88. Puppy Dog Tales

Lily

Of the several small dogs I’ve owned or known, Lily was probably the most passive. She was the smallest and the only female in her litter of Bichons, and so might have learned early on to choose peace over conflict. She knew her proper place at the bottom of the dog pecking order; she was completely submissive to any person or dog she encountered. On a walk around the neighborhood, I thought of her as the “sidewalk mop” because of her habit of greeting every person or other dog with a quick lie-down and belly up for a tummy tickle.  This behavior might have played well in warm and dry LA or Phoenix, but in the soggy Northwest, her curly fur would usually need a hosing down before entering the house after a walk.

Wherever we took Lily, she was greeted with smiles and praise of “Aww... Cute puppy!” And she, of course, was eager to return the love, up on haunches and pawing the air. There was a moment like this in a store parking lot that really stands out.

Linda dashed into Safeway with a short grocery list while I waited with Lily in the car. It was a pleasantly warm day and I had the windows down so she could take in the sights and smells. She was fresh from the groomer, all fluffed and white like a new Q-Tip, and sporting little pink bows on the tops of her ears.

Along comes this noisy, smelly beater of a dented Ford pick, pulling-up right next to me; it was a muddy rust bucket, dieseling when the engine stopped “kachunk-a-chunk-a-chunk,” then ending with a sooty “boom” backfire. Two guys, driver and passenger, were probably the dirtiest, homeliest, meanest-eyed, murderous-types in the West, but immediately, Lily, who had no sense of discernment, was leaning out the window and smiling at them, hoping for attention. I thought, “Holy cow, cut it out, Lily, those look like the kind of guys who try to run over little white dogs like you!” And I thought it might be wise to lock the doors and raise the windows. But before I could pull Lily back, the driver of the clunker looked over, noticed Lily and made eye contact with me. “Oh, God, we’re dead, Lily.”

But then the guy broke a grin, nudged his friend to look over my way, and both guys smiled big, cocking their heads. The driver got out to offer his hand to Lily, saying “Hiya, Sweetie.”  He asked, “Is she a Bichon? My girlfriend wants one so bad.” He and his friend looked back to wave and smile as they walked to store entrance, and I drew Lily over to me, patted her head, and exhaled a big sigh of relief.

When Linda came out with her purchases, she asked if she took too long, or did we have an OK time waiting in the car? “Yeah,” I said, “Pretty good people-watching today. Lily is quite the goodwill ambassador; as usual, she makes people smile.”

One other thing I especially enjoyed about Lily was her relationship with her “boyfriend,” a stuffed toy, about her size, Winnie the Pooh. Lily loved that toy. I mean she loved it! She smiled so big as she rode Pooh all around the room, galloping like a bronco rider, holding onto him with her paws, and happily humping away.  Pooh put up with it pretty well over the years, only losing part of his nose, an eye, and half his red shirt. Whenever we had visitors, I was eager to toss Pooh onto the floor to show everyone what Lily would do. Typical reactions were “Eww, gross!” and “OMG, Robert, what in the world!?” I was so proud of Lily!

Max

Some while after Lily passed, we found our way to yearning for another dog. Linda learned that her niece Monica had this little Bichon named Max whom she was willing to rehome, and as one of the greatest gifts, Max came to live with us. Well, Max was the opposite of Lily in many ways, and it took quite a long period of adjustment for him to settle in with us.  He came with issues.

There are dogs who are very affable, they love everyone. Max was strictly a one-person dog, and that one person was Linda. I must have looked like the big mean man of his nightmares, because he cowered when I came toward him.  Slowly he accepted me as a member of his pack, but always suspicious of my approach. He was polite but mostly indifferent to everyone else.

There are dogs who love to ride in the car and meet others on the trail to the park. Max was panic-stricken in the car, and had no interest in people or other dogs at the park.

There are dogs who know they’re dogs, and revel in chasing things, catching frisbees, overturning trash bins, or running with a pack. Max knew for a fact that he was not a dog and saw no point in fetching balls or anything. There may be clever performing circus Bichons, but his breed was not created for hunting or protection, and not especially good at obedience training. Max would sit or sleep calmly as long as he was near Linda’s lap, for companionship is mostly what Bichons are bred for.

But one day something happened that took us by surprise. We drove out to the ocean for his first time at the beach.  The wide-open space, the soft sand, the water’s edge and all those smells were so strange and exciting to him. We set him down on the sand and he looked around, a little confused. I said, “Go on!” and he was off like a shot, racing in wide circles, barking, digging, flinging kelp and driftwood over his head. We were in hysterics, having no idea Max had it in him. After about 15 minutes, his zeal began to peter out and he regained his composure. This was the only place Max really let it go, and, except for his hatred of the car ride, we looked forward to taking him to the ocean every year.

“BICHON FRISE At The Beach" by Artist D J Rogers