I want a (well-trained) dog

Tonight at dinner with my friend Donna, she suggested I give Nemo a middle name. I fear she thought that Nemo wasn't literary enough, although she then remembered that it comes from Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. Not quite my genre, but still pretty cool. And Latin derivated with Homerian references. That's a good name. Plus kids love it.

Thank god for Wickipedia:

"Captain Nemo is a fictional character featured in Jules Verne's novels Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea (1870) and The Mysterious Island (1874). 'Nemo' is Latin for 'no-one.' This name is aptly chosen. [you're telling me.] Nemo is a mysterious figure, about whom all we know is that he identifies with the oppressed, and that he has apparently lost his wife and children. He is a scientific genius who roams the depths of the sea in his submarine, the Nautilus. In Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea he states that the laws of the world on the surface do not apply to him any longer, and that he has fled to the sea to escape the barbarism of the human race, with its wars and oppression. He claims to have no interest in the affairs of the world above, but occasionally intervenes to aid the oppressed, giving salvaged treasure to Cypriots resisting a Turkish invasion, or by sinking warships. Nemo goes out of his way to accommodate Professor Aronnax and his companions, and also, during a diving expedition, he risks his life to save a pearl diver from a shark attack. Nemo tries to project a stern, controlled confidence, but he is driven by a thirst for vengeance, and wracked by remorse over the deaths of his crewmembers and even by the deaths of enemy sailors. In the Mysterious Island, a still mysterious but gentler Nemo secretly helps the castaways of the island and in the end warns them that the island will perish in a volcanic eruption. Nemo dies of old age just before the eruption and is buried in his ship that is then sunk."

Other fun facts:

-his name is the Latin for "nobody" or "no one", an allusion to the answer given by Odysseus to Polyphemus in the Odyssey. [Gotta love that.]

-actors who have portrayed Capt. Nemo have inluded Jose Ferrer, Michael Caine, Patrick Stuart, and Omar Sharif. I myself see a more recent film version starring Vincent D'Onofrio, whom (as my friends know) I find not only big and burly and sweet but also the hottest thing ever.

-songs about Capt. Nemo have been recorded by Ace of Base and Sarah Brightman [gag]


Given this distinguished backstory, I decided to give Nemes a non-literary middle name: Parker, in honor of the boy who brought us together, who was named because there were already 4 "Buddys" at the shelter where Melissa took him and she'd found him in a park. It think it has serious street cred. As a middle name it also has the amusing benefit of creating the initials NPR. Which I may have to dork-out and have monogrammed on an L L Bean dog bed for Christmas.

Well, it's official. I'm a wannabe dog owner no more.

I picked up Nemo for the trial weekend on Friday, and within a couple of hours I recognized that he was my dog. I was really prepared to have to give him back to his foster parents at the end of the weekend, because of their reservations about him, plus his size in my small space, and the unknown Cecilia factor. But after an entire day in the car, he was calm, friendly, loveable, cuddly, and interested in Cece only to the extent that he sniffs her when she comes into the room. I was in love. The search was over.

I have to say I credit her for being the most calm cool and collected cat I could imagine. When first confronted with him she stuck her face in his--her 10 lbs. to his 85--as if to say, and you are...? A couple meows, and the introduction was a swinging success. They've seemed like lifelong siblings ever since, and though I did notice a couple of little tufts of cat fur after leaving them alone together at first, now she naps on a dining room chair while I'm gone, so I'm fully confident she's either put him in his place, or he's just decided to leave her alone, or both. That was the biggest hurdle, and he was such a champ about it that I couldn't imagine wanting any other dog. All those dogs are someone else's dog, apparently.

So right now he's sighing and napping on his bed at the foot of my bed (although this is the first night in four I haven't caved and wanted him up here with me, despite the fact that it requires a bit of contortion on my part, as Cecilia is always up here, too. I feel like Noah or a zookeeper. A happy one.)

Nemo and I are going to start obedience classes next week, because as good and responsive and well-trained as he is already--thanks to Shaun and Kelly of NC for that--he's huge and willfull and has all kinds of issues with a small percentage of dogs he meets out there. Plus my left hand is getting sore from yanking on the leash. Four days of it is more than enough. Am off to see what I can learn from the doggie daycare place on 11th Street, and also to Barnes and Noble to cash in a b-day gift certificate on dog books. Am most interested in the Cesar whatever-his-name-is Dog Whisperer, because after a few days I already get that Nemo senses my fear and that of others. Am trying to be zen about him meeting other dogs, and for the most part it's going okay. I can't wait for the real training to start, though.

