The Lost Toys

Olivia visited Bela and me last weekend. As she always does, when she unpacks her bags, she took out the various stuffed animals she brought along and placed them around my apartment, high up, out of Bela's mouthreach. There was a unicorn on top of the fridge, a dalmation on my desk, and a bird on the bookshelf.

Long story short, Olivia headed back to Springfield without the bird. And I didn't miss a beat. I didn't even consider sending that bird back to her.The minute I found it, I threw it to Bela. It's such a cool toy! It sings when you press it's belly! Olivia will never know, I told myself. (I called her about 2 hrs. later to confess. The sound of its graceful voice urged me to divulge the truth.)

So far, the bird is doing well in Bela's possession. It is spit-stained, and a little worn, but still sings like fowl it was meant to imitate. Soon, though, the pitch will go. Then the song altogether. And then it will lose its one upright feather.

The sheer number of toys Bela has ruined is astounding. On one hand, thinking about it conjures up heartbreaking images of dollar signs floating by or being flushed down the toilet. On the other hand, it's almost impressive; how many creatures she has taken down.

For a while, I was saving the abused toys and passing them onto my mother for sewing. This was just a means of putting off the inevitable. It was life support for the dearly departed. If she can get through them fresh off the assembly line, a little bit of reinforced thread isn't going to keep her teeth at bay. I experimented with duct tape as well. A makeshift surgeon, closing a mouth here, an armpit there.

Now because I am aware of her prowess, I know to be thrifty with the toys. Expensive toys with marketing mesaures like 'indestructable' mean nothing to me. Indestructable? Maybe for a teacup chihuahua.

But there once was this sheep. She had seen it on the way out of a dog store one day. She grabbed it off the rack with her mouth. I took at look at the price tag. $18, I scoffed!!?? How could they even think that it would be purchased at that price?? Dream on, B!, I told her, as I put the sheep back on the shelf.

But the next week, she saw it again. And the week after that. And as we came upon the month's end, I put my need for toiletries on hold and bought the damn sheep. Sure enough, it was good buy. She LOVED it. I couldn't bring it out without her going crazy. I actually didn't even have to act that interested. I can't explain the how or the why, but that sheep deemed itself worth the exorbitant eighteen-dollar price tag.

The sheep was shoddily made, however. Said sheep now sits in 6 different pieces in her toy cabinet. The ears. The muzzle. The middle. The legs. And in the various stages of sheeps's destruction, she ingested a bit of stuffing, which is super dangerous. (I had to hear only one stuffing horror story for me to fear it for all time.)

So when I leave, I pick up any toys and hide them in her cabinets. Someone asked me one day, "Why can't she have any toys out while you're gone?" I looked at her with disgust and retorted, "Well, why shouldn't I leave a deathly substance around for her to chew...mhmmm??" "Maybe I should sprinkle some rat poison around the house too, huh? That way she has something to snack on while I'm gone."

The truth is, if I left them out, she wouldn't play with them anyway. This dog will only play if YOU act interested in playing. And not mildly interested. More like...you would rather do nothing else in the world. I have to do a lot of eyebrow-raising, fakeouts, hooting & hollering to get her engaged. I am not allowed to be in a reclined position - it reeks of disinterest. This reminds me of babysitting. No matter how much I like the kid with which I am interacting, I could care less about this lego train and the direction it runs or these Polly Pockets and their agendas. But for the love of the game, I can pretend that I do.

Runner's High

Last week, I hired a dog runner.
I put my angry joints and injured ego aside, and handed Bela's leash to someone who could properly tire her out.

The owner of the company said he had his fastest runner already working in my neighborhood, and though they were fairly booked, there was a small possibility that we could piggyback onto a current run. Bela would have to be fast, however -- there was a 6-minute per mile Vizsla named Maggie who had the 9:30am slot on Mondays and Thursdays, and if Bela wanted in on that, she'd need to keep up. He let me know he wasn't bluffing when he told me of the neighborhood dog they'd tried out recently that -- no joke -- didn't 'make the cut'.

