We have just completed our mission. Dog-Sitting. I’m not sure why it is called “dog-sitting”. This phrase seems to conjure up the image that we, the dog-sitters, are sitting on the dogs.

This makes more sense to me, because dogs never sit. They run around, lay around, jump up, scratch, sniff, chase their tails, lick various parts of their body openly in public, and in the case of Didi in Paris provide your restaurant check (I kid you not – this happened). However, they are never, and I mean NEVER, sit.

Sure, you can provide them with a reason to sit.  You are in your kitchen, holding up a “dog treat” and maybe they’ll sit for a few minutes.  Based on my mom and Sophie-the-spoiled-little-Shih-Tzu last weekend, it works like this:

• Mom (in a higher pitched voice, as if that makes a difference):  “Would Sophie like a treat? Would you girl? Woooooullld you? Would you like a treat?”
• Me:  “Mom, you’re giving her a treat for barking incessantly. That only encourages her to do it again.”
• Mom:  “I know, but [turning to the dog] wouldn’t Sophie like a treat?”

Sophie, as would be the case for all other dogs, in the meantime sits there wondering why you’re talking to them like a toddler. Just give me the gosh-darned snack, they’re thinking.  They simply sit, stare at you with that glance that says “and Sophie would also like a 401(k) plan with matching funds” until she gets the treat. Then, sitting stops and she waddles away.

Now, this does not apply to Dog-Walking. Dogs will walk with their owners or their Dog-Sitters (who are no longer sitting themselves, even if they want to because Magnolia TV is about to “reveal” another fixer upper and gosh knows we can’t miss figuring out where the big clock was placed. Yes, I need a new hobby.)

Of course, no two dogs walk the same way. Based on an exhaustive survey (meaning I am thinking this up as I type), I’d say you have these categories:

1. Excitable dogs that do their best to pull you along the pavement (Henry-the-Houdini).
2. Non-excitable dogs that just want to go home (Honey-the-Wonder-Dog).
3. Dogs that waddle until they collapse because their hair makes up 95% of their body weight (Sophie-the-Spoiled-Little-Shih-Tzu).
4. Cooper the Saunterer.

You will probably note that I did not include the group of “Dogs so well trained that they need no leash”.  That is because these dogs do not exist.  Yes we see them in movies as the faithful companion always at the side of the (soon to be in mortal danger) actor that they will save from (mortal danger).  This dog is Lassie, and she has a SAG Card.

My cousin Lori is a superb certified dog trainer, and I’m pretty sure she’d agree. The people that try this stunt (again, Lassie was a professional so DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME!) are generally those who own scary dogs. You know, the ones that weigh 250 pounds, have a spiked collar, look at Sophie as if she were a midday snack and have a scary name like Larry? My guess is that what happens with most regular dogs is this:

Owner:  “Don’t worry, Little Larry is such an angel. He never runs away. we’ve trained him.” 

[removing the leash.]  “Larry, LARRY, put down Mrs. Tiddleberry’s Pekingese Right Now! LARRY, NOW!”

[turning to Mrs. Tiddleberry] “I am so sorry he’s never done this before. Really, he’s a good dog.”

[realizing that Larry has lost interest in the pekingese and is now engaged in chasing every other dog in the park]

“Larry, COME BACK HERE RIGHT NOW! LARRY! LARRY…..   COME BACK HEEEEEErrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeee…”

Mind you, this the same experience my wife has taking me to a major shopping mall (“LARRY – GET OFF OF THERE RIGHT NOW!”), but I digress.

This is why you never see a dog trainer take a dog off the leash. On the leash yes, but not off. Better the owners run down the street screaming like a banshee. Me, I know better.

But, what makes Cooper different?  Well,  we need to survey the dog landscape;  oops, I think I’ve stepped in it now.

That never changed. Henry was wayyyyy too smart for us. I have a master’s degree in statistics from an ivy-league university and I was simply out of his league. Henry was always that dog that, when walking, scratching, sleeping or eating, was always figuring out a new way to get loose. For that reason, and that he was much faster than us (as is Sophie the waddler) we NEVER let him off the leash.

I kid you not – I came home one day from work with these 5 messages:

Message 1:  Hi, this is your neighbor Tom. I have your dog at my house

Message 2:  Hi this is Tom. I put the dog back in your yard.

Message 3:  Duuuude, I got your dog on Magnooolia.

Message 4:  This is Downey Savings. Your dog is here at the branch.  [Important point – this branch is about 2 miles down a major street away from our home.]

Message 5:  “Hey, I picked up your dog and will bring him to your house later.”

I have absolutely no idea what my dog was doing at the bank. Probably transacting on his 401(k) account since this was before Al Gore invented the internet. All I do know is that this very nice contractor bounces up in his white Ford truck (all contractors are required by law to have a white Ford pickup truck), with Henry sitting in the front. I think the two them were bonding over a couple of brews. Scratching was involved.

Walking Henry was an exercise.  You’ve seen him – the very alert dog that is straining at the collar choking himself to get there Right Now! Yep, that’s Henry.

After Henry, well, we get to Honey-the-Wonder-Dog.  Honey wondered why we even bothered to try to take her on a walk.

