I've always loved dogs. Most any dog. The truth is - I will be bold enough to admit it - I am generally more comfortable around dogs than people. Some will understand this. Some will not. Shy people and introverts probably will. People who have been betrayed or abused may also understand. Dogs provide good company and excellent therapy.
Dogs are like God in many respects. They want to spend time with us. They are forgiving and love us unconditionally the way we are. They don't care if we're overweight or thin, old or young, homely or beautiful, athletic or handicapped, happy or depressed. They have the singular ability to overlook everything that humans notice, and get right to the business of loving.
The dogs of Zuercher Road are an interesting bunch. I've met six of them now. From the hound at the corner of Jericho and Zuercher that announces my passing-by with a couple throaty howls - to the other end of my walk, down by Western Road - where a little reddish-colored dog races around the yard trying to sound vicious, while contained behind an invisible fence. It's very tempting to call its bluff. I'll bet it would lay on its back and wet itself if I ever got down to pet it on the yard it so loudly proclaims as its own.
But, in a way, this one reminds me of my first dog - a little black and white mixed-breed named Corky. We had a swing on the front porch of our old farm house. As a boy I’d often sit there with Corky, and just day dream. We’d sit and think and think and think. Occasionally a cat would wander into view, and I’d say, “Sic-em, Corky!”, and that little half-pint terrier would launch himself from the swing with the explosive action of a rocket. Off he’d go lickety-split after the cat, which in turn would run for the safety of the barn - easily outrunning him. In the meantime, I’d be sitting, swinging happily, thoroughly enjoying our little moment of excitement. Presently, Corky would return, leap onto the swing and settle back down with a happy sigh and a pleased smile on his face.
I still remember Corky's confusion the day a cat refused to run. He came to a screeching halt mere inches from the feline, and stood there for a brief moment with an alarmed look on his face, before slinking embarrassedly back to the swing. This experience messed with Corky's psyche for a while. It was several cats later until he could extend his whole-hearted efforts again. It seems certain if a cat would have ever gone after him, he'd have come streaking back to my lap like a heat-seeking missile, with his tail tucked between his legs, and loud screeches of terror coming from his upturned lips. Corky was all bluff. I think it's the little-dog syndrome.
The Irish Setter that I occasionally meet on Zuercher Road is always busy sniffing around the ditches. He barely notices that I exist. He will walk right past me within a couple feet and hardly glance my direction. His master Jay is much more personable though, and its been a pleasure to get to know him. Jay is a generous soul who helped me get rid of some bothersome poison ivy last summer. I just don't know about his dog. It ignores me. I'm not used to dogs doing that.
Then there's the little mixed-breed dog who lives up the hill north of Jericho. It’s often walking south on Zuercher with its master. This dog too, seems surprisingly aloof. I'd be happy to show it a little attention, but it's not interested. That's fine. Perhaps it is a one-person dog. Surely, it is safer for the dog to not run across the road to greet people. Actually, on human terms, I understand this personality trait.
The farm dogs at the Amish S curve are a breed of their own. Can't quite figure them out. They're large. One is the size and shape of a German shepherd, but with longer, solid reddish-brown hair. The other is even larger and solid white. Pretty dogs. Sometimes they bark at me, and wander out to the road to investigate as I pass by. They stop a couple feet away, and just watch. I slow my pace to move respectfully past. It would be nice to be on a first-name basis with them, but I don't know how the Amish would feel about that. So I ignore them and walk on.
Just a few days ago, a Husky was tagging along with another walker, headed north as I was headed south. She asked me to take the dog back where it came from. It obediently followed when I called. Nice dog. It belongs to a family up over the hill after the S curve. I've never seen it near the road before.
Generally speaking, dogs need not be feared. They are to be respected. A little bit of dog language can go a long way for a walker who may encounter a canine with undetermined intentions. One thing - if you feel threatened - turn your eyes away from the dog. Take this a step further, and turn your body slightly sideways to the dog too - enough that he thinks he is being ignored, but not too much that you can’t see him with your peripheral vision. This is counter-intuitive, but sends the dog a message that you are not threatening him, and you are not afraid. Slowly ease away. Your chances of getting bitten decrease a lot when you "speak" this language. The thing is, you aren't going to out-run the dog anyway, unless someone else with you is slower than you. It’s best to just tell it in dog language that you are not afraid. If all else fails, lay down and curl up in a fetal position, and whimper. It’s doubtful this will work, but it may surprise the dog enough to mess with its thinking. Remember Corky.
My Dad was always afraid of dogs. It came from his days as a gasoline delivery man when he was in his twenties. Going to farms to deliver gasoline does indeed put you directly into a dog’s territory. I can’t say I blame Dad, because he did on occasion, get bitten. It may even be doubtful if the techniques described above would always work for delivery people. This may be why pepper spray was invented.
Seriously now, don’t lay down and whimper. But do try to look away and ease away, and if all else fails, in extreme cases, you may need the pepper spray as a last resort. This, of course, will not increase your chances of being seen in a favorable light with either the dog or its owner. Neither species will forget that encounter.
Dogs have always been a wonderful part of my experience. Just now my own Golden Retriever is slowly fading away after a full life of thirteen and one-half years. She’s been a good one. We carefully chose this breed after having a large mixed-breed dog that didn't like certain people - particularly bearded Amish men. Don’t know why. We just knew that we wanted a dog that would love everyone. Golden Retrievers are the best choice for that. We’re going to miss Heidi a lot when the time comes. She’s been an awesome companion for innumerable walks through fields and woods. She lets small children hug and lay on her. She even sold her own pups. Really, people who came to buy pups told us that. It was because she would lay down beside their children and nudge them with her soft nose, and look at them lovingly with her large brown eyes. Who could resist? Her eyes are clouded now and her hearing is leaving. Her energy is gone. She’s content to just be close and receive the love she was so good at giving. It won’t be long...
And that’s all for now. Leaving you with best wishes, happy walking, and may all dogs treat you kindly.
From Kidron, Ohio, where good men show more affection to their wives than to their dogs; good women love their men and their men’s dogs; and the children come home once in a while to hug the dogs they left behind a long time ago.
No comments:
Post a Comment