Puppy Tales

In the spirit of offering a little more on the founding of our pack (following my March 16th post), I offer a few choice puppy tales…

I named my new puppy Max. I figured a guy with a poofy hair-do and curls needed a macho, manly name.

I raved about Max and Portuguese Water Dogs to my friends. They’re smart, they don’t shed, they’re good natured, they’re funny! And -- they’re eager to please! The response?

Wow… you should marry him!

Max grew -- and so did his tail. It got to be a good 7 or 8 inches long and he wagged it with ever greater enthusiasm. It dragged half his butt along for the ride. One day, it caught his attention. He chased it round and round till he finally caught it. He gave it a good, strong tug (Take THAT you fiend!) and pulled his hind feet right out from under him.

I woke one morning to a loud crashing noise. The bed shook and I heard something heavy tumble to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He’d already tried to wake me once that morning and I’d mumbled, No, Max. Not yet. I’d rolled away from the wet nose poking over the edge of my bed. But now, having felt the whole bed rattle, I raised my head, opened my eyes, and looked out. He had tried to jump up onto the bed -- and missed. He lay there legs splayed out over the floor like a pinwheel. Unphased, undaunted, he looked up at me, eagerly thumping his tail. Wanna play?? It was 6am.

Once I was up, he followed me everywhere. He perched on the edge of the tub each morning, poked his head round the curtain, and lapped at the shower spray. Washed and ready with Max fed, walked, and watered, I settled in at my desk to get the day‘s work done. Max snoozed but then awoke and wanted attention.

He’d sit quietly by the gate gazing up at me with an expectant look, wagging his tail as if to say, I'm ready to play now! One day he pulled all the toys out of his crate, climbed in and sat there, waiting for me to notice. When I cracked up, he realized it was an excellent ploy and used it whenever he could.

It was hard to ignore his eyes boring into my back. If it was early in the day and I had more work to do, I tried hard not to meet his gaze, to avoid body language of any kind that offered the slightest encouragement. He’d exit and try again. (Maybe she just missed me that time...) He’d stroll away and return, sitting once more at attention. Nothing? He’d try a quiet, low Mmmmm... (Pardon me... Over here!) Still nothing? He’d try a second, slightly louder Mmmmmmm. (Yoo-hooo! I’m WAY…. ting!) If more decisive communication was called for, he’d call: Rrrrr-uppp! (HEY THERE! Let's PLAY!!)

One day, as I sat frozen, eyes glued to my computer screen, trapped by my dog, afraid to move, I thought: This is ridiculous. I'm spoiling this dog. Just that day I'd shared the rest of my lunch with him: vegetable soup with broccoli, carrots, onions, and potatoes. Suddenly, a low, quick stuttered shot of air fired behind me, interrupting my thoughts. I wheeled round and looked at Max in surprise, scarcely able to believe my dog just …. farted? Apparently Max couldn’t believe it either. He was jumping about in a state of confusion, circling and sniffing the spot where he’d been seated moments before. Where is it? Where is it?! He stopped his investigation, looked up at me, and searched my face for answers. Did you see that? Did YOU see that?! Something just BIT me!! I cracked up. No more vegetable soup for you, dude!

His tastes were all-inclusive and often, less than discriminating. One night, as I undressed for bed, he sniffed eagerly at the sweaty sock on my foot. I thought, What the hell…. let him have it. I pulled it off and tossed it high in the air. He leapt at it with gusto -- and caught it. He shook his head furiously back and forth then tossed the sock back up high in the air. It flew, then fell. He pounced! Shake, shake, shake! Wheeee! flew the sock. Thwonk! He pounced again. DIE sock! Munch, munch, munch. Mmmmm!! Yummy sock! I wriggled my nose in disgust, Oh Max! How could you? But soon I was down on the floor beside him. He shook and tossed the sock again. It landed. I grabbed it. He froze – eyes glued to the sock, body poised to strike. He pounced. But the sock jerked away. He pounced again. It danced and jerked away again. Soon, he was jumping pouncing, prancing, dancing and jousting with my sock.

My ever present companion, Max could turn the most romantic of evenings into a family affair. Late one night, stretched out on the couch with a date, neither of us noticed Max inch his way over. When the man lifted his head and opened his mouth to share a tender thought, Max appeared -- as if out of nowhere -- and licked the man on the lips. (I like you too! Can I play?)

