|
Life Enriched by a Dog
by Bruce Gardner
Folks who are owned by a dog are enriched by the experience, and the enriching qualities of some dogs are greater than others. I recently saw a photograph on a postcard that depicted two men in a pick-up truck with two dogs sitting between them. The inscription under the picture said Montana Double Date. Just yesterday a handsome fellow passed me with his dog in the front seat with him. His license plate said Dog & I. Both serve as two good examples of folks leading enriched lives.
For many years a Golden Retriever named Sandy owned our family. Sandy was not only enriching; she was entertaining as well. Sandy had acquired us when she was a puppy. We were visiting Sandy and her littermates and as her brothers and sisters bounced around, yapping all the while, Sandy sat serenely by. Her only motion was that of confidently wagging her tail in slow motion, knowing she had just met her new family.
As Sandy matured she acquired a thick, double coat of fur that gave her the appearance of being twice as big around as she actually was. Her lush coat, combined with a few spots on her tongue, led us to believe that her lineage had somewhat more variety than we had bargained for. Maybe her granddad was a chow. No matter--she was not destined for the show circuit and raising puppies was not our idea of gainful enterprise.
Sandy’s warm coat served her well in the winter but became a matted mess in warm weather and so it became our habit to shear her in late spring. Our neighbor owned sheep and loaned my brother Dave and I her shears for the job. Never content with a simple clip, shearing Sandy became an opportunity for artistic expression. Dave and I would discuss the sculpted look we hoped to attain for a couple of weeks prior to Sandy’s new hair-do. Over the years some of our creations took on mythical status.
On the appointed day the two of us would lay a sheet of plywood across two sawhorses and bodily lift Sandy onto her throne to await the attentions of her stylists. Sandy weighed well over one hundred pounds and sported about an acre of hair, so accomplishing the look we desired required some two hours of skilled labor and a half-gallon of iced tea. Much of the two hours was spent in recovery time from near-terminal laughter as our masterpiece took shape.
One year Sandy became a lion, pompom on the end of her tail and around each hock, a full mane majestically covering chest and shoulders, with a cotton ball tuft hanging from each ear. Shaved closely elsewhere, she was magnificent in her coiffure. Another year Sandy became a Mohawk warrior, shaved closely save for a one-inch ridge of floppy fur that extended from the top of her head, down her back, and ending at the tip of her tail. Sandy was proud of her new ‘do’. My wife was not amused.
Another spring and another opportunity for artistic expression, Dave and I were overheard as we laid plans for our finest creation, our only tools being shears and a long hair dog. “Not this year,” my wife declared. The neighbors now openly discussed the strange creatures that roamed our compound and she wanted no more of the notoriety that comes with being a keeper of biological oddities. Having promised to give Sandy a plain vanilla trim, Dave and I glumly set to our task. We soon learned that a true masterpiece is sometimes an accident.
With Sandy comfortably lying on her side, Dave and I settled for the Mexican Hairless look. Our procedure was to trim all her hair on one side of her body, in a straight line from nose to tail, before rolling her over to trim the other side. Sandy relaxed and occasionally thumped her tail, enjoying the attention and the gentle massage of the whirring shears. I finished the right half and switched the clippers off. Dave and I rolled Sandy and Dave switched the clippers to the ‘on’ position to take his turn. Silence. The shears had given up the ghost. The brushes were burnt to a crisp and there was nothing to do but order parts and finish another day. Sandy hopped from her perch, shook once, and ambled from the barn, looking like a zoology model demonstrating hair growth in dogs--right half shaved nearly to the skin, left half long, shaggy, and matted. My wife was even less amused.
Later that same week two gentlemen stopped by the farm, intending to sell me a religious pamphlet. As I walked from the barn toward the house they sprang from their car and across the yard, heading me off before I could reach safety. These two had apparently met with little success out in the country that day and were anxious to talk to someone--anyone. They looked a little nervous and out of place in their polyester suits on that hot afternoon, but I shook their hands and put them at ease by inviting them to join me under a shade tree. Sandy ambled up in her zoology model outfit and took her seat at my side. The senior of my two visitors--an older, flush-faced, rotund fellow--lost no time in regaling me with the wonders to behold in his 25 cent pamphlet. He rattled on for fifteen minutes, only requiring an occasional nod from me. All the while Sandy thumped her tail and looked from visitor to visitor. As the older gentleman droned on, his apprentice--a tall and skinny sort--shuffled from foot to foot. I figured he had something mighty important to say or he had a pressing need to answer nature’s call.
The talker finally realized that my quarter would be staying safely in my pocket and he came up for air. I turned to the apprentice and told him that it appeared his chum had finished and so it was his turn to talk. He drew in a deep breath, looked from Sandy to me and said, “I have just one question. Is that some kind of sheep?” As he stood pointing and staring at Sandy I answered his strange query. “Yes, she is a sheep dog, half sheep and half dog.” Completely satisfied the young apprentice made a beeline for the car, anxious to quit the country with its strange creatures. His master silently waddled behind and together they drove away.
 As for me, I had to sit on the grass for a long time. A good decade has passed and I still can’t say sheep dog without chuckling.
Yes sir. Dogs sure do enrich your life.
I'll be seeing you out there.
|
