My* Dog

It's about time that I wrote a bit about Google (aka Googs, Googley Puff, Googley Poo, Googmeister...) the dog - the one that lives with Colin and I.

To begin, I will explain the asterisk. I am not a dog person. Don't get me wrong, I don't dislike dogs... I quite enjoy romping with them, scratching their bellies, playing fetch, and having them accompany me on walks in the woods. It's just that... well... for me all of these joys don't outweigh the dirtiness, the jumping, the slobber, the barking, the destroying of personal effects, the pooping, the humping and the continual need for affection and attention. Therefore, it was with mixed feelings that I replied, "Oh. Great." to Colin's announcement (over phone) that he and Jonathan had brought home a puppy. I was still in Indiana at this point, and since I hadn't yet met the dog named Google, I tried to have an open mind. But this was not going to be my dog. So, when I title this post "my dog" what I am saying is that despite my occasional grumpiness toward him, I still do my part to feed him and play with him. (And when attractive women are met in passing: "Why, yes. He is my dog.")

Now that I've said all that - and dog lovers everywhere are amassing to write angry letters to me, condemning my hateful language - let me describe all of the cute and cool little personality quirks of Google's that have so won me over (to him, at least, not the entire dog nation).

Jonathan and Colin gave Google his name because before he even came home with them from the shelter they had dreamed of owning a dog with the informational capacity of the internet. Now the running joke is that while he is somewhere in the j's, memorizing the internets, he hasn't yet learned English and so his vast knowledge is somewhat useless. (He is a smart dog in other ways, though. In the first week I was in Colorado we made him a good-sized adjustable hurdle and taught him the command "jump." He can also, sit, stay, "slap you some skin," and accurately find and fetch any generic-looking rock that you huck into a field of sage brush.


Actually, Google loves rocks so much that even if you don't throw one for him, he'll find one he likes and start kicking it around with his front paws (like one hiking a football) while yelling at it. Believe it or not, this can be annoying. One way to get him to shut up is to pick up the rock of his present attention and throw it. Then he promptly fetches it and the cycle repeats - only you've now been sucked into his game. A further testimony to his brilliance. (Sometimes we would try to explain his eccentric actions by theorizing that Google was secretly a world-renowned geologist. He would fetch a rock, start yelling "Look, look! I found a brilliant specimen here, practically flawless!" Then we would throw it, he would get pissed, bring it back, yelping, "No, you fools! That is a priceless fossil! You can't just throw it! No no no!!) One scary downside to his fascination with rocks is that one must be careful to throw them very far away. Google has gotten so good at reading the flight paths of frisbees and rocks and the like that if he gets a good enough head start (or if you don't throw it far enough) he will try to catch the rock in his mouth. OUCH! We try to avoid this.


Other quirks: He likes to eat lying down. We attribute this to laziness. He also likes to pass out in the most uncomfortable-looking positions possible! Most dogs I've seen lie on their stomachs and their feet tuck under or sprawl. But Google like to lie on his back, contort his spine and then put his head and legs wherever they look like they shouldn't go. And he does not reserve these bizarre shows for the evenings. No, he will follow you around outside all day, but the moment he enters a building with you he passes out. It's as though he is a computer with a power save mode and once inside his mouse is no longer being moved. Only messing with him (or going back outside) can possibly rouse him. And mess with him we do. Favorite games include wrestling, hugging, running around the house really fast and wheelbarrow races.


But as much fun as Google can be, what has struck me most in these past few months of getting to know him is what a responsibility he is. In the words of a friend, dogs are essentially "practice babies." They want love and attention, they can be a financial burden, they can wake you up at night, they can poo in places you don't want them to poo and they can even die if you screw up one little thing even once. Yep, Googs is a real bundle-o-responsibility. He's also taught me several good lessons in patience. Often after leaving him at home unattended for varying lengths of time (sometimes as short as 45 minutes!) I will return to find the living room in shambles and various possessions of mine in various states of chewed-up-ness (I've recently given him the nickname Shiva). I want to punt his whiny ass into the cow pasture, but then I remember that he will have no idea why I'm doing it. So I bite my tongue, pet him and vow to remember to lock him outside (and all of my shoes inside) next time.

At times like that I can't help but make the comparison to having a child to care for (he/she didn't know that those were Daddy's important books). He has so many needs, and attention seems to be at the forefront. It has been a real challenge for me to find the energy to play with him when he's bored, and when he whines for attention or tears stuff up it certainly tries my patience. In fact, if I couldn't assure myself that any future kid of mine would be physically incapable of chewing through a Chaco sandal strap (and half of War and Peace in the same sitting!), I'm not sure that I could maintain the notion that I want to have children some (far, far off) day. I guess my future children also have a leg up on Google in that they will be able to learn to read, talk, joke and eventually keep me entertained in my old age...

But on the whole, Google's all right. He's a pain in the rear sometimes, but he's mostly cool and fun to have around. And I do try to get him back whenever I can. In fact, when I imagine that I'm his big brother - rather than responsible parent - I feel much more justified in messing with him and occasionally ignoring him as long as I still remember to feed him...