes without her. The outside temp was pushing well below zero after a couple fresh feet of snow fell the night before. Blazing fresh tracks with Abby on a day like that would have been cruel, watching her posthole straight through the snow up to her belly, so I kept her inside. About a half an hour later, Abby was still putting up a fit at the door, so Mom let her outside only to watch her leap off the deck, bounding through the snow, and disappear into the woods.
Eventually, I heard raspy panting trudging up the hill behind me. As soon as Abby saw me turn around and make eye contact, she immediately slumped down to the ground in a heap of snow. I couldn’t believe it. That dog spent who knows how long lunging through waist deep snow for over a mile and a half tracking me down. Racing back down the hill, all I could see was steamy breath rising out of her little snow pit, panting like I’ve never seen before. I picked up the ice encrusted ball of fur, cradling her in my arms as she pressed against my body. Occasionally, she lifted her eyes toward mine as if saying, “I know I’m completely helpless right now, but at least I’m with you.” I carried my girl all the way home that day, smiling in awe of her unyielding devotion- a true companion.
Throughout my lifetime, I’ve discovered that dogs genuinely enjoy taking part in the activities of people close to them. It’s what you do when you’re in a pack, engaging in the interests of the group, relying on each other, working together to do great things. Dogs are partly why I’ve grown to love the outdoors so much, fueled by their dedication as my sidekick adventurer. I’d even argue that dogs are passion enhancers, living life to the fullest, always by your side- friends.
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