In 30 years of married life I’ve never had a dog. My wife, Dianne, has had two.
These dogs were acquired as marital property. Technically, I deserved half of their attention and 50 percent of their love. I got neither.
Our dogs, Fern and later Calvin, were Shetland Sheepdogs. Herders. They herded Dianne into the center of their worlds and me mostly out.
The exception was a half hour every evening. At about 8:30 their attention was focused like a laser on me. It was evening walk time and I was The Man! I’d get a nuzzle in my ribs if I was lying on the couch, my cue to do the one thing in their lives that had much value.
So, I’d dutifully go grab the leash and a couple of those handy blue bags that the New York Times comes in, and we’d go off for our walk around the neighborhood. When we got back I’d give them their treat, which was their cue to drop their interest in me like a tired old toy. They’d race to get back to Dianne’s side and in their little dog brains I just knew they were thinking, “He did it again! This is sooo easy!”
But not this time, people. Dog number three will be mine. We’re adopting a rescue dog from Puerto Rico through a really wonderful organization called UnderDog Pet Rescue of Wisconsin. Her name is Maple (my suggestion, so how can she not love the owner who gave her her very name!) and she’s about 10 weeks old, give or take. Her mother was mostly Golden Retriever and the father, who knows? But we’re thinking maybe German Shepherd and we wouldn’t be at all surprised if there’s another breed or two in the mix.
The main thing is she’s 100 percent cute. See the picture and tell me I’m wrong.
For our dog-raising canon I’ve selected “The Art of Raising a Puppy” by the Monks of New Skeet and “The Puppy Primer” by Wisconsin’s own Patricia McConnell and Brenda Scidmore. The books pretty much agree on the basics, but the monks, as you would expect, offer more in the way of philosophical underpinnings for the puppy-human relationship.
We’ve learned that the first 16 weeks of a dog’s life are crucial. If we get it wrong it’s very hard to correct things later on. We’re lucky that she seems to have been treated well before she got to her foster parents and they are terrific, having raised a few puppies themselves.
It’s our first experience with a puppy and our first with a mixed breed. We loved our sheepdogs. Dianne still swoons when she sees one on the street and even my PTSD has subsided to the point that I miss them too. But a purebred dog has a pretty good chance of finding a good home since everything about them is intentional. Mixed breeds are almost by definition a mistake and so they start out with less chance of a happy life. By getting Maple we figure we’re doing something good not just for ourselves but for her — if we don’t screw it up.
In addition to being the world’s cutest pup, Maple is also the sweetest pup… except when she’s not. We’re going through standard puppy issues and adhering closely to the monks’ advice and philosophy. It’s mostly about positive reinforcement, gentle yet firm correction when necessary, and consistency, consistency, consistency. Maple is learning sit, stay and come while I’m learning patience, a skill I had been losing as I got older.
It’s a little daunting to know that Maple will be in our lives and part of our family for 10 to 20 years. We’d better like each other and, it turns out, that’s about 99 percent our responsibility to make happen.
So far, Maple has been a good canine politician, not tipping her hand as to who she might select as the favored owner. I’m determined to win the title honestly, through love and hard work. If a few extra dog treats slip out of my pocket when Dianne isn’t looking, well, that happens sometimes.
