This May, I went to a writing conference put on by Grub Street, an independent creative writing center in Boston. The theme of the conference: "What's a writer for?" helped me power through my blogging block. Over and again, writers stood up to remind us that it doesn't really matter how dramatic or action-packed or politically driven a story is -- sometimes, the tiniest moment with the most imperceptible shifts make for the best ones. No matter what their content, stories connect us, give us insight or perspective, touch us in one way or another. Frankly, we're just damn lucky to be here to tell our stories, and read them and listen to them. Sometimes, often, I think that this is all life is about. Our shared experiences, or our independent experiences, shared. Either way, it's about human connection.
And also, canine connection.
This first post is mainly about our new dog whom none of us have ever met. I don't even really have a story to tell about him, not yet. Really, I just know that his name is about to be changed from from Easton to Duncan Swing-Biscuit Damaske, that he's eight weeks old and seven big pounds, that his mom was part dachshund, and that he's a he. That's almost all we know, except that he's got the face of a (furry) angel and ears like the long, silk elephant lovies I used to give to my babies. I've seen three pictures of sweet (I hope) Duncan, which were all taken in immediate succession of one another, so I've essentially only seen him for one miniature moment in time. One moment, but enough.
The truth is, I don't really know the first thing about dogs. I'm not really a dog person. I mean, if the question is cat person vs dog person, the answer is a resounding "dog! dog person!" But if the question is dog person vs not dog person, I'd have to go with the latter. Right now, anyway. And yet, I have to assume, barring some disastrous experience with Duncs, that by this time next month, I'll have swung (like a swing-biscuit) to the other side, the dog people side.
At this very moment in time, I find myself at a most peculiar precipice. The transition is to begin tomorrow at 4:00 pm. But right now, as I write this, I best relate to non dog people who think dogs are pretty cute and that is the extent of their thoughts about dogs. But tomorrow at this time, I will have dipped my (puppy licked) toe into a subculture that exists all around me, a giant part of the world that I have paid little to no attention to at all until about a week ago, when we decided Duncan was our boy and that this was happening.
I realize now that dog discourse has been happening all around me, all the time, everywhere, for all of my life and I have essentially tuned it out because it just didn't matter to me. Until now. If you are a non dog person who has dog person friends, it turns out that these people know a lot of shit about dogs. There's this whole giant pocket of information they have tucked away that they never bring up with you because you just don't get it and they know you don't care or are perhaps useless on the subject. So, I've been trying to catch up, cramming for the past six days. Crate training and housebreaking tips have been dumped like ice-bucket challenge water into my previous knowledge of dogs, which was, in its entirely, that dogs are fun to pet.
Dog people know that a dog's crate should only be big enough for a dog to turn around in and no bigger. This fact horrified me when I heard it because I'd hyperventilate if being put in quarters that small for hours on end. But dog people know that dogs grow to love it, thinking of it as their safe place. Also, dogs only get fed twice a day, sometimes only once. I found this preposterous, but to a dog person, it's just common knowledge. Also, as soon as dogs eat, they need to go out. Like within ten minutes. It goes through them that quickly. Dogs need tick collars. Dogs need to be registered in their hometown. Dogs yawn when they're afraid.
My first trip to Petco was entirely reminiscent of my first trip to Babies R Us, except this time in place of my dumbstruck husband ("Why are there so many kinds of diapers?") were my two kids giving each other fast carriage rides up and down the Petco aisles, reminding me that the dog needs toys, toys, toys!
I wanted to embrace the saleswoman (I might have if it weren't so hot), who handed me a puppy owners' checklist, took great pity on me, and then walked us through every single dog aisle and gave me the lowdown on all things canine. When I asked her, "So, what's, like, the standard dog food people usually get?" she shook her head, looked at me kindly, and said, "Half of the store is dog food. See? That half of the store. Dog food. You want organic? Vegetarian? Red meat? Chicken? My dog likes salmon." Oh my God. I just want dog food. Is that not a thing? Just some effing dog food, medium to good quality so I don't have to spend a fortune on the fancy shit?
The saleslady was great, but she did convince me to buy a dental kit for my dog so I could brush his teeth once a week. Turns out, that's not really a thing. Dog people who are still reading this are undoubtedly rolling their eyes (right, guys? or… is it a thing?).
I have no shame in my naiveté, which has often worked to my advantage, so I hope my willingness to completely unmask the depths of my ignorance will serve me well in this case too. In the past few days, I have asked dog experts (aka, people who know dogs better than me) a number of questions that have been swirling in my head. Here is a smattering:
- Is there a dog equivalent to 911? (Answer: Um… No.)
- So… if a dog has diarrhea, I assume it doesn't tend to wait to go outside for that? (Answer: It's a dog. No.)
- How often does a puppy need to go out again? And how early? (Answer: Uh, like a lot. And early early.)
- Is having a puppy really like having an infant? (Answer: Yes, yes it is. Be prepared.)
- How would I ever have know to register my dog in town if you hadn't told me? (Answer: Your vet knows this stuff. My answer: Ah… so I guess we should get a vet).
- And a question for John (who had dogs growing up, but is maybe (definitely) *not* as pumped as the rest of us about now owning one: Hey John, Noah wants to walk the puppy in the morning on his own. Makes sense cause he likes to get up so early. Good plan? (John's answer: Do you want to deal with Noah's sorrow when the puppy gets loose in the woods? (My answer: So… kind of a good plan?)
But the thing is, of course, that we're ready for this little guy. We love him already. I've been dreaming about him all week (though admittedly, some of the dreams involve me showing up too late for our puppy pick up time and being left with a large wolfy dog who the dog people are trying to convince is our new dog). There's two hand-drawn doggie-day countdowns on our fridge. I've got "Ten Perfect Puppies" and all of our other puppy picture books on display in the playroom right on top of his brand new crate, and my nighttime reading has become "The Art of Raising a Puppy." Oh, the control I have right now! A parody of our future.
My job this week is to simultaneously welcome Duncan to our little family and establish myself as the alpha male in the house so that the dog doesn't entirely take over my life from the moment it steps in the door. I've never been known for my alpha male skills in the canine or human circles, so really, this should go well. If I had any ability to regulate my own emotions tomorrow, I would keep my panic to a minimum, collect myself, and just do this thing. Like a doting alpha dog mom.
Dunkin's mom was rescued from a high kill shelter in Mississippi when she was abundantly pregnant. The rescue organization we've worked with (incredible), called Sweet Paws Rescue, has a team down there who saves these little guys and sends them up here in a truck so that they can find new homes and families with the help of the entirely dedicated and all volunteer team up here. This is not a political post, not even in the least, but it's worth pointing out the beauty of two very different parts of our country working together to make life better - or make life even a possibility - for members of our country who have no voice at all. If these pups could speak to us, such stories they would tell, all of these rescued four legged friends, stories from the south to the north, from their shelters to their crates.
Tomorrow, a new story will begin for us and for Dunkin, and it will take some twists and turns and trips outside in the middle of the night, and while I promise not to turn this blog into a dog blog, expect to see our new little family member/s face from time to time, because we're flipping the page to the next chapter… now.