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| Rob's Soapbox | ||
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June 15th, 2009 MAN'S BEST FRIEND My wife and I already know what we’re going to name our next German Shepherd; Dick. We’ve found over the four years of raising our dog, Shep, that we call him by his name less and less and more by his description. Next time we’re just going to cut out the middle-man, if you will, and name him Dick. Or Asshole. We haven’t decided. Much of this is specific to the breed, of course. German Shepherds are, for those readers not obsessed with dog breeds, the canine most often seen at the side of police officers and military personnel. Their history is long and storied and they’re one of the few breeds that actually have a motto (though no one has ever actually heard a Shepherd repeat it): Ever Vigilant. The motto comes from the German Shepherd’s constant alertness and desire to protect and defend his property, his pack, his leader (if he isn’t the leader) and everything that the dog perceives to be his. Owners of Shepherds are constantly treated to “perimeter checks,” (even if their dog has never been specifically trained to do so), as the dog strolls along his fence line, exterior walls of his home or outskirts of a camping site over and over again checking the perimeter for intruders. It is instinctual and biological. When we bought our home in 2006, one of the first things we did was scope out where Shep would lay most of the time; the breed has a need to place themselves between their pack and any entry points (where bad guys could come in). Sure enough, Shep has spent the last three years placing himself equidistant between our sofa, our front door and our main door to the backyard; not because we ever told him to, just because he knew. So why is he a dick, you ask? As a dog, you don’t come with the ability to be an ass and the ability to know when to turn it off. Shep seems to wait until the very moment my wife and I are comfortably ensconced on our sofa ready to watch a movie to begin barking, just to see if we’re paying attention. What a dick. Golden Retrievers, on the other hand, are perhaps the sweetest dogs I have ever known. The old joke about them is that they’ll lick a burglar to death; I can’t imagine ever calling a golden retriever a dick. It’s just not in them; but neither is the innate ability to protect. Shep is trained as a guard dog, almost exclusively by my wife and I. His adopted rescue dog sister, Nellie, a white German Shepherd, is not (at least not to the extent Shep is). Yet, Nellie checks the perimeter opposite of Shep, lays herself between the family and entry points, and is ever vigilant. Thus, the breed maintains its’ instinctual need to protect. We’ve seen Nellie on true alert once; it almost scared us she was so ready to go. Alas, Nellie’s nickname, “bitch lips.” All dogs, if you’re doing it right, are a lot of work. They want to be led, they need to be challenged, they hate to be bored, and they demand mental and physical exercise. German Shepherds take that challenge to a new level. Through it all, it’s more than common to actually stop now and then and wonder if it’s all worth it and/or if the damn dog even appreciates it. The dog and his 25 I.Q. have no concept of the financial, emotional and practical sacrifices we make; he certainly doesn’t understand how much literal time we spend on them. Beyond that, for all we know, the dog would happily follow the guy next door if he had a rib-eye steak bigger than you. Dogs in general cause a sea change in most of our lives; vacations take on new levels of planning; weekend trips require house sitters (or a canine companion on your attempt to escape); they require health care that they are unable to provide themselves, we have to prepare their food, clean their areas, take them for walks, deal with their damn collars and tags jingling in the middle of the night and, in the case of Shep, the occasional barking fit at 1 A.M that causes me to spring out of bed with a 9 Millimeter pistol in my hand. So what’s it all for? Every day my dogs make me smile. There’s the obvious, stereotypical “Dino” moment when I come home each day; while I don’t wind up on my back akin to Fred Flintstone, I certainly do see 200 pounds of German Shepherd clopping towards me with their giant clown shoe feet, tongues wagging and a clear look of joy in their eye that I have arrived home. No one else on earth is as consistently happy to see me as my dogs. Every day during fetch or one of Shep and Nellie’s many wrestling matches, they do something funny or new. On occasion, Shep chases a bird off our back fence or barks at our neighbor for no reason other than to be an ass and I laugh. There’s no doubt why we work so hard for our dogs. Sometimes, though, they remind you on a deeper level than the day to day joys of owning Shep and Nellie. The last two weeks have not been calm at Williams Manor. I’ve been embroiled in long, difficult meetings, conference calls and soul searching. There were times, though fleeting, when I felt the weight of the proverbial world. In those moments, I would retreat to my yard and play with my dogs; there is a true sense of peace available to those who can see joy and freedom and levity in others, even if they are dogs. There is a deeper sense of satisfaction to those of us who can recognize that we provide that serenity; there is nothing arrogant about acknowledging your role in giving someone or something a path towards a happy life. The seminal moment of the week came at a time when I was seated on the side of one of our ponds as Shep and Nellie wrestled away on the lawn. I wasn’t really paying attention to them this time; I was so embroiled in self pity at that moment that I was missing the opportunity to escape and take some solace in my dogs’ happiness. As I stared off into the distance, I felt a giant, wet forceful nudge on my right arm; it was Shep the dick; he looked right at me, as if to say “what’s with you?” I was, at the moment, wondering why I get up at 2:30 every morning; why I chose, years ago, to start my own business and take all of the pressure and burden that comes with having peoples’ livelihoods literally in the palm of my hands. I was questioning whether or not it wasn’t time to take the money I’ve made, cash it all in and call it a career. I looked right at him and said, “Hey buddy…remind me again why it is that I put myself through this?” Having no clue at all what the hell I was talking about, he looked at me and walked away. What a dick. I chuckled and went back to staring. In the movies, he would have barked at me, or brought me a toy, or laid down and told me to rub his belly…we’re always told in movies that dogs know exactly what you’re thinking and know the right moment to give you a sign. Not my dog, the dick, apparently. Ten seconds later, Shep and Nellie were there, right in front of me, on either side. They both took their giant heads and each placed one on each of my knees and looked up at me. Maybe they were hungry; maybe they needed to poop; maybe they wanted a ball to chase. Or maybe, just maybe, the movies are right. Maybe Shep the Dick had gone over to Bitch Lips Nellie and said in their own little way, “hey the big guy needs us.” Either way, they didn’t move their over sized horse heads for what seemed like forever. Eventually, I reached down and petted them both, got up and said “c’mon guys,” and headed for the house. And not less than two steps later, Shep promptly stepped on my bare foot with his giant paw as he cut me off heading for the house. As I limped towards the door, I simply looked at him and said, “Thanks Dick.”
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