Dog People

by Jean Marie Moffa
August 15, 2008

Comet is a beagle. The most wonderful beagle. The perfect family dog. And what makes her perfect? Her sweet disposition? Her playfulness? Her good-natured patrolling of the yard? Yes, yes, and yes. The countless hours she has entertained my daughters? Absolutely. But well beyond these virtues is the most wonderful of qualities: Comet lives across the street.

We had hoped that having Comet across the street would be enough. At any hour of the day, our girls could run across the street and play-and with the array of plush toys and plastic hangers strewn across the yard for Comet's amusement, there was always fun to be had. It was idyllic for us, really--our girls had a dog, and that dog had other owners. Dog people--you know, the kind who are meant to have a dog. The kind whose life makes more sense because they own a dog. It was perfect--for Comet, her owners, and us.

Then it all changed. We got the call from Comet's owner. Knowing how much our daughters loved Comet, and how passionate they were about someday having a dog of their own, Claudia called us as soon as she heard the news: Comet's breeder had a puppy come unexpectedly available, after an adoptive family changed its mind. Ah, the whirlwind of excitement, the hope, pleading and negotiating that was unleashed upon our house! My husband and I tried, in vain, to fend it off. I'll admit it: I caved first. And with that crack in the parental wall, well, the floodgates opened.

This negotiation didn't happen overnight, though. Insistent--and incessant--as they were, the girls didn't get the go ahead for at least a couple weeks, at which point Comet's breeder had already found a home for the forsaken pup. Now at the point of no return, we found ourselves talking with breeders, reading about beagles, and, before we knew it, zoning in on both a breeder and a puppy, to be delivered to us mere weeks from that fateful phone call.

Enter Scooter, our 9 week-old beagle puppy. See how sweet he was? How lovable and soft and wonderful? It's a good thing puppies are this irresistible, I tell you. We can't resist them, and so we succumb, plunging headfirst into the treacherous waters of dog rearing-without a flotation device. At least that's what it felt like to us. Despite all our reading, which was significant, we were nowhere near ready for the impact on our lives of Scooter, the beagle who we wished would be Comet (and go back home, across the street.)

So we began. Sleepless nights of pottying, eternal days of pottying, never being more than an hour, at first, from dashing out the door, in an attempt to save our floors from unwelcome irrigation. Keeping Scooter tied, on his leash, to me, all day (as per the dog trainer's instructions) so as to catch the tiniest glimpse of potty hints in him, and dash him right outside....

The girls adored him, of course. It was I who found myself crying to a friend one day, in shock at the poor decision we'd made (quickly realizing that any freedom I had earned from the dependency of rearing toddlers and little ones was now totally gone.) Tethered, both literally and figuratively, to this pup, I could do nothing without being aware of his whereabouts, his intentions, his needs. What about mine?

With Scooter's progress in pottying came his interest in chewing, and soon our concerns shifted from getting him outside to protecting everything inside. With each new inch he grew, came greater agility and ability to destroy more things. It's a wonder he isn't dead, really, by either his own antics, or our responses to them. (No, we didn't harm him. We just thought about it...) Despite our vigilance, Scooter has ingested countless paper towels, my daughters' modeling clay, a cooler chill pack (plastic outside and liquid coolant inside), a plastic comb, and so much of the cat's food that we thought he was dying. (I can only wonder at the vet's notes, in his charts, after our SOS calls...) He has destroyed at least a half a dozen kitchen towels, innumerable children's trinkets, easily a dozen socks, my favorite leather gloves, and, on the day I would like to forget, a sweater I had been knitting-virtually completed, within minutes reduced to an irretrievable mess. (I will admit to screaming over that one--so much, in fact, that I became hoarse.)

I would tell you that it's all been worth it, that none of this matters, in the face of having such a wonderful dog in our lives. I would tell you this, if I could. I really want to tell you this. And someday, perhaps I will. But truth be told, while Scooter has become a very real part of our family, and while our daughters can't imagine life without him, both my husband and I most definitely can. We remember the freedom. The careless days and nights--Ah, the abandon!-- of having just four of us in the family.

Sure, we have become attached to him. We love him. I enjoy the quiet time of my daily walks with him. I love to see his progress in obedience training, feeling a swell of near parental pride. I love his velvety soft ears, his ever-at-the-ready belly to scratch, his undying desire to be with us, and perhaps most importantly, his tremendously optimistic soul.

But can I go so far as to tell you that we've become dog people? The jury's still out on this one. I am told that my feelings will warm more once he gets solidly out of the puppy years. Once the obedience classes really sink in. Once we can trust him enough in our absence to take down the baby gates. Once we don't have to patrol the kitchen counters or laundry room....

So, yes, we now have a Scooter dog, and no, he doesn't live across the street. It's a good thing he's still so darned cute, I tell you, or neither he nor we would have survived our first year together. One more year, and maybe, just maybe, we'll be dog people.