Antidote

I experience a softening in my heart just from his head resting on my foot. He’s an oaf now, walks on stiff legs like a Tennessee Walker horse. When he trots, his ears bounce on either side of his enormous head. This young puppy gallops when he reaches top speed—way too fast to keep up with on a leash. We make frequent use of the spacious off leash area of Whatcom Falls Park, a special opportunity for him to really stretch his legs and for us to enjoy the woods. Our front yard, with grass already struggling to flourish under our big Douglas Firs, is beaten down daily. The shrubs have been pruned by this guy, who is to be excused for his constant chewing. He’s so young we count his age in months, eight of them. Our boy gives an extra hop when he wants to play. A moment later, he studies the ant crawling on the pavement.

“His name is Anders,” we say, then explain that a friend who saw a photo of him soon after we got him from the shelter said, “He looks like Anderson Cooper.” Its true Anders has a serious expression, brown eyes that hold a steady gaze. His short cropped hair is marked with a stripe of white like the famous newscaster. Mostly people laugh; some say “The silver fox!” We joke that the name Anders also fits because my grandfather was Swedish. When people pronounce his name “Ahnders”, we don’t correct them. After all, he has Scandinavian heritage.

The paws of Mr. Puppy are so big that they are conversation starters—complete strangers cheerfully offer “Look how big his paws are!” or “He’s going to grow into those paws!” Those feet are bigger than those of any dog we have had, or might have seen, even though Lynne and I have had seven previous dogs in our 43 years together. At six months, Anders’ paws were bigger than mine (my human hand), and the pads are as thick as rubber tires. Now at eight months, we consider his ever increasing paws one of the wonders of the world. He curls them tight to his chest when he lies down.

The large, blue plaid and fleece dog bed from Costco that our generous friends gave us when we got Anders is now too small. When Jerri and Lynn first carried it ceremoniously up our front walk, I blurted out, “That’s huge! He’s just a little puppy.” At the time, Anders was ten weeks old and he weighed six pounds. Now, at eight months, he is 63 pounds and falls in the category of “large breed." I used my spreadsheet skills to create a growth chart for him—age on the x axis and weight on the y axis. For seven months his numbers showed an unrelenting upward climb. We swear that he is bigger every morning than he was when we went to bed. Only recently has the line started curving, suggesting that his growth rate slowed. This runt who had been turned into the Humane Society near death grows steadily larger day by day, fueled, no doubt, by the constant intake of premium puppy food.

 Anders has a personality unique to himself. Our biggest worry with him is not running away, but lying down. If he lies down, in the front yard after dark, for example, or in a neighbor’s front lawn during a walk, he won’t budge. Neither coaxing, sweet talking nor issuing stern commands have any effect. Luring him with treats is useless. We assume he trained in Gandhi’s nonviolent resistance concepts before turning up at the Whatcom Humane Society. Here’s our technique in response: I scoop under his belly and raise up his hind quarters, a somewhat athletic challenge for me at age 70. Then he gathers up his front legs, at which point I push from the rear and he starts moving forward. Lynne and I prefer to resort to this maneuver when no one else is looking, so we don’t end up going viral on YouTube.

 If Anders has one deficiency, it is his seriousness. He is not affectionate in the way of spaniels or poodles or most other love bugs. Our dog does not always greet us at the front door when we return home. “Anders,” Lynne says when she finally locates him in the house, “a tail wag lets us know you love us.” He looks up, raising his hard head from where he is sleeping, and gives a few faint wags before resuming his slumber.

“We might be too old for this,” Lynne and I agree. At ages 73 and 70, we are no match for his power when he spots a rabbit on one of our daily walks. Falling flat on the pavement with one outstretched arm attached to his leash is not the outcome that either of us would choose, so we have sought advice from friends and YouTube videos, as well as dog trainers. We tried a regular collar, a fancy martingale, a slip collar, a vest harness, a harness that attaches to the leash on the top, and a harness that attaches to his front, all with basically imperceptible improvement. Two things have worked to keep him from pulling: bribing him with treats, and using a prong collar, which seems to convince him to slow down.

Lynne and I have had a much easier time with the chewing issue, thanks to advice from others. From the day we brought him home, friends have given us a motley and somewhat exotic array of chew toys: rubber kongs, non-meat venison sticks, bully sticks (bull penises, very expensive), Himalayan cheese sticks, soup bones, antlers, and the best of all: beef kneecaps. Little did we know that an industry has blossomed around keeping our pets from chewing our shoes.

By the way, Anders now has four dog beds, and we just ordered a bigger one, size Extra Large. Also delivered to our door this week: the dog swimming pool. His treats, an array of tasty morsels that sit in non-recyclable plastic zip lock bags in one corner of our kitchen, include Trader Joe’s Charley Bear Dog Treats with beef liver, miniature Milkbones, heart shaped lamb treats, salmon bits and lamb flavored dry kibble, for the cat, to keep her from eating the lamb flavored dog kibble.

 In this time of the COVID pandemic, economic turmoil, the rise in homelessness, Black Lives Matter demonstrations, Me Too allegations and rabid right wing challenges to democracy, why do I write about our new puppy? Raising a puppy has its benefits as well as its challenges. He's a charmer, and Lynne and I keep each other apprised of his latest cute pose. Our social life has improved, as promised by one of the raising a puppy books we read. Taking him for daily long walks has vastly improved our connection with our neighbors, whose first names we are learning after living nearby for 12 years. We learn their dog's names also, and frequently set up play dates for Anders. We spend more time outdoors in all kinds of weather, and more time at the lake or nearby rivers where he loves to splash around in the water. I've taken to thinking of him as my personal fitness trainer. At home, we also have a private kind of puppy fun in our old age, despite the odds. It is a primal joy to see him galumph around the yard squeaking with his toys, shaking a knotted rope, or wrestling with dog pals. At the end of the day, we are content when he sits on our feet. Loving a puppy is a compelling force, an antidote to all that isn’t working.