Nominations for First Pooch

And I'm a little embarrassed to say that I've gotten so carried away with this conversation about what kind of puppy the Obamas should acquire that I've been neglectful of many of my other "duties" -- not the BIG ones, of course, but little things, like keeping up with this blog and answering my routine e-mail. Instead, I've been surfing the internet for photos and other images suitable for posting...even though I know most of you would much rather hear from me in my own words.

Here's an interesting photo, for example, of a Boston Terrier in a stare-down with a Siberian Husky. Looks like it could be a poster for a big football game between Boston University and the University of Washington, or even a more mundane basketball showdown between BU and nearby UConn. But the truth is, it's just a random photo -- significant to me only in the sense that I am indeed a Washington Husky (undergrad), and my very first dog (or perhaps I should say -- my very first "Dog of my Own") was a stray Alaskan Malmute mix (i.e. a "Mutt") who showed up at Juniper Beach the summer after I'd graduated from High School.

We immediately hit it off, and he didn't have to follow me home because we were already there. I named him "Foster" -- in part because he was indeed a "foster" dog, in part because he reminded me of a character in a novel I was reading that summer (Richard Brautigan's The Abortion), but also because he reminded me of a sophmore girl who had likewise followed me around for most of my Senior year hoping, I think, that I would ask her out!
The very first dog our family owned when I was a kid growing up was a dachshund named Gunner. I remember "Gunny" as a mean little dog who barked constantly, slept most of the day (when he wasn't barking), and who didn't care much for little boys who pulled his tail (that was, after all, the safer end of the dog), played too rough, or got between him and his food dish. But my dad adored that little black wiener dog, and he lived with us through most of my childhood, until he finally lost the use of his rear legs and had to be "put to sleep" (as my father so gently put it).

Over the years though, I've developed a whole new respect for Doxies. And critter who is bred and trained to crawl face-first into a badger's den and kill them has my respect, which is EXACTLY why the Dachs ("badger") Hund ('dog" or "hound," - duh) was created in the first place. Of course, nowadays they do all sorts of more creative things, including performing in the The Greatest Show on Earth! They're a lot smarter than you might think, despite their admittedly ridiculous appearance.

I'm not actually suggesting that the Obamas should adopt a dachshund. It actually sounds to me like the Labradoodle (and, more specifically, a Goldendoodle) is both a great choice and the front runner, and who am I to argue with polling data at this point? I'm certain they will be very happy with whatever dog they adopt, regardless of whether it turns out to be a purebred champion or rescued mutt.



On a similar note, people keep asking me about when I'm going to get another dog of my own. And the answer, of course, is I don't know -- although I'm not really in any big hurry to take steps in that direction either. Parker was a fantastic companion to me for over 13 years, and I miss her company more than I can say. But before I commit to another dog, I need to have a little bit better sense of how much longer I'm going to be around to hold up MY end of the covenant. Not to put too fine a point on it. In the meantime though, I am learning to take great pleasure from "other people's dogs," and in sharing memories of Dogs I Have Known and Loved with other like-minded souls. Besides, my new totem animal is now a Giraffe -- and I've decided to take a little time to explore what that means before taking another "non-spiritual" critter into my life. But that's another post. Hope you've all enjoyed this one.