Meet Schneider (aka Schnoo). He has a long snout, stumpy legs, and a skin condition that makes him smelly. He’s stubborn and curious, needy and sometimes possessive. He doesn’t always listen. And before you know it, he’s grabbed a piece of your heart.
Last week I was dog-sitting for my daughter while she was on vacation. She likes to call it time at ‘Grandma’s Bootcamp’! She knows I have zero tolerance for dogs who misbehave. Bootcamp means no table scraps, no sitting on the furniture, and twice- daily walks that look more like training drills than a leisurely stroll through the ‘hood. I know it may seem harsh, but dogs need routine and they like being told what to do — two things I’m good at.
Except with Schnoo I sometimes give in to his demands.
Dogs have a way of testing your limits. They’re a lot like humans. But treating a dog like a human can backfire; pretty soon they’re treating you like a dog! It’s why, back when we had dogs, we would never let them on the furniture or on the bed, or allow them to hover around the dinner table. But I’m a grandma now so, you know, you relax about these things.
Dogs always have a favourite person, and last week I was that person for Schnoo. He never left my side. You could say he’s a stage-5 clinger. God how I love being worshipped and adored! In reality, I know it’s just because I walk him, play ball-y and fill his bowl. He knows I’m his only shot at survival. But he’s filled a place in my heart so I want to believe he loves me more than anything in the whole wide world. You’ll excuse me while I have a Sally Field Moment… He likes me, he really, really likes me!
It’s true. There really are two kinds of people. Unlike cats, I get dogs. Maybe it’s because I was born in the Year of the Dog. Explains a lot. Like being sensitive, restless, and at times a little badassy. But show me a little lovin and I’m extremely loyal, hardworking and always excited to see you show up at my door.
They say dogs look like their owners, but I don’t entirely buy the Mini-Me science. I don’t see any similarities between Schnoo and my daughter or my son-in-law. My daughter is petite but well-proportioned. And my son-in-law is tall and long-legged. We always had broad-chested dogs which meant they definitely didn’t look like me! I think our choice of pooch has more to do with something between us — a sort of spiritual oneness. You just know when you’ve found your soul mutt.
Our first dog was a boxer named Ginger. She was high-energy and never seemed to get old. Seriously. Till her last day. We should all be so lucky. She was incredibly energetic and needed playtime and walkies daily. It was fun to watch her frequent FRAPs (those Frenetic Random Active Periods) when we got home from work — pure energy bursting out of her system. She was great with the kids but became more cautious and fearful following a break-in at our home where we suspect the intruder hit her with a wooden plank. The tip-off: plank on floor, dog in corner shaking. What I remember most about Ginger was her incredible empathy. Boxers can pick up on your emotions in a split second. If you ever need a therapist can I suggest a boxer pooch? They’re always there for you at the right time and in the right way. She eventually succumbed to hip dysplasia, unable to get herself up from a lying position.
Our next dog was another chesty breed — an American Bully named Tiny. She was brawny and well-built and always looked like she was smiling. We adopted her from the Humane Society when she was just a year old. When you adopt a dog, there’s always a piece of their past that can never be known. It’s good to remember this. She could be intimidating and extremely protective — desirable qualities when you live in the country and after you’ve experienced a break-in. But she didn’t adapt well when we moved to our new home in the suburbs. Blame the leash. And too many people. She was suspicious of everyone. It was hard to have friends over. We’d have to isolate her as she started to see every visitor as a threat — especially men. Her strategy was the slow approach followed by bumping her large frame into their bodies, sometimes giving them a wee nip —never hard, but hard enough to let them know she is watching. One day my mother made the mistake of moving a little too close to me. Tiny muscled her way between us and created a barrier with her body, making sure my mother didn’t get any closer. Yes, even familiar visitors were put in their place. She, too, suffered from hip and shoulder dysplasia so bad she was on constant pain relievers for years. One day she stumbled going down the stairs. Thankfully I was in front of her. I broke her fall in the nick of time and rested her shaking body on my lap for about an hour before I could lift her 85 lb frame back up the stairs. That’s when it hits you. The time is near.
This is the point in my story when I tell you… I don’t think I’ll ever get another dog — they all die.
Back to my week with Schnoo.
Day 1 was the hardest for Schnoo. His people were gone. Everything was unfamiliar — sights, smells, sounds, where to “go”!? I was hyper-alert to his cues and feeling a little stressed while constantly eyeing his roaming. I knew enough to limit the scope of his exploration and kept the bedroom doors closed. I anticipated what was coming: that little brown bundle letting me know that his world has been completely upended and he doesn’t like it. He didn’t disappoint.
As the week progressed, we settled into a routine and he became noticeably more relaxed with life at Grandma’s. And I became more relaxed, too. Being equipped with his favourite blankie, chew toys and dinner dish certainly helped. By the way, if you thought stepping on your grandkid’s Lego was bad, try an old chewed-up Nylabone sometime. (Insert four-letter word here!)
We enjoyed 18 walks over 108 kilometres through some of the hottest and most unsettled weather all summer. We narrowly escaped a few thunderstorms and downpours. Despite that, Schnoo was loving it. COME! Praise. LET’S GO! Praise. FASTER! Praise. GO SNIFF! Praise. STOP! Praise. LEAVE IT! Praise. Good dog, good dog, GOOD DOG!
At the end of each day, we’d snuggle up on the sofa, Schnoo staring at my face for half an hour with his soft brown eyes. It felt like a game of who blinks first. Then I’d share a cookie. He’d scooch underneath my housecoat, completely covered, while I watched a ball game. When it was time for bed, I’d put him in his crate where he whined for about five minutes (can’t blame a dog for trying) until he realized it was futile. He curled himself up tightly and drifted off. Another good day. Good dog.
The family is back now and Schnoo is finally reunited with his people. I couldn’t tell who was more excited — Mom and Dad and Lily, or Schnoo. The second he laid eyes on them I was long, long forgotten. Once inside the house, he quickly resumed his favourite spot on the window seat. I say goodbye. He does nothing. I’m thinking jeez, really Schnoo? But I fed you. I walked you. We played ball-y. I shared my cookies. I kept you alive, dammit! Where’s my Academy Award?
Did you ever really, really like me?
If you can start the day without caffeine,
If you can get going without pep pills,
If you can always be cheerful, ignoring aches and pains,
If you can resist complaining and boring people with your troubles,
If you can eat the same food everyday and be grateful for it,
If you can understand when your loved ones are too busy
to give you any time,
If you can overlook it when those you love take it out on you
when, through no fault of yours, something goes wrong,
If you can take criticism and blame without resentment,
If you can ignore a friend's limited education and never correct him,
If you can resist treating a rich friend better than a poor friend,
If you can face the world without lies and deceit,
If you can conquer tension without medical help,
If you can relax without liquor,
If you can sleep without the aid of drugs,
If you can say honestly that deep in your heart
you have no prejudice against creed, colour, religion or politics,
Then, my friend… you are a dog!
~ Author Unknown