Mind you, it is understandable as Honey was old. How old?  We’ll never know. When we rescued her, the foster dog-sitters (who were standing as I recall) tried to convince us that she was 3 years old.  I looked at my wife and said “She’s not 3 years old.” 

The vet said “It’s so great that you are adopting an older dog.”  I said “How old?” The Vet, realizing his mistake looked away, fidgeted and then said “Well, she’s probably about 8 or 9, based on her teeth.”   I looked at my wife and said “She’s not 8. The only thing she 8 was breakfast.”

Honey had been-there-and-done-that. This was a dog that would look up at us when we came home from work, and then say “ok, that’s enough, you can go now.” We really don’t know what all she had done, but we do know that she was at some point roaming around Mexico. I suspect that she was smuggling guns to the Sandinistas back in the 80’s, but they could never prove it.

So, walking to her was something like this:  We drag her to the park against her will, and she then trots home excitedly. I recall taking her on a vacation to a vineyard in Paso Robles.  She first trotted around showing us the place – she was probably a winery-dog (not a wienery-dog) at some point in her life. But after an initial tour of the facilities – and some barrel-tasting – she was pretty much done.

Her last walk on that trip went something like this:  We carried her outside, on her leash. She looked back as if to tell us “The house is that way”.  We pulled her along the path against her will.  She looked back as if to emphasize “No, the house is that way”.  (repeat for 10-15 minutes.) We finally said “The house is that way” and gave her a treat (See, Mom, even I did this once in a while).

Which brings us to Sophie-the-Spoiled-Little-Shih…..Tzu.  (Trust me, you have to take a pause in that last part).  I get to walk her when I visit my Mom. Her retirement community has a small grassy field that all the local dogs go to, well, go.  You’ll see them out their – the excitable ones, the “can I go home now” ones – and Sophie.

I feel sorry for her.  95% of her body weight is comprised of fur. She weighs something like 15 pounds, and if we shaved her she’d weigh precisely… 1 gram.

If you had that kind of weight to drag around you’d do what she does. Waddle. I’ll pack her in the golf cart to the community poop-pool, she’ll get out, do her thing, and then simply lay down panting. She’d love to mingle with the other dogs but, heck, it’s so exhausting.  There’s a treat for her, so why bother?

At this point, you’re all thinking “I know this dog” in some manner of speaking (woof). Which brings us to Cooper. The Saunterer. Cooper is the enigma. I have not seen a dog like him before, and probably won’t again (unless, of course, we go visit our friends).

Cooper does not run. He does not jump. He doesn’t waddle but he wants to go for a walk. He actually walked into my office and sat. For a few minutes. I thought something was wrong.

What I’ve learned is this:  Cooper Saunters.  He seems to be in no particular hurry to go anywhere, so why go fast?  That treat? It’ll still be there. He’ll just mosey on over when he’s ready. 

Same thing at bedtime.  Susie told us that he’d sleep in our room.  We went up, washed up, got in bed, and then he’d saunter in sometime. He’d sit, look at us, and then ask where his bed was. So… back downstairs, up with the bed and at some point in time he’d crawl in and curl up.

You should not take from this that Cooper was not social by nature. Dogs socialize by marking the territory around their neighborhood, and then identifying their friends by a complimentary sniff of their nether regions. By this measure I can tell you that, absolutely, certainly, and without doubt, Cooper is the most social dog in all of California.

Why?  Walks, that’s why.  Or should I say, saunters.  We’d head out front, and get as far as the driveway.  That’s the first 5 minutes.  Then he’d smell the wall. Another 5 minutes.  Then he’d find the perfect spot to leave his mark –  “Ok, that’s Fritz, and there’s Fifi, and… Oh, here’s the perfect spot for me.”  Another 5 minutes.  Time to saunter another 30 feet. Then stop and repeat.  A walk around the block took somewhere between 45 minutes and 3 hours.

OK, so he’s slow you say. What’s the big deal?  Take my word for it. Taking Cooper on a saunter was something of a drag. I mean this quite literally. Cooper seems to get his sauntering instructions from some sort of doggie “Woof-Fi”, and when the little circle would spin, Cooper would come to a dead halt.  He’d look at you as if to say – nope, we’re done sauntering for a minute. No sniffing, No sauntering, No movement at all.  Just staring at you for a minute or two absolutely motionless until the signal to his brain was restored and he decided it was time to saunter somewhere else (which did not have to be in the same direction as you were going).

This was all fine, but he’d do this in the middle of the street. I’m pretty sure that Google Maps was trying to load directions into his head, and it just hadn’t gotten there yet, but as I have some sense of self-preservation it was time to drag him against his will.

They say that dogs emulate their owners, but it does not seem to me that either Susie or Kory saunters. Least not that I’ve seen. Heck, Kory runs marathons, and there is no way this dog is going for a run with him (but I would like to see him try).  A marathon for them would take something like 19 days, and I’m pretty sure that Cooper would mark the finish line.

Which I guess is kinda the point here.  Our dogs are our companions – they mark the neighborhood, we mark the time.  Henry was my wife’s dog; Honey was mine. Saying goodbye to them was one of the hardest thing we ever had to do.  I miss Honey’s casual disregard for my existence. We had an understanding.

As for me, I’ll just saunter off somewhere.  After all, I’m off the leash.