pet connection

I bow deeply before Thomas McGuane’s ability to write about dogs and the outdoors. I thought the morning couldn’t get much better after back to back NPR stories–first an interview with Mick Fleetwood, followed by a story on a Louisville theater’s production of a play about/by Wendell Berry (I kept getting interrupted while listening to that one), but then I opened up the Wall Street Journal’s Weekend Journal section to this:

On a bright and cold October morning in Montana, my dogs Abby and Daisy, the Pointer Sisters, are in my closet helping me select my clothes. On the left end of the rack are everyday clothes; on the far right are coats and ties for the occasional urban jaunt; and in the middle, clothes for sport, especially hunting. Here sit the two girls, tails whisking the floor between the shoes. They moan, grumble and pant wishfully while my hand hovers over the coat hangers. I shouldn’t do this as dogs don’t enjoy being trifled with. They know where the thornproof pants hang, since the red suspenders dangle to eye level for them, but they watch my hand. I don’t move; Abby turns to stare at my boots with such longing she must think they can scoop me up and take me onto the hills. Finally, Daisy can’t stand it and barks at me: I pull the hunting pants from their hanger and with a cry of triumph they scramble out of the closet to watch me dress.

I was going to take Harper to the beach today–the flyball class I signed us up for, which was supposed to start this morning, was canceled last night for lack of interest–but maybe instead I will find a dog-friendly hiking trail nearby and introduce her to the pleasures of a different kind of outdoors. In another life–the Oklahoma or Tennessee life that I joyfully traded for California’s weather, ocean, food, mindset–I would have some kind of sporting dog, a sleek Pointer, maybe, or a fringed English Setter, but I’m happy; my little spaniels have all been naturalists in their own right, alerting me to mule deer in Yosemite, deer at Point Lobos and, of course, countless birds. It’s in their blood, even if know-nothings dismiss them as lap dogs. McGuane writes:

The dogs are everything, and they want to hunt, too. Bird dogs plead with you to imagine the great things you could be doing together. Their delight is a lesson in the bliss of living. As Bob Dylan says, “You’ve got to serve somebody.” I serve my dogs and in return, they glom the sofa.

Read the rest here.

Dogs and cats don’t just glom the sofa; they demand tribute. In fact, every time I think I’m about to pay off my credit card, tribute time rolls around, and I make offerings to my dogs’ high priests, their veterinarians. This time it was for their teeth. Twyla’s teeth are pretty good, but she had some tartar buildup and they needed to be cleaned. Bella had at least a couple of loose teeth. I was anxious about putting her under anesthesia, but it seemed better to do it now while she’s still in reasonably good shape and avoid the risk that an infection would worsen her health. She’s now minus five teeth. I’m thinking of having them framed or dipped in gold and made into a bracelet. I should get some kind of artwork or jewelry for that price. We have rededicated ourselves to daily brushings, especially for Miss Harper, who still has pretty white teeth and healthy gums.

In other news: Dogs and cats cause more than 86,000 falls that require emergency room care, according to the CDC. Dogs are responsible for more than seven times as many injuries as cats, usually while on walks. I believe it. But I notice they don’t recommend better or more dog training to reduce the number of falls.  Alysheba, winner of the 1987 Derby and Preakness and 1988 Horse of the Year, has been euthanized and was buried today at the Kentucky Horse Park’s Hall of Champions. Here’s hoping he’s running in green fields and cavorting with beautiful mares.

Share & Enjoy

Facebook	Twitter	Google Buzz	Digg
Technorati	StumbleUpon	Delicious	Email