In our first year together Max greeted me each morning, wagging his large, rudder-like tail, up, down, left, right, every which way, at crazy, odd, cock-eyed angles. He crashed, bounced, rolled, stood up, and trotted on to the next thing. He piddled and pooped on the floor, chewed his way through newspapers, recycled papers, packages, chairs, carpets, good socks, old socks and most of my laundry. He brought the mailman my bra.

For better or worse, he became an integral part of my life. We grew together, a happy pack of two.

Shifting Gears: how I got from there to here

I was at Microsoft in my early to mid thirties. I worked ten, twelve, sixteen, even nineteen hour days. I wrote business plans, marketing plans, product plans, strategic initiatives, management memos, marketing memos and punchy Powerpoint presentations. The point, if you were good at it, was to be strategic and not lose yourself in the everyday details. I was a master strategist when it came to my work -- a disaster at the details when it came to my life.

While my desk overflowed with memos and papers, my house lay littered with unread newspapers, aging bills, outdated coupons, an unmade bed, and two weeks of laundry. My garden out front was a jungle, the rest of my yard, forbidding. House plants withered and stood like straw corpses on my mantle. My fridge held a stale carton of milk, a container of blue-green cottage cheese and two mealy apples. I lived on dry bagels, cream cheese, and cereal. A stranger to my neighbors, I was short-tempered, short on sleep, short on time. I squeezed friends, family, and relationships in like bathroom breaks at a commercial.

It wasn’t the life I wanted.

I left Microsoft and decided to consult. I’d left the company -- but not the work. I did the same thing on my own while I told myself I’d broken free. I was like a well trained dog that knows only one trick and does it over and over again. By the mid 1990's, I was thirty six and I'd had enough. I went to a career counselor, showed him my resume, then blurted out a confession: I want to get off this bus! My words echoed back at me in his chrome and glass, too clean, too white, downtown office. Six sessions and several hundred dollars later, the man suggested I start my own Internet company.

Is everyone crazy? I thought. Thanks -- but no thanks.

I turned off the spigot, declining new projects and clients. White space appeared in my planner and then, for a time, it actually went blank. It was like jumping off the White Cliffs of Dover, a beautiful, liberating, sailing, swooping, swan dive -- into sheer nothingness. For the first time in my life I had no plan and didn’t care. I followed a stranger friends called instinct. I took time off and met a man and thought my life would finally settle into place. I wanted roots, a dog, a family. Then, two years later, at thirty eight, it all came undone. The man didn’t want to break up. He just didn’t want to commit. I waited and waited, then walked away broken-hearted. I grieved… for the man I loved, for the life we imagined, for the family I'd hoped for. I wondered if life would always feel empty. Then I woke up one morning and thought,

Damn… Why am I waiting for someone else to start living the life I want?

A dog seemed the easiest, simplest place to start.

I found a breeder with an eight week old litter of Portuguese Water Dogs and corraled my brother to help me. On a cold, wet day in November, we drove to the woman’s house. She opened the door and five Portuguese Water dogs converged around us, barking and wiggling about, excited at the prospect of company. In the background, we heard the chirp and squeak of puppies in the kitchen. When I walked over to look through the gate, a stocky, square little pup hopped and wobbled over to greet me. The breeder reached down and lifted him up in the palm of her hand, holding him out for inspection. This one is yours.

He had jet black curly hair, soft as chenille. Two round, chocolate brown eyes and a curious face peered out at me. The breeder directed me to place him down on the carpet. He wriggled away and took off, sniffing at furniture, hiding behind chairs only to scamper free seconds later. He was into everything, his tiny tail fluttered in frenzied excitement. I tried to catch him -- but he dashed off again, nose down, legs out, looping about two armchairs as if barrel racing at a rodeo. I looked up at the woman. I’m in trouble. Aren’t I?

Yup, she replied. Big trouble.

My brother drove us home and I held him snug in my arms. That night, alone with this tiny new stranger camped out on my dining room floor, I soaked in the details of his small furry body. He lay fast asleep but his paws jerked and twitched as he dreamed. I wondered who or what he was chasing. A small pit formed in the bottom of my stomach. But my heart swelled with love and a strangely powerful, protective instinct washed over me.

What have I done? I wondered.

I felt his presence fill my home.