Gene Collier ponders: To dog or not to dog?
One summer, when our late and largely unlamented Airedale went on injured reserve with a torn ACL, people would stop me on my neighborhood walks and ask of his whereabouts or for updates on his status.
Interest in Murphy was intense, so much so that I remarked upon it to one woman who was walking her dog but stopped to get the scoop.
“I’m amazed by this outpouring of concern for him,” I said, noting that it didn’t seem to be matched by inquiries as to my own general patheticism.
“You don’t understand,” she said earnestly. “These pets, they’re like our kids.”
Don’t be ridiculous, I thought, I care way more about your pets than I do about your kids.
My walks again have leaned toward evident patheticism as Murph has been gone five months this week, and some quick calculations reveal that in the past 25 years, we’ve only been dogless around this house for a total of about 11 months.
Doglessness, of course, has its benefits, and they are not insignificant. It comes with the instant equivalent of a pay raise, as accounts payable no longer include the vet, the groomer, the dog food manufacturer, the dog-boarding bandits, the flea and tick prevention peddlers, outlays for various treats, toys, leashes, beds, crates, ineffective carpet solutions and lump sum payments for occasions such as when your dog escapes and attacks your neighbor’s air-conditioning unit ($692, I believe).
Doglessness further brings a delicious reduction of quotidian responsibility that, frankly, I’m enjoying the hell out of. Even the natural sting of sudden doglessness was mitigated this time by the fact that Murph was a straight-up pain, an impulsive 90-pounder with a wanderlust so acute it required that the rear fence eventually resemble the street barricade represented in the more expensive productions of “Les Miserables.”
One online description of the Airedale breed reads, “Intelligent, outgoing and confident, the Airedale possesses a wonderful playful streak that delights their humans.” No.
No.
But a lot has changed in recent months, maybe you’ve noticed, and there’s a notion afoot that my wife and I could sure use a distraction, something to divert attention from just hanging around watching each other watch the country lurch toward an irreversible dystopia.
“When Murphy passes,” we used to say, “at least we’ll be able to come and go as we please.”
Well, guess what.
Not only is there nowhere to go and nothing to see, but also there’s nothing afoot that might ameliorate stress (oh, we’ve got stress) the way pets have been proven to. Studies have shown that pet owners are less likely to suffer from depression, high blood pressure, hypertension and high cholesterol. At the same time, pet owners generate more serotonin and dopamine, the calming chemicals that come into play when you’re staying stuff like, “Who’s a good boy [or girl]?” and “Who’s the prettiest pup?”
Seriously, you can look this stuff up.
Further, people over 65, a description we happen to match, are 30% less likely to visit a doctor if they are pet owners. Granted, some portion of that 30% is merely petrified to leave their dogs home alone for fear the prettiest pup could easily remodel the kitchen or set the house ablaze.
There’s an intricate balance of pros and cons that inform the decision on whether to redogify, but in weak moments it feels like it’s time to examine the issue. We’ve tended to break in pups around here in July, and some are no doubt maturing toward 7 or 8 weeks as we speak.
Because it might be dog time, I went to Dogtime.com, where I first sorted for laziness, the most coveted attribute for owners who are tired of chasing escapist Airedales over hill and over dale. Five breeds looked promising as five-star layabouts — the basset hound, the English bulldog, the clumber spaniel, the greyhound and the Bernese mountain dog.
Like me, the basset is so lazy it’s destined for obesity, but I’m not interested in a dog that has to be coaxed into a walk. The bulldog is a fivestar drooler, and the clumber is a five-star shedder, both deal breakers for my wife. The greyhound is not something you want to be sitting next to if the doorbell rings (“And down the stretch they come!”), and the Bernese is a five-star shedder and a fourstar drooler.
To me this means another look at the safer choice, the Labrador, with which we have experience (the dear departed Lucy), a hearty breed and a willing learner best known for helping fishermen drag their nets out of the cold North Atlantic. We generally drag our fish out of the airconditioned Cranberry Costco, but I’m sure any Lab would help with that, too, if it was allowed.
The other day, my wife showed me a video of someone losing at Jenga to a border collie. Problem there is, I don’t really like Jenga.
So on it goes, and yeah, to dog or not to dog, this is a tough one.