A bunch of friends have been so great in helping me decide or celebrate Nemo, especially Jared, Sacha, Darryl, Scott, Josh, Jessica, Elizabeth, Jen (Jones), and Gavin. I'm so thankful to them all for their enthusiasm. Josh and Jessica have even signed on for care over Thanksgiving. I'm sure Nemo will love staring at the doves. I still can't believe that only a few weeks ago I got serious about looking for the right dog for me, and here he is. I noticed on the flight home from Boston last Monday that October is National Adopt a Shelter Dog Month. Who knew?

Gherkin (far right) is fortunate enough to have a new sister: Anche, who came to live with her (and Heidi and Elizabeth) this summer. She's a german shepherd, with possibly the best dog name I've heard in a while. Pronounced "ahn-kee," it's Italian for "also." I've yet to meet her, but apparently she's the bees knees and likes to do things that break your heart like go to the dog park and then cower in Elizabeth's lap for protection from the grown-up dogs.

[How much do I love that my friends name their dogs after food?]

Elizabeth is a trusted friend on many topics, dogs among them, and she was the one who helped me clarify that the dogs I met at the flea market in Kutztown last weekend (which I had remembered as the non-existent breed of "Bijoux") were Bouviers, which is definitely the dog I would be getting if I were interested in a pure bred that cost $1,200. Prefect size and super cute, with the fur in their eyes, that soft coat of non-shedding hair, and a very calm temperment for a herder. I got the card of the breeder, who had two of her puppies with her--one brindle and one fawn--and anyone who runs a farm called Gota Wana Moon is okay in my book.

But I think the bouvier will have to remain one of my fantasy dogs. Like the black, red, and white King Charles Spaniels I became obsessed with after seeing one on a walk with Sacha last week (I decided I'd name her Lena). Jesus (Jared's boyfriend) sees me with a little dog like that, but after some polling at a recent dinner party, I think he's the only one who does.

So now I'm hooked up with a corner of the dog rescue community. Melissa, who found Parker, found out that I'm in love with the Burnese Mountain Dogs, expecially the markings (like Neve), and she forwarded me the info about a Swiss Mountain Dog mix named Nemo. I spoke to his owner, and he sounds like a sweetie, although he's got some aggression issues with the two other dogs he lives with around food. (Would it be bad to have three living together in a household who are all obsessed with food, even if it's not the same food?) He's big--85 lbs., which isn't a problem in itself, but could be if he is really aggressive and hard to control. He's 2 or 3 years old, and seems to respond to training, but isn't getting the time and attention he needs in his current household with the two other pooches and a 4-month-old baby.

He lives in North Carolina, but his foster parents are coming to West Chester later this month and are willing to bring him so we can hang out for the weekend. I'd love to meet him, but I'm already dreading the idea that I'll adore him but know he's too much for me to handle. This dog shopping really reveals what a novice I am, and I have to keep reminding myself it's okay to go through a learning process until I know enough to make a choice.

I got this e-mail from a friend of a friend of a friend about Parker, and it was off to the races. I've been thinking and talking about getting a dog for years, but only have been more seriously considering getting myself one for my birthday over the past few weeks. I had a conversation with a friend who's one of my most trusted advisors--and also a dog person--on a Tuesday morning, and later that day the e-mail about Parker (named because he was a stray from the park) showed up in my inbox. I took one look and him and thought, maybe that's my dog! I've never been sure about adopting a recsue dog but it now seems the only way to go. Parker had everything I was looking for--he was mid-size, friendly and eager, athletic, short-haired, and friendly to cats (I have one--Cecilia). So I decided to suspend all better judgment about this Pitbull/Rhodesian Ridgeback mix until I met him.

I took two of my most trusted dog savvy friends, Jared and Sacha, out to Roxborough to visit Parker at his foster parents'. I liked Scott and Keith right away, and Parker was just as cute as in his photos--if not cuter. He was energetic and friendly, with his enormous tongue flopping all over and an eagerness to get up in your lap. I handed him the rawhide bone I'd brought him and in instantly accepted the gesture and settled in on the couch with it. I also thought he was incredibly calm for a one-year-old un-neutered male pitbull mix who was in a strange home with another dog and--at the moment--seven unknown adults, all in the same small space. He'd been shuttled around a fair amount but over the past week, after wandering out of the woods in Upper Darby and into Melissa's back yard, then to a shelter, then to another shelter that walked him, and now to Scott and Keith's.

