I’m just about ready to drop some money on a mystery: What kind of dog is my dog? Or is she even a dog?
Because she’s quite peculiar. Not in a bad way. There’s peculiar bad — like what you say when you’re trying to be polite: “I must say, GULP!, this apple and sausage pie is, you know, peculiar!” And then there’s just plain peculiar … the true definition … like “what the hell is that thing?”
That’s my dog, Lily.
She’s a new addition. We’re celebrating our first 6 months with her, and overall she’s an excellent dog: potty-trained, great with kids, only chews on stuff my wife cares about, doesn’t run away, hasn’t tried to take the car out for a spin.
But she’s also a mystery, both visually and in her mannerisms. She puts napkins in her lap when she eats. She speaks French and makes high pitch noises like a dolphin when she yawns. She likes calculus.
So we’ve been thinking about getting one of those dog genetic tests to find out exactly what’s in her. For the life of us, we don’t know. No one does. Even experts marvel at her, then offer wild guesses: “I would say Australian cattle dog mixed with shepherd and coyote” or “Maybe basenji and hyena with a quarter cup of Keith Richards’ coolness.”
Her look might best be described as St. Augustine dingo. What’s a St.Augustine dingo? Heck if I know, which is why I need the test.
She’s a pretty dog, or so people tell us. They remark at how beautiful and unique her markings are. My wife doesn’t see it. “Her!” she says,incredulously, pointing at the brown-eyed mongrel. “She looks like melted ice cream! She looks like her stripes were painted during an earthquake!”
She’s definitely unique. There’s a stump where a tail should be and her brown ears flap about like drunken pirates.
Sure, she does plenty of dog-like things. She will bury her head in your … well, there’s no polite way to say this … in your crotch. Like she’s a Virginia miner digging for coal. She chases cats, fetches balls and loves garbage. She’s a rescue dog who must have lived on the streets before we got her. That makes her a connoisseur of trash cans. She lovingly sniffs each one on garbage day, like she’s reliving the scents of her youth. But there are many traits we can’t figure out, and lead us to question if she is even a dog.
What kind of self-respecting K-9 sits calmly, even dispassionately in the kitchen waiting for you to put her food on the floor? Dogs are supposed top ant and drool and make noises that sound like lions pouncing on a pig. This dog sits at attention, ramrod straight without moving while we prep her meal. No nails clawing on your leg like a cat on a scratching post. No howling at the moon or threats to call the mafia if we don’t hurry.
What kind of dog leaves slack in the leash? Or doesn’t want to fight every mutt she meets on a walk? This dog wags her stump, introduces herself politely (“Hey, wanna smell my butt?”) and then sets up a play date.
And she’s patient. Ah, patience. That’s how I know there’s something wrong. Dogs aren’t patient. They don’t understand the concept. They will scratch their way through a door if you make them wait too long for a walk. But not Lily. She goes and quietly reads a magazine until we’re ready.
I don’t get it. But I do know I like it. Whatever she is … maybe an elf? She has brought a certain element of calmness and tranquility to the house.She’s rubbing off on us. My goodness, we slow down now, too!
But can she be a dog? With traits like that? What is she? It’s a mystery.Maybe one that must be solved. Time to start pricing those genetic testing kits to see if there’s any Keith Richards in her.