“Cool dog,” said the college student.
I was walking my beast, Lily, down the street. I thought I misheard him. Because what he said didn’t quite connect. I’ve had this animal for two years now — exactly two years — and I’m still not used to the compliments or comments I get as we walk.
Usually they fall into one of two categories: Her looks, or her unusual looks.
No kidding, people have actually said, “Damn, that is a GOR-GEOUS dog!”
“This thing!” my family will say pointing at the animal in question. She has a stump — no tail. Her markings are unique at best. As if pre-schoolers had a couple mocha lattes and went to town during painting time. It appears that someone spilled white paint down her snout and off the side of her nose.
A palomino horse is gorgeous. A bald eagle is gorgeous. On a Sunday morning, before I’ve shaved or fixed my azalea bush hair, I’m gorgeous. But my dog?
She looks like a wild dingo.
That’s the other comment people make: “What kind of dog is that?!? Dingo?”
“Yes,” I say. “And SHE STEALS CHILDREN, TOO!!! MUHAHAHAHA!”
People run away.
OK, I get it. She’s special and unique and pretty. Even cool! As we celebrate our two year “animalversary” with her, I’m starting to fully appreciate this interesting specimen. This Thanksgiving I actually gave thanks for the joy and warmth and love that she has brought to our house.
Because she’s come so far, this rescued street dog. She had all manner of ailments when we first got her. And “quirks.” She pounced one of our chickens in the early days. (Do you know the embarrassment of taking a chicken to a vet?!?) She once ate a trio of softball-sized Halloween pumpkins, then proceeded to make the backyard uninhabitable.
And the “cool dog” still eats her beds. Chews them up. Ruins them somehow.
I can’t tell you how many we’ve gone through. She now has a cut-down comforter insert stained with blue ink from a pen she devoured. The insert has started leaking stuffing from a gash she inflicted on the corner.
“We’re going to have to figure something out for her bed,” my wife said as comforter stuffing rolled across the floor.
Do we try plywood next? Pine needles? Chain mail!
Or do we recognize that most of her bad habits were normal for a young dog. That she is growing up, and growing out of them. Becoming a domesticated dingo! That two years in, the bed eating is the last of her “quirks.” And even that is slowing down.
So maybe on this animalversary we’ll go out and get the cool dog a new bed. After all, a gorgeous animal like this does need her beauty sleep.