I loved him instantly, but we also had a little moment where I was patting his hindquarters and he turned around and snapped at me. Not in a way that scared me he was going to bite, just a warning that he didn't like it. And it started to sink in that this guy's abuse history--evident from the handful of scars all over his face and back--were a factor. We went out back and he bounded from person to person, happily sniffing and licking and tugging on toys. Melissa, who'd found him and spent the most time with him, talked about how tired he was. I loved his looks but was trying to get a sense of how we were together. It was hard, because he seemed more comfortable with Melissa, who also had two big dogs of her own and was one of those effortless dog people who knows how to interact with them on their level. It made me see that I'm more of a cat owner who aspires to make the leap to dog. Like someone who's not used to toddlers spending time with a mother. I sort of felt out of my element, and it made me wonder whether or not I was the right human for Parker. He clearly needed someone very good and strong to overcome his backstory, and I wasn't sure that I was up to it. But he was so adorable I wanted to give it another go. I asked if I could come back the next morning and take him for a walk in the Wissahickon. (Ten years ago I used to dogsit for my friends' German Shorthaired Pointers--Rhubarb and Zucchini--in just this neighborhood, and it seemed like a good way for he and I to get to know each other.)

That night I went to the rodeo with my friends and couldn't stop talking about him, although I think it was largely because I was trying to sort out my feelings about wanting him but being sort of intimidated. Sacha showed me the photos she'd taken that day (shown) and my heart just melted.

On the way to my car the next morning, I saw a new puppy on the corner with her young parents. I asked them what she was and they said pitbull-shepherd mix. Her name's Ellie and she was adorable--probably about 8 weeks. The woman said she got her from a NJ puppy rescue, and I have to admit I loved the idea of getting a rescue dog without having to miss out on the puppy part. I think what concerned me about Parker was not that he was dangerous but that every dog I've ever known or cared for was either very calm or raised from a puppy.

On Sunday morning we had an hour-long walk with my friend Julie, and he was just great. Eager to socialize with other dogs, but otherwise good on the leash and pretty calm. Still, he had some issues with me petting him behind the head, and again, I was afraid that I'd be too intimidated to train him the way that he needed. He was just a little bit flinchy on a couple of occasions, and I knew it wasn't right. It broke my heart to say goodbye to him, but I felt much better knowing that a woman who was an experienced dog owner was in line right behind me and was very anxious to get him. She also worked at an environmental rescue agency that allowed employees to bring their pets. I would have been able to have him with me in my office during the day, but he needed to be out and about with his owner as much as possible. The fact that he'd freaked out when they tried to crate him overnight also sealed the deal; he was so panicked that he got the top off the crate, and then curled right up and went to sleep. Clearly just couldn't handle being left like that, which I would have needed to do.

So I think of Parker every day--he's still the photo on my desktop--and hope he's happy in his new home. And I'm thankful that he jump-started what I'm sure will be a long process of finding my dog. Here's to you, sweet boy.

This is Neve. Neve lives with Shannon and Jen in New York state. I love Neve. She came to visit me in Philly when she was just 12 weeks old, and I introduced her to her first fire hyrant. I love her size, her markings, her personality, and her smile. She's great to take berry picking. She's got just enough border collie in her to be whip-smart. I know they've spent tons of time training her, though, and up there she's got plenty of places to get out and run. Still, I've asked to be her guardian should anything happen to Jen and Shannon...

She also bears a striking resemblance to my sister's dog, Mollie (a close second in my heart to Neve), who's a little smaller and browner and more blue healer/australian shepherd. She gets to live on a little ranch at the edge of Tucson and occasionally sets herself free to tussle with the coyotes. She's also risked her life defending the horse barn against a pack of javalenas. She can jump from a standstill over the pens my brother in law keeps building for her--close to six feet. A true athlete.

Okay it doesn't have to be this dog. Or even an absurdly cute puppy. (Isn't it weird that you can practially smell her little puppy breath?) But I'm on my way. Rescue or purebred? Hunting or shepherd? Big or medium size? So many things to sort out. I've got some time--am in small city apartment for probably the next six months at least--so my mission is to find the right fit.

Cecilia won't be thrilled, but I think she'll like the company.