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Raining Cats and Dogs: Bob and Me
When Marie and I sat down in the doggie greeting room at the Portland Humane Society, a little light-brown mutt with short legs and a smile on his face trotted in and adopted us.
Bob the dog had been just a few days from being euthanized in a shelter in Fresno, California, when the Portland Humane Society, a no-kill shelter, told Fresno that it would take in a few of their dogs. Bob was in that lucky lot.
Here’s what Fresno Bob looked like when we got him home on that first day. I think he knew, somehow or another, that he was safe now and had found a forever home.
I’ve never met a creature, animal or human, who has loved me more than Bob does. He overlooks all my foibles and vices. (Marie doesn’t let a single one slide by unacknowledged.) I’m pretty sure that I could even vote for a Democrat and Bob would forgive that transgression. Naturally, Bob is a Republican. (Marie claims, quite unfairly I think, that I attribute human characteristics to Bob.)
I’m not particularly lovable, but Bob thinks I am. (That old maxim comes to mind here: May I be the kind of person my dog thinks I am.) When I plop down in my easy chair, Bob hears that sound and trots in from wherever he is to sit at my feet. He stays curled up there until I get up. Bob is a good dog, yes he is.
Right now, Marie is visiting the Oregon coast with friends for three days. That means that Bob gets to sleep in our bed with me. Marie disapproves. Bob leaves hairs on the bed. I’ll pick them up with one of those sticky rollers before she gets home.
About 10 o’clock, I say, “Bob, let’s go to bed.” Before I can take three steps, Bob has raced up the stairs to the second floor and has jumped onto the bed. When I arrive, Bob is curled up, his little legs moving wildly, seeming beyond his control, his tail thumping the bed. (See photo for blurred tail.) Sleeping in our bed is the greatest thing in the world for Bob.
When I crawl under the covers, he tries to lick my face for a while. Then he turns over so that he is facing away from me; we’re now configured like a nested-spoon couple. I drape my arm over his torso, just as I do with Marie, and we drift off to sleep.
Mutts like Bob are the best, aren’t they? All those thousand-buck dogs with papers can suck eggs. Now that I think of it, America is a nation full of mutts. We left all of those inbred and effete aristocrats behind in Europe. If we weren’t already mutts before we arrived, it wasn’t long before we were Spanglish Americans, Scotwegian Americans, Mexirish Americans, or whatever. I myself am a bit Scot, a tad Irish, a smattering of English, and a soupçon of Choctaw Indian. (I’ve had my DNA tested.)
Bob is half-chihuahua, part American bulldog, and some other stuff. Bob and I are total mutts. Maybe that’s why we get along so well.
For my birthday, Marie bought me a pair of socks with Bob’s face on them. Not a generic dog’s face. Photos of Bob’s actual face. Each sock contains nine little Bob faces looking up at me. Cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve never owned such a meaningful pair of socks.
I could go on with Bob tales, but I’m afraid I’ve already tested your patience, especially if you’re a cat person like Gossamer Cat, Front Seat Cat, and of course Arahant the cat man. (Sad.) But before I go, let me leave you with one more photo of Bob, this one taken in our front lawn
Postscript: I think I’ve shown admirable restraint in never once referring to Bob as my fur baby. But he is, you know.
I think it is up to $100 million now.
(Shhh! It’s just an exercise ball in a strange shaggy cover that is marketed as a chair for children. But the resemblance to the coat on a sealyham terrier makes it funny to me, so I call it a sealyham egg. Don’t tell Bond he was guarding an exercise ball.)
Yes. I met Sandy Lerner, several years ago. She’s the female half of the pair that founded Cisco Systems. When they went “corporate” (as opposed to being a geeky company run by a couple of grad students working in the IT department) the new Board found her incompatible with the buttoned-down image they wanted to present, so they fired her (accounts vary, but that sounds about right). She sold her $80 mil in Cisco stock, and has done her own thing ever since. Extremely interesting woman. But one of the first things she said was, “they used to call me crazy, but now I have money they just call me eccentric.”
I’d definitely put her in the “curmudgeon” camp, too.
Look how much mileage Jim Geraghty gets out of his adventures at home, on walks, and at the dog park with his dogs.
He’s guarding a what? He’s a cutie!
Bob: More Native American than Elizabeth Warren.
OK, Gigi just came home from the shelter with us. Scotch approves. Took her about ten minutes to understand the dog door.
Darn it, She, I replied to your reply and forgot to hit the Comment button. So I lost my reply. That was a few days ago. At any rate, thanks a ton for your suggestions. I have taken a screen shot in order to save them. You’ve given me hope.
I appreciate the late inning canine rally! My eldest sister rescued her first mutt, as a pup, from being coyote chow (spotted him shivering near a culvert on her daily exercise ride). He was unconditionally grateful for the rest of his life.
This conversation is part of our Group Writing Series under the August 2019 Group Writing Theme: Raining Cats and Dogs. Share your favorite story of rain, reign, and maybe cats and dogs, however loosely construed. There are plenty of dates still available. Our schedule and sign-up sheet awaits.
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Inflation.
I think you mean Jonah Goldberg, right?
So Gigi came home with us – we changed her name as she didn’t seem to respond to it (shelter name); so far she’s seems to respond to her new name, Lola. Her behavior is interesting. She is completely trusting of us from the get to. It got me to thinking about how trusting some dogs are (we have always adopted adult dogs). Scotch is still a little skittish (after 4 years) when you go to pet him on top of his head, and a little wary around new men. Other dogs have been totally accepting. Ginger II was a stray in Houston and fostered in different cities for three years, yet she trusted every human she came across. Lots of people were hesitant around her because of that big pit bull head. Ginger I was completely laid back with everyone. In fact, we have a big electric roll up door in our shop – like a commercial garage door, and we had to put safeties on it because Ginger would lay inches from the door; if she ever got in the danger zone she would have ignored it until it tried to kill her.
Lola is entertaining. She is learning how stairs work and I’m pretty sure no one allowed her in the house before. The whole dog door and air conditioning thing seems like a real treat for her.
True. I often confuse the two – not sure why.
Anyway, a person paid to offer political commentary often gets greater response to his dog posts than to his political posts.