On these quiet summer days, The Citizen is publishing some short first-person narratives from local people with stories to share. No, it's not news, but sharing stories is what we're all about. We hope you enjoy these vignettes of everyday life.
Like so many other parents out there, we believed that by simply getting a dog we could teach our kids all about responsibility.
We quickly realized, however, that responsibility is a really big word—six syllables—for kids to understand. The biggest one, the one about picking up after this animal, would mainly belong to me, Dad. And I preferred to bag the business as it happened, per se, rather than allow it to go on in the back yard where each pile could become a landmine for the lawnmower.
Thus, I became a dogwalker.
Our first family dog, Dusty, was a black bichon frise and shitzu mix who was docile, clean, and obedient. He didn’t shed, never barked, naturally took to the leash, and followed us everywhere we went: in our truck, behind our bikes, and even in the canoe. Together we walked around the block at least twice a day, or further, until he was done. He sniffed and shuffled along as we made our way down streets and through parks. Whenever I left the house, I took him with me. People who saw how calm he was wanted their own dogs to be like him, and little kids would stop what they were doing, mesmerized, then point and yell, “Puppy! Puppy!”
He was that kind of dog.
Dusty taught me many things. For one: never leave the house without a poop bag. The town threatened to fine dog owners who failed to clean up after their pets, but I did so simply because it’s disgusting and rude not to pick it up when it’s so easy to do. In fact, our routes were often determined by the ease with which I could bag and deposit his daily deliveries.
He also taught me patience and the importance of routine. It wasn’t always easy to get up and go out when it was raining or minus-forty with a wind. And of course he would get sick, make a mess, and go missing at times, causing us to worry. But isn’t that what responsibility is all about?
As a family, he got us moving and out of the house. We no longer had an excuse to skip our daily dose of fresh air and exercise. If we did, we’d have a few parcels of penance to pick up in the back yard the next day.
Again, patience and responsibility went hand in hand.
Compassion was perhaps the hardest lesson we learned from Dusty. He got older and slept more and no longer seemed as eager to go for walks. When he eventually lost his sight, not uncommon for his breed, he still followed blindly behind me.
Age only worsened his condition, though, and after fifteen years as a constant canine companion we finally had to say goodbye.
That was the most difficult lesson from owning a pet, as we discovered.
The aching space of his absence in our family had to be filled. And since I had recently retired and had more time on my hands, I began searching for another puppy.
I found a rescue in need of adoption. Russ, a blond terrier, is quite the character. While rough, rowdy, and rambunctious, he is also cute. Unlike Dusty, he is hyper, skittish, and forever curious. He chases leaves, growls at garbage cans, hides behind the couch, and makes many messes in the house. It comes naturally to him since he sheds like a beast. I could sweep the kitchen floor in the morning and once again have a blond carpet by noon.
He speaks too! “Aroo–row–row–roo” means “I need a treat.” Likewise, a headbutt to the leg is a gentle reminder: “Hey, I mean it. I need a treat” or “I need to go outside right now.”
He is very tough to ignore. It’s a good thing he’s cute.
My wife and I moved to Niverville while Russ was still a puppy, and he quickly adapted to his new home. He learned what areas of the house were off-limits, met other dogs living in the neighbourhood, and discovered the importance of wiping his paws when coming in from the rain.
We frequently wandered and explored wherever our curiosity and his nose led. We’ve met many other dogwalkers and found our town to be very accommodating. The sidewalks are smooth and clean, the streets quiet and tree-lined. Drivers wave. Everyone we meet is friendly and happy to see such a goofy-looking dog.
Now, when I wake up in the morning, I hear the steady thump-thump of a furry tail beating the floor. I see him at the edge of the carpet, on his back, ears flopped, legs bent up, tongue lolled out. He waits for a belly rub. It’s time for our morning walk.
Let’s see what’s out there! We don’t know whether to turn left or right at the end of the driveway, but we know we’ll enjoy our time together. There is so much to see, so many possibilities awaiting us right outside our door.
So far Russ has taught me a lot about myself and how to enjoy life. He continues to show me how important it is to stop, slow down, and enjoy what each day brings. He gets me moving without excuse, and I’m learning that all messes can be cleaned up eventually.
I’m also learning to be prepared for anything. In other words, don’t forget to bring a bag. There is so much to learn from him—after all, responsibility is a really big word.
