HOMESICK FOR A HOME
It was hard at first, when we brought Wade home to our shabby apartment on 8th Ave. He wouldn’t hang out with us. He just kept going back and sitting by the back door where I brought him in that Friday night after work. He was scared and wanted to go back to the foster home. It was hard at first.
He was only three months old, and he came from Kentucky was all we were told. Homesick for a home. But when we first saw him at the Mingle with the Mutts, sponsored by Franklin County Dog Shelter, he was very sanguine and content to play on his own after he stood up on the fence to let us pet him. This inner peace drew us to him.
And inner peace was what drew him to us, two weeks later, when he snuggled and played with us on the couch for the next fourteen years. We were all homesick for a home, and so we just made one together.
FOR AWHILE, AS MY ONLY AUDIENCE
Home alone whatever room I settled in, he would eventually saunter up, circle and lay down facing me. As I picked strings on the guitar, wood tones and country notes would come together and make sad songs that would keep the devil away. And he would lay back, looking at me, blinking slowly, here and there. He could have been a bear rug. And as long as I played, he layed. I sang too sometimes, when he would drift off for a while, as my only audience.
THE BIG BAD WOOLF
A long time ago there was a big bad dog that walked the Park of Roses. He was a big, long haired German Shepherd who snapped at, pounced on, and rolled into submission every nice dog taking a nice walk at a nice park. His owner was an infantile handler. Hey, now, don’t do that. That’s not very nice, was as futile as his apologies to the other dog-walkers.
Every day the same thing. Wade would roll around the bend, doing his typical off-leash hunting, when that damn chewbacca would turn and run towards Wade and knock him down and stand over him---just to dominate, to bully, to be an asshole.
Every day maybe he wouldn’t be there, we thought, around each bend in the trail. It was a nice park with nice trails, and it was terrorized daily by the big bad woolf. Then one day, Wade came around the bend and there was the big bad woolf staring him down. For some reason, that day, Wade thought enough is enough.
Somewhere deep inside a red light began to flicker and grow. 50-pound, 18” high Wade lowered and sprinted into a war-cry volt and jumped and struck the big bad dog and drove him into the ground, bellowing out a shrieking bark which could only be translated as, now I’m the big bad woolf!
A RIDE IN THE TRUCK
Some days just get the best of you. And I imagine some days got the best of Wade, too. So one day we took a ride in the truck.
I loaded him up front (which we never do), rolled the windows down and headed straight south, slow. He knew that riding up front was a privilege, and he smiled with tongue out the window, sniffing mass quantities of air at five-hundred-human-power strength, watching Oak trees slide past. From the edge of town he could tell there was a bar-b-que somewhere downtown. But downtown was behind us and we were headed straight south, slow.
Elbow out the window and wrist over the wheel, watching country through the windshield, I looked over at Wade and knew he wouldn’t last forever, and that we were on the latter side of things. Being with such a calm, kind-hearted being for the first time that day made me realize that it was a privilege sitting up front with him, for a ride in the truck, and to sit back and take it all in, slow.
INANIMATE OBJECT TO PEE ON
It was just as good as any other outside place, when the feeling hit him. Down at Clinton Como Park, at the end of Milton Ave, from our shitty apartment we had for three years, it was our routine to walk Wade to the pavilion where you would commonly meet other dogs and dog owners. This morning, nobody was there---almost.
Take it all in, look around. The cool morning, soft breeze through the trees, and your dog lifting a leg over a homeless guy sleeping on the ground. Pee from a dog to a homeless guy jets faster than any No!, Bad dog! or Geez, mister, I’m sorry!
Leg down and on his way, it was just another day to Wade, another inanimate object to pee on whenever the feeling hit him. Had the guy moved, it wouldn’t have happened, but it’s as simple as that. So we moved on. The poor homeless guy never made a sound.
THE DOG WHISPERER
Wade was always a good old boy. We taught him several tricks like shake and roll-over and speak. It took him about a month on something, but he would eventually get it. But one time we wanted to get the most out of him, you know, to live life to the fullest. But he showed us his limit by costing us twenty bucks and some public humiliation.
At that time, The Dog Whisperer with Cesar Millan was on TV and, like many others, we were fond of how he handled dogs. We picked up a DVD of his shows one day at the library, took it home, and watched it. We learned a few tricks but like anything else on TV it was mostly just entertainment. Then we went out for coffee one day, leaving Wade alone with that DVD.
The Dog Whisperer was chewed to hell. Canine holes, torn paper and scratched plastic were now on The Dog Whisperer and his nice dog’s face. Go out and get a cup of coffee and this is what happens to The Dog Whisperer. Funny that he doesn’t chew anything else within the last year. It was a statement. That is what Wade thought of the Dog Whisperer.
The DVD itself was in the player, so it suffered none. It snapped back into the case so we figured it was still returnable, barring that we own up what happened to the outside.
How much to just buy this? was a question the librarian never hears, as we slid the dog-mangled, destroyed Dog Whisperer DVD across the counter. No words needed to be said. A statement was made. It may have been common to the librarian to see a chewed up DVD, heck, maybe even somewhat expected, had it not been The Dog Whisperer.
THE TERRITORY OF BEING A HANDSOME DOG
Wade was a handsome dog, this was true. He had a nice jet black coat on top while his chest and legs were a deep red. He had a medium fur coat and a black snout and he had a nice trot when he walked. It was the German Shepherd in him, maybe. When we lived in Parma, one time, a gentleman walking down the sidewalk felt compelled to yell from across the street, That’s a dapper dog you got there!
Bitches loved Wade. When he passed by they barked like crazy---territorial barks with different kinds of intonations which wanted more than just territory.
To dogs, it’s all about territory.
And Wade learned all about territory one day. We were at the park when a full-bred male German Shepherd came up from behind and tried to mount him. Wade jumped out from under him fast and snapped back a shrieking bark at the perpetrator, letting him know his stance. Letting everyone know your stance came with the territory---the territory of being a handsome dog.
CAN A DOG SMILE?
I’ve been told many times that Wade does. If he did, he only did it out of nervousness. When he panted, the sides of his chops and mouth would rise up very high like a smile, and his tail wagged nervously, and his eyebrows would rise to a point like the dinosaur in Toy Story. This was a common trait of German Shepherds.
That smile gave so many mixed signals.
Outside our apartment was a low retaining wall where Wade would sit next to some bushes. To Wade, it was just a nice place to sit. But to others, walking down the sidewalk, you couldn’t see him until you were right up on him. It was like he was hiding around the corner, and he always had that smile.
Baaaa! or Holy Crap! we would hear from the window as Wade unwittingly scared the crap out of people passing by. One time two girls ran to the other side of the street, screaming. I thought these were isolated incidents but it kept happening.
Later in life, Meg would take him to work at the clinic where he hung out by himself upstairs. Occasionally, supplies would be needed and when you opened the door, there sat Wade at the top of the stairs with that smile. Many coworkers were unsure of him as they climbed the stairs. Wade probably smiled like that thousands of times before. But he never hurt a soul. Yes, a dog can smile.
