Wednesday, November 4, 2009

The Year of the Dog, I

We are dog people, my wife and I. I am so by nature. I have had dogs since I was six. She says she was free of the disease until infected by me.

We now have another dog, a Boxer puppy, a young female who came into our life because six years ago my wife met a handsome Boxer named Trooper in a hotel elevator in Rochester, Minnesota. Since we have moved from Springfield, and we now have room for a large fenced area, Belinda scratched her six year itch by acquiring Daisy.

And so now, there is this: I am enthralled with Daisy's behavior, her interaction with the other dogs (a male and female Boston terrier, both adults), and her integration into the pack that lives in this house (which besides the dogs includes a cat and four adults). Because I often think in terms of story, I have skated close to the idea of writing an imitation of Marley and Me, and calling it The Year of the Dog.

Is there not something about any dog that begs for a story to be told?

  • We have already Belinda's choice of Daisy from a litter of thirteen "because she had sad eyes."
  • We have my curiosity about Boxers specifically, and particularly about the anthropomorphic-inspiring qualities of the Brachycephalic breeds.
  • We have my wife's resolution that young Daisy be crated rather than given a place amongst the terriers at the foot of our bed, a decision that lasted until the second night when howls shook the windows.
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