God knows I can’t come up with my own content these days. So thank goodness my cousin Dean gave me the green light to post his semi-frequent e-mails to family and friends. This one is a great one. <3 dogs!
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What I learned during my summer mini-vacation: When you walk a dog, the whole world is your friend.
We didn’t grow up in a pet household, so for years, the whole “Man’s Best Friend” phenomenon eluded me. My uncle used to remark that when he lived in the Philippines, “We didn’t have dogs. We ate them!” (Oh, I hope he was just joking…) But now that my brother and sister are grown and have families of their own, they share their lives with a number of pets, including three beautiful canines.
During the recent Independence Day weekend, I met my sister and her family at our mom’s place in Columbus. My sister drove from New York with Dudley, an 81-pound American bulldog.
For two nights, Dudley and I were roommates. His green dogbed was parked two feet from my bed. We got up at the crack of dawn and went for long walks while everyone else slept. Then we walked again a few times during the day and once more before finally crashing for the night. We totally bonded. Whenever he saw me, he got up, all excited; he probably thought my only job was to grab his leash from the laundry room and carefully place it around his neck.
Just about every time we ventured outside to walk around mom’s development, we were stopped by neighbors, many of whom were strangers not only to Dudley, but to me. Some wanted to talk. Some wanted us to meet their dogs (Dudley really liked a little poodle a few houses away.). Some wanted to pet Dudley. He loved it!
One afternoon, we all went to Graeter’s. While sitting outside on benches eating our ice cream, countless people, young and old, came by to smile at Dudley and to say hello. Would this have happened had I been there alone? Uh, no way!
This past weekend, I flew to New York to visit my sister and her family. Once again, Dudley slept in my room, just a few inches from my feet (or perhaps I should say that I slept in his room, a few inches from his paws…). Despite a flare-up of my gout, we enjoyed going on walks day and night around their Manhattan condo. Yesterday morning, I was still annoyed at my Reds for losing an ugly, UGLY game on Saturday at beautiful, new Citi Field during a cold and windy evening that evoked memories of Candlestick Park. The only saving graces to the night: The give-away was a way cool blue lunchbox featuring a smiling Mr. Met, I munched on a delicious spicy Italian sausage sandwich complete with onions and peppers, and we got to ride the infamous No. 7 subway line (Eat your heart out, John Rocker…) through Queens to and from the game.
I love the subway! But I digress…
After church yesterday, my brother-in-law and I walked Dudley a few blocks before heading out for brunch (at a terrific, mini-Little Italy on Arthur Avenue in the Bronx — check it out the next time you’re in New York). We were just a few feet from the front door when a passerby predictably uttered, “Hey, pooch!”
Of course, Dudley isn’t the only conversation starter. For years, I’ve walked my brother’s dogs, two chocolate labs named Buck and Crystal, with the same fun result.
When my brother and his family lived in Albany, we walked Buck (named after my brother’s beloved Ohio State Buckeyes) around their neighborhood. No matter how cold it was — and believe me, it got plenty cccold up there — people waved to Buck, meandered their way around the mountains of snow and started conversations with me.
Now that they live near Chicago and have two dogs, we walk both. The kids and I love Buck and Crystal (named after my sister-in-law’s beloved Crystal Lake in Michigan, where they got her a few years ago), and they also elicit many a discussion. And just as Buck is calm and mature, Crystal is a wild puppy who will lick anyone wanting to stop and talk.
I visited them last Thanksgiving, and we saw a 3-D animation movie called “Bolt,” which is about a lost dog and his adventures finding his way home. One of the lines in the flick we especially liked concerned the motivating force for Bolt and his owner to reunite. Bolt was told that the girl who owned him would never quit searching because she loved him so much; she was his “person.”
When we got home from the theater, Crystal came and spent a lot of time with me, so the boys now joke that I am Crystal’s second person (Willy is Crystal’s person, and Daniel is Buck’s). For Christmas, they gave me a framed picture of me with the dogs. Willy also enclosed a separate picture of Crystal attached to a stick-em note on which he jotted, “You’re my person, No. 2.” Both shots now sit atop the TV in one of my bedrooms. (They’re safely situated, as I’m the only person in the world without a high-definition flat-screen.)
I’m back in Ohio now, and I’m going through Dudley withdrawal. But I realize that I can’t have a dog of my own. My schedule wouldn’t make it fair to the pooch.
And besides, I’m far from ready. I still freak out at having to pick up their poop. For those of us new to the world of dogs, the thought of taking out a plastic bag brings out nightmares.
Hmmm. Maybe that’s the lesson for my next summer vacation…
Dean
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