Mark's Work: Blue-Collar Dog

If a dog can be aloof, arrogant and cantankerous, and still “steal your heart away,” imagine what might happen if you adopted a three-year-old rescue dog, and she turned out to be sociable, blue-collar and agreeable.

In the history of the universe, there could not be a case of two more opposite personalities than those of the recently departed Dozer the bulldog, and Ellie Mae, the mixed-breed rescue dog we adopted from the Humane Society of Inland Mendocino County, only seven weeks ago.

Comfort zone

The things we tolerated from the Doze still amaze me, though I never gave it a thought while he was still with us. For example, he was fanatical about his ball; he toyed with it incessantly. Over the years there were many, because even though they were indestructible, they would get lost.

If [and when] the ball should roll under the (fill in the blank) bed, dressers, end tables, or any other of the inaccessible niches within the house, Dozer would just start barking. Until someone came to the rescue, the hubbub would continue, unabated.

To put it into perspective, the first twenty times I presented sweet Ellie Mae with a ball, she had no frame of reference. She sniffed it, nosed it a few inches along the floor, and then proceeded to ignore it. It was evident that ho one ever played ball with her. Tossing it and encouraging her to chase it produced no interest, whatsoever, until the day Large Marge was over.

Indispensable...

All of the sudden it was game on because Margie gets it. In fact she will get it twenty times in a row-or until she is exhausted. Unlike Dozer, who would also chase and grab the ball in his quite formidable jaws, Margie will actually return the ball to your feet. Dozer? Never.

Ellie Mae is in the Margie mold, chasing and returning her toy, even if we are still perfecting the logistics. As I have written, Ellie Mae is a quick study.

Other things we put up with from the Doze included the bizarre noises he emitted 24/7, most notably during his twelve-hour nightly sleep. His snoring was loud enough to cause our metal roof to vibrate, two stories above. Ellie Mae is as silent as Toby the cat.

That may be because Toby has not yet achieved that level of comfort that allows him to start up his purring again, not with Ellie Mae on the bed, anyway.

Along those same lines of tolerance, there are those who maintained that the odor emanating forth from our gluten-intolerant bulldog’s farts, (all bulldogs are gluten-intolerant) habitually, was strong enough to revive the dead.

Just walking in the rain...

I can’t say one way or the other; I honestly never detected anything amiss, but that may be a similar situation to that of living in the Valley. When we used to travel to visit Gluten-Free Mama’s parents, we had to drive through agricultural parts of California, where the smell of fertilizer in the air was overwhelming.

When we asked locals how they ever managed to tolerate such a malodorous assault to the nostrils, they would stare at us blankly. “You just get used to it, I guess,” they said.

I guess I just got used to Dozer because I never noticed anything amiss in my olfactory factory.

Dozer used to go bonkers every time someone came over, and Ellie Mae does the same. It’s a program we go along with because that’s what dogs get paid the big bucks for-to raise a ruckus when visitors arrive. It doesn’t matter if it’s been two weeks or two minutes since a dog has seen someone, if the person goes out the front door, and then returns, the barking will ensue.

If it bugs you, don’t get a dog and don’t visit me.

It’s a ten-second greeting, it’s noisy and obnoxious and everyone hates it. However, hollering at your “watchdog” [to me] says nothing more to the dog than, “You bark! I bark! We all bark! Great success!” so I don’t. Yell at the dog, that is, not bark. Well, in point of fact, I don’t bark either. Not usually, anyway.

Dozer could be the most aloof creature imaginable, eschewing the company of his owners with impunity, should he be in that frame of mind. His dog kisses were bestowed frugally, and then only if the stars were truly aligned.

Ellie Mae went through a short period there, where we had to curb her enthusiasm for bestowing kisses. I think we have reached a happy medium. She has gotten over her anxiety when I exit the building, but she still wants close proximity. I know now to bring her bed and place it just outside the bathroom every morning, while I take my shower, because that’s where she will be when I get out. Dozer?

Go on in-I'm not ready yet...

He had no knowledge of-nor interest in-my ablutions.

When it came to his daily morning walk, if it were raining, Dozer would refuse to step one foot out in it. Or, if he were desperate, only far enough to take care of business. No walking in the rain for Dozer. (Snow was entirely different-Dozer loved the snow.)

Ellie Mae does not notice the rain, nor did the temperature in the twenties last month affect her, like it did me. I had to put socks on under my sandals for that. The other thing is that Ellie Mae is smart enough to see the value of her rain coat, something that The Doze never tolerated for even a second.

What delights me continuously, though, is to see the personality emerge as Ellie Mae adjusts to her new home. The other morning I was working just as I am now, while Ellie Mae was sleeping beside me on her bed, just as she is now, when I removed my headphones for some reason, and heard her pawing at something on the kitchen floor.

Curious behavior for a dog, unless there is a ball involved, so I shined my headlamp in her direction to see what was causing her interest. I could detect nothing, but there she was, playing footsie-er, pawsie-with something that did not register in the headlamp’s spotlight.

Getting up carefully, aware always (almost) of the wires all about me, I sauntered over to get a closer look. In my wildest fantasy I saw her as valiantly battling a scorpion or a Jerusalem cricket (potato bug, finger-bite bug), but I had to settle for it being an ant.

It was a big ant, but that’s all it was. Still, how did she even locate it it in the dark? It’s not like ants bark. And why did she care about an ant? I found the whole incident comical and endearing. She did not hurt the ant-she just kept diverting it so that it went in a circle.

I've traveled in circles myself upon occasion.

Comical and endearing are far more appropriate descriptions of Ellie Mae, than stuck-up and salty, though only those who did not know Dozer would think of him as either.

Ironically, when I find myself feeling guilty because Ellie Mae is less labor intensive than Dozer, I remind myself there are many forms of labor, and a labor of love must be included amongst them. When it comes to love, there can be no “less” involved because love is the greatest power.

I know I am getting old; I’ve misplaced my heart, again.