He took my name down, noted that I deem Bela very fast, and told me the dog and runner would be by in the morning.

Excitement was in the air. I live in a near-constant state of anxiety and longing to prove worth. I went into a zone, in an attempt to put Bela into one.

I talked about the impending trial run to all those who would listen. I thought there may be some karma or something of the sort in that. I put it out there in the universe -- Bela and her impending victory -- so that it was there to taste, feel and touch.

I took her out on an extra walk that morning, to make sure she would empty the tank, so as to avoid slowing up the trial run with potty breaks.

I tried to create an environment of calm, while a storm swirled about within me.

I decided to be straight with her. "We need this slot, Bela. We. need. this. This is your chance to run with the bold and the beautfiul. Now stand here with me and picture it: you and a Viszla, side by side, running with a long, lanky marathoner. You see it? Now go live it."

As their arrival approached, I swear I could her 'The Final Countdown' in my ears...and yet she was acting so cool. She was just chiiiilling on her little brown stool. I, on the other hand, was looking at her with a wild eyes - I needed to convey to her, 'It's GO time!' but I didn't know how.

In preparation, I tended to her paws and appendages like a boxer's corner man, ringside. I lowered my forehead to hers and locked eyes. I grabbed her leash and headed for the door. We would await fate outside.

I saw them the moment they rounded the corner. I threw my hand up as if to say, 'Here we are! Here we are!' My wave appeared confident and did not give way to the nervousness in my arm. I felt like a housewife in the 50's, waving as her husband comes home with a new car. The possibility in that car. The changes that will occur with its coming. The promise of a better life.

The time that she was out was glorious. I practically skipped to Starbucks, and then ate my lemon loaf without her salivating in front of me.

Upon return, she flopped on the sidewalk immediately, winded and wondrous and tired. He filled me in on their water stops, and general course taken. He did note that outside of a nail salon,  she had showcased some serious innovation. She had stopped at a water bowl, and instead of drinking from it, she put her paw in, and started sloshing the water about until it formed a pool on the ground, then beached herself in it.

Later that day, Jimmy's WATCH emailed me the route/pace/time of her run. They will all be logged and sent home. Her report card. When I spoke to the owner later, to solidify our placement in the rotation (and make a noteable payment, yes) - he told me that Jimmy's email to Maggie's mom had included the words 'lightning fast'. I'm pretty sure my voice got choked up, as I tried to swallow a fast-swelling pride.

Going Green

Bela has a need for green. Not the kind you and I usually refer to, but a more natural kind, that which covers dirt like a lush carpet.

From inside, she looks longingly out the window onto the yard. When walking, I alternate between  pleading with her to pass that well-groomed lawn and promising her that there's a place for her right around the corner. Traveling by car appears to be torturous for her, because of all the green that gets bypassed. Each time she sees a field, her eyes bug out of her head, her tail starts to wag -- her excitement is palpable. She knows how her feet can trample it, her body can fly above it, her limbs can roll amongst it. And then we pass it.

I temper her with a park trip every day. The 'park' however, can mean many things. It is most certainly not a Chicago Park District Dog Park, the gated off gravel areas where packs of up to 40 dogs gather to chase each other and fight. These both entice and terrify me. There are so many cuties in there at any given time, it can really blow your mind. But there are also usually 1 or 2 real meanies, and then a slew of other non-remarkable canines. Bela goes in these joints, and then turns around and heads back for the gate out. If I make her stay in there for a bit, in hopes that she'll find a friend, one of these three things actually happens 1) She molests all of the humans in the area 2) She takes an unclaimed ball and then tries to kick some dog's ass when he or she attempts to take it from her 3) She stands by me, peering into my eyes, as to ask, 'Why, mom, why?' So I don't bother anymore. (Before Bela was in my life, I would go into these dog parks all the time, just to watch the show. Now that I have a dog, I no longer enter. The damned irony.)

