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Choosing dog gets it backwards
(by Barbara Christian - February 18, 2009)
WINDOW ON MAIN STREET, BY BARBARA CHRISTIAN
Choosing dog gets it backwards
It was during the Chagrin Falls Fire Department Chili Cook Off a few weeks ago, between helpings of the savory stew, when my friend Mary asked a question I am still trying to get my mind around.
Mary took both my hands in hers, looked me straight in the eye and asked, "Why do you have three dogs?"
Interesting question. Have to admit it made me look around for the rest of the intervention team brought together to help me come to grips with my multiple-dog issues.
I considered Mary's sincere question and then told her, "I have no idea." Not a very good answer, and I am still struggling for one which will make sense to Mary and others who operate under the notion that it's the human who has the control.
Looking back on it now, I have come to know that I was never in control over the dogs I have cared for and loved. None of them.
Not the wily Hobbit, loyal-to-a-fault Beowulf or that wild Irish setter named Peevo. Not the chicken-chasing Raindog, winsome cocker spaniel Max or the silly Sophie. Not sweet Frosty or feisty Grace.
Spot was my first dog. I barely remember him. He lost a duel with moving car tires many years ago.
The current crop of canine companions are Dusty, the food-hoarding Yorkie, Paco, the Chihuahua with a cha-cha-cha attitude, and sweet Mia, whose up-for-anything personality belies chronic heart failure.
All of them picked me, and I am flattered. Paco, who could not be handled by his previous owner without being bitten, jumped into my arms and licked my face the first time I met him. Dusty took one look at me from the back porch of his foster mother's home and did something incredible. He smiled. Ear to ear.
These are the ways dogs choose their owners. Or to retrofit an old saying, "Dogs happen."
You can have your heart set on a Norwegian elkhound all you want or you may think you want a French bulldog, but, at the end of the day and if you are lucky, it's the dog you never knew you wanted who ends up choosing you.
That's why it makes me sad to think the Obama family has gone against the laws of nature in their quest for a White House dog. In doing so, they ignored the first rule: You don't choose the dog; the dog chooses you.
If the Obamas were to seek advice from this corner, I would tell them to lighten up already with the research and dog shopping as an intellectual exercise. "First dog" is not a cabinet position.
Then we would suggest the Obamas check out the local D.C. animal-rescue places to see where their hearts may lead.
A rescue-organization pound puppy would be so appropriate. The Obama administration is all about rescuing stuff. Like the world.
That said, dog ownership should be a piece of cake.
As for the dog who chooses the Obamas? He or she will have to be calm in the eye of the storm that is Washington, D.C., politics. No small game of fetch there.
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