Like the dog in the cartoon who acts as if elation-lightning-struck by the word “squirrel,” I will rush out of the Store, however briefly, to say, “I like your dog” to passers-by out walking their mix, Shep, Golden, Lab, Doodle or Pit, but the truth is that Border Collies and Pits bring out the child’s squeal in me, and that I linger longest with them, Collies for my delight in them and Pits for their delight in us.
On Tuesday, a couple a few years younger than me, passed by with “Pandita,” an 11-year-old Pit rescued as a pup in Brooklyn from some atrocity in the making. It stood to my affection as if bred to the role, which, of course, it had been.
I’ve owned five dogs and have known hundreds more. When I think of the chance of a longer life, I bracket the possibility in the context of might I be able to care for another dog all its life. As a very young child, I knew they were for me, this my first true love, a species.
I once took a big Karelian Bear Dog named Lucy* into a fenced pasture to play catch and throw. She took off on GO! caught the ball on the first bounce, turned and with intent ran straight at me at great speed, veering off just before the collision and tight-circling, stopping and dropping the ball at my feet. Her eyes shining, she waited. In this way, over the next 20 minutes, without intent, she took me over and gave me a longer life.
*Adopted by a woman, a Park Ranger out of Baxter State Park in Maine. She drove 800 miles one way for Lucy.