We hang out in the non-dog sections of parks, school playgrounds, and sometimes merely more than a small patch of grass. What this means is that pretty much wherever we play is illegal. If you know me well, you know that I am terrified of doing anything 'wrong'. I am sooo scared of being 'bad'...yet, every day, in an effort to excercise the B, I engage in illegal activities.

Depending on the area we're in, I spend half of the time playing with her and half of the time on the lookout for cops. While she stands in front of me, anticipating the throw, I attempt to hide the ball deep in my hands, for fear that the man over there is actually an undercover cop, whose job is not to bust drug rings, but to penalize girls playing with their dogs in parks. I have actually gone so far as to go undercover a bit, myself. If I go to a certain park more than once in a week, I will make sure to wear a different coat and/or head gear. That way, if a cop is patrolling the place, he will not have me down as a repeat offender.

A couple of months ago, my moment of truth came. I was at a park we played in weekly during the winter. It was almost always barren of other life forms, and perfect for our purposes. But the sun had come out that day, and children were out to play. I walked past the sectioned-off dog park area, past the playground, and went into a far-off corner, where we wouldn't bother anyone. About 10 minutes went by. Then, not only did a cop car drive by, but it stopped. Then a cop exited. Then the cop CAME UP TO ME. I swear, my cheeks were inflamed and my legs were shaking. I had feared this moment for so long. He asks if I know that I am not allowed to be here. "No", I lied. (My insides turned to mush. Not to mention this was the Sabbath Day! And here I was, blatantly lying!) Then, he asked, "Have you ever been here before?" "No", I lied, AGAIN! "Well, you can't be in this section of the park with a dog off leash. We were given a call by the parents in the playground. And, technically, I am supposed to fine you - $500 - but since you didn't know, I'm going to let you off with a warning. Please leash your dog now. You can go to the dog section over there." "Wait! What? Where? There's a special dog section???" LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR "Yes, ma'am." "Oh. Okay. Thank you so much, officer."

Then - in a non-verbal attempt to LIE YET AGAIN...I walked like a blind man without a stick across the park, looking/searching/seeking the dog park area. I feigned confusion, acting like I didn't know where it was -- for such a long time that I fear I nearly gave myself away.

My guilt stayed with me long after leaving. In this re-telling, I find it still remains. I don't necessarily think I should have told him the truth, as it would have only solidified my defiance and resulted in a hefty fine, but I'm not completely at peace with my behavior.

We're coming up on two years, however, of illegal grass-grazing with no financial consequence. She has benefited immensely. And at this rate, even if I were to end up spending a grand every 4 years, it would be worth it.

Evolutionary Theory

When Bela came home, I took her in - her behaviors and quirks and thought, 'Alright. This is what we're working with.' She does (A) if (B), and always (C) and (D)...and becomes quite unhappy in the absence of (E).

I didn't consider that she could be ever-changing, like a person.

I have never thought of myself as very pliable, nor enjoyed the idea much.  If I am in a constant state of change, how can I get to 'know thyself'? How can I predict my behaviors? But watching Bela change in front of my eyes has given me a new appreciation for the evolution of a soul.

Her changes have been both grandiose and minute. Some I've barely even noticed, they were so gradual. Some have made me step back, aghast.

She is a "people--not-a-dog--dog", I say. But every now and then (and more often now than then), she finds a friend on the sidewalk and becomes just plain giddy. She peed only in squat position for the longest time -- now she throws up one back leg and sprays buildings. She recently began snoring. She 'got over' rawhides.

Her changes are not inconvenient, nor annoying, they are just what they are. They are her, on her path, at least for the present.

In appreciating her change, I think about my own. Most notably, possibly, my feelings about onions. I have hated onions my whole life. Raw, cooked, dried, fried...even just hanging around...hated them. Now I layer white with red, raw with cooked; I fill up my nose and sting my eyes.

