Country Dog, City Dog

I have been around a lot of dogs in my life. Aside from the aforementioned Rufus (RIP), there has been Doolie, Slicker, Twister, Bezi, Keera, Marley, Spirit, Spike, Baxter, Jake, Maizie (see above) and Bernice (to name only the “immediate family”). This is because I come from a split family, one half of which lives on a farm, and the other half of which is headed by a matriarch who wasn’t allowed a dog as a kid, thereby turning her into a “crazy dog lady.” (Hi, mom!)

There are currently four dogs living at my mom’s house, and it’s a motley crew: Spike is the Alpha dog—a Jack Russell, who sings and talks to you; Jake is a three-legged mutt, with the sweet face of a Cocker Spaniel; Bernice is a rapidly growing miniature bulldog/bulldog mix puppy; and Maizie is a stout little Boston Terrier. Bernice is new—she came into the family after my mom’s beloved Baxter, another bulldog, died a few months ago. Of late, Bernice and Maizie have been jockeying for Beta dog position (Jake could care less, as long as he gets car rides and the occasional sip of dad’s beer). Watching two little flat-faced dogs snort and wrestle is one of the funnier activities out there. I highly recommend it.

Now, being that most of the dogs I have known in my life are country dogs, we’re not the leash/walking type in my family. When you have several acres to run on and horses and other dogs to chase, going for walks isn’t a high priority. Therefore, many city dog ownership rites of passage are nearly foreign to me: leashes, dog tags (not necessary in a place where everybody knows your dog, and where they only leave the property when they escape it), dog parks, formal grooming, obedience training…

Okay, that last one should apply to all dogs, country or city, but my mom’s always been a liberal parent, whether to human or dog.

Even here, at the Modern Dog offices, taking the office pooches out on a leashed walk feels a bit funny. It reminds me that whatever dog I end up getting in this city is going to need a more intensive exercise routine than opening the back door and saying, “Go gettim!”