Thoughts of a wayward dog
What is it about a dog that pulls at so many
otherwise-dispassionate men’s souls?
How can an animal with as many bad habits as most dogs share
turn sober-sided grownups into children rolling on the floor with a
furry playmate?
I thought of that again as I finished a piece in a recent issue
of the San Francisco Chronicle. It was by David Clemens, who
teaches a course called
”
Literature by and About Men
”
at Monterey Peninsula College.
Thoughts of a wayward dog
What is it about a dog that pulls at so many otherwise-dispassionate men’s souls?
How can an animal with as many bad habits as most dogs share turn sober-sided grownups into children rolling on the floor with a furry playmate?
I thought of that again as I finished a piece in a recent issue of the San Francisco Chronicle. It was by David Clemens, who teaches a course called “Literature by and About Men” at Monterey Peninsula College.
He wrote of an auto trip into the interior of Alaska.
As Clemens describes it, no sooner had he left the rental agency parking lot than he broke his contract by taking his rental SUV onto Alaska’s network of gravel roads. One would think that would be the purpose of renting an SUV, but the folks that rent expensive automobiles have other opinions.
But if one wants to see what it is that gives Alaska its list of superlatives, one will violate that rental contract. So Clemens took off down the Denali Highway, bound for the Alaska Range.
As he writes of his trip, he remembers encountering an empty pickup, parked at the road’s edge where a soggy path led toward some fishable ponds.
As Clemens passed the truck, a Jack Russell terrier burst onto the road, and chased his SUV for a quarter mile before Clemens stopped to re-assess the situation.
Alaska is genuine wilderness. Moose wander regularly in Anchorage. People have serious discussions about how to avoid bear attacks. The weather alone can kill the unprepared.
Clemens returned to the truck, and looked in the bed. There was the ripped end of a blue leash, chewed through by his new friend.
Abandoning the dog might mean that the dog would be hit by the next passing motorist, or wind up as the entree for a passing wolf. His cellular phone was useless and he recounts that he had 200 miles of bad gravel to cover before dark.
The choices were quickly growing limited.
Clemens tied the broken leash back through the pup’s collar and climbed back into his truck. No sooner does he crank the engine than the little dog nearly hangs himself attempting to join him. So he shortens the leash, and prays the owner will return before it is gnawed through a second time.
Clemens writes that the look from that dog in his rearview mirror continues to haunt him.
I can understand. We share our household with our daughter’s dog, the same breed as the one Clemens encountered that gray day in Alaska.
Perhaps it’s because our daughters have attained enough age and maturity that they don’t need as much support from us, but I’ve never lavished as much attention on a pet as on this dog, so Clemens’ story tugged at the deepest parts of me.
I gaze at Sparky’s picture several times a day. And just as often, I worry a little that he’s cold, or that he’s dug his way out of our garden. Our daughters may not need me the way they once did, but Sparky always will.
Clemens’ story also resonated with me because last month, our other daughter’s dog, Skippy, slipped his leash and was quickly lost.
It was a long two days, but Skippy was returned, even though he had lost his license and ID tag when he slipped out of his collar.
The reason is because Skippy and Sparky both carry their names and ours with them wherever they go, collar or no collar. Both have microchips the size of a grain of rice riding under their skin at the nape of their necks.
Inserting the chip is no more painful than receiving an injection, and it can be done by animal shelter staff or a veterinarian for just a few dollars. Whenever a dog visits a shelter or a veterinarian, a simple scanner will turn up ID information.
The young man who found Skippy brought him by the Hollister Veterinary Clinic and very soon, dog and companion experienced a joyful reunion.
But back to “Jack,” Clemens’ would-be companion. Since reading his short story, I’ve wondered what I would have done in the same circumstances. Absent a better alternative, I think I would have decided that I’d just have to visit the Alaska Range on my next visit.
There are worse things than passing a few hours’ time in the company of a Jack Russell terrier who just wants to be your friend.