There are other things. I finally understand flowers. I enjoy a cup of tea, sans sugar. I make to-do lists to manage every step of a day.

Is this changing or aging? Well, are they any different? For in the process of life, which runs parallel to the process of aging, we change. We change the things that change us. We react. We adapt. We thrive.

The Animal Advantage

Bela has a lot of power over me and you could say that she knows how to pull my strings. But I straight up use her. While I love her deeply, and she's my fave all-around animal, she has also become my bait. I can get closer now to all the other hounds around this city than ever before.

(Most) dogs love to greet other dogs. They get excited the minute they become aware of a fellow fleabag approaching. Some spin, some crouch down, some just sit -- waiting until the introductions are made.

Bela is an exception to this. She could care less if she meets the dog down the block. She is interested in people, places and things - not other dogs. However, since that is a rarity in the canine world, I am able to pull the wool over others' eyes. I first let them know with a look that we are game for the greeting. Then I start caressing their dog while she avoids it like the plague. Occasionally, I make excuses. "I don't know what's wrong with her today", I say, all while keeping my hands firmly planted on their pooch. I only have a few moments before the pet and parent realize that she's not into it, and take off.

While many owners seem to revel in a street exhibition, there are the occasional walking hermits. I know a dog is man's best friend, but just because you replaced the humans in your life with a mutt does take said dog's desire to interact with other life forms away.
When a pet owner ignores my pleading eyes, or speeds up, so as to bypass the interaction, I furrow my brow.  I have been known to say some varietal of the statement, 'Some people don't understand joy and love', sometimes loud enough to be heard. (I do not say this if the owner and/or dog look to be of a violent nature.)

Now, I know people have places to go...but a dog's walk is its special time. It's their daily Quinceañera, their time to shine. The sidewalk their runway, the public their audience.

When I spot a dog whose body shape I admire, I quicken my pace. If the dog stops and sniffs at least a couple times, and I tug a little on Bela's leash, I can usually make it in time to at least swipe my hand down their back. I don't always ask for permission, though I do gauge the owner and dog's vibe, to see if this seems like a safe move. Will I be bit anyway, some day? Likely.

I do, of course, have some favorites. The breeds that bring to mind the call of the wild -- the fox dog, the husky. I like a regal dog too -- Great Danes and weimaraners make me weak in the knees. A few little dudes light me up as well -- namely, mini pinschers and chihuahuas.

I like thin dogs. Fatties don't catch my eye. Rather, they catch it but I then look away, disgusted. I shouldn't act this way. God knows they aren't feeding themselves. There is a black chow that I see around...his middle is so large (and the afro isn't helping anything), he appears to be just barely balancing his weight on his fluffy feet.

I am surely influenced in my idea of beauty by Bela. I call her middle her carriage. She has a beautiful carriage. It is taught, while not too thin, and full, while not overflowing. It swings from side to side with her gait. Some dogs prance, some strut, some hunker. Now, be it known that a prancer's owner delights in their dance being called out. But the hunkering shepard's owner probably doesn't want you remarking on their dog's lackluster stature.

Last week, Bela and I encountered a real looker. A brindle greyhound, accompanied by a young couple. We met, we're moving, we're walking, we're talking...and then I lean over and plant one on their dog's head. Neither of them reacted, but I quickly stated the obvious: "I just kissed your dog on the head." Then they giggled a bit. "Yes. Yes you did", they said, to which I replied, "I'm sorry. I do that sometimes. I know maybe I shouldn't. But sometimes I just can't help myself..." They both reassured me that not only is it okay; but that they wholeheartedly approve...and if the opportunity presents itself again, that I should go for it. (Obviously, I will scour the neighborhood for these 2 and that long-legged beauty of a dog they have from now on...)

So the meet & greet is for me, not her. I'm sure some people can see through me, or rather see Bela's dead eyes and the sparkle in mine. I don't care. If you'd stand here just a little while longer, I could really get some quality time in with your dog.