We all need to think of ourselves as heroes in our own life stories, at least from time to time. And every hero needs a sidekick, a confidant, a partner in the adventure. Mine is Shamus, the Urban Adventure Dog.
Be warned: this is not Chicken Soup for the Dog Lover's Soul. Much of my blog may involve poop on a sidewalk. This is a story of moving on - and moving in - to a city, with the Urban Adventure Dog by my side. It's a story of adjustment, of learning to walk new streets, face new fears, mark new territory. It's also a story, like most great adventures, that involves proving myself at the same time that I learn - I can't do this alone. It's a story of not doing it on my own.
Having a big dog in a city is a two-sided coin: I glean a feeling of safety because I believe he would protect me - and perhaps more importantly because other people believe he would. On the other hand, having a dog means having to walk city blocks - four times a day at least, and often in the dark and in the inclement weather and when I'm sick with the flu. Without Shamus, I could have avoided facing a lot of fears.
So, how did this ordinary, reddish-brown Golden Retriever - German Sheppard mix go from being called by the relatively down-to-earth dog name Shamus to revealing his true superhero identity: Urban Adventure Dog? It happened one day a couple of weeks ago. It was at the end of a winter storm. Providence had gotten pummeled with ten inches of snow, which had given way to freezing rain, and finally to sleet-rain mix. We went out for our morning walk and Shamus promptly lunged to pee on a snow bank, pulling me over, onto my side, on the slick, wet, icy cold sidewalk. I stood up, soaking wet and angry with him, and tried to walk him further. In front of us were snowbanks, beneath our feet was ice; slush was being splashed on us as cars went by on the road. It was misery. I looked at him. He wagged his tail.
We tried to keep walking, approaching dark, slushy puddles that had the sheen of gasoline on them. "Up," I told him, using words from our former pre-agility class. To my surprise, he responded to my command and jumped the puddles. Always, this dog shows heart. We tried and tried to find a place for him to poo. It seemed every time he found a spot, a car went by and splashed him. Finally, I took shelter behind a pizza place, beside a dumpster, and held my umbrella over him so that he'd relax enough to complete the task at hand. He did it. This made him my momentary hero. In fact, it gave me the feeling that he and I were both heroes of sorts, survivors, making our way together through an unpredictable and often uncomfortable world, solving problems. We went home through the rain and the slush, leaping snow banks, passing other unfortunate pedestrians and giving them a nod and a tail wag. At home I dried him off, stared into his brown eyes, and said, "I'm proud of you, Urban Adventure Dog." A name, a theme, a way of life, was born.
Be warned: this is not Chicken Soup for the Dog Lover's Soul. Much of my blog may involve poop on a sidewalk. This is a story of moving on - and moving in - to a city, with the Urban Adventure Dog by my side. It's a story of adjustment, of learning to walk new streets, face new fears, mark new territory. It's also a story, like most great adventures, that involves proving myself at the same time that I learn - I can't do this alone. It's a story of not doing it on my own.
Having a big dog in a city is a two-sided coin: I glean a feeling of safety because I believe he would protect me - and perhaps more importantly because other people believe he would. On the other hand, having a dog means having to walk city blocks - four times a day at least, and often in the dark and in the inclement weather and when I'm sick with the flu. Without Shamus, I could have avoided facing a lot of fears.
So, how did this ordinary, reddish-brown Golden Retriever - German Sheppard mix go from being called by the relatively down-to-earth dog name Shamus to revealing his true superhero identity: Urban Adventure Dog? It happened one day a couple of weeks ago. It was at the end of a winter storm. Providence had gotten pummeled with ten inches of snow, which had given way to freezing rain, and finally to sleet-rain mix. We went out for our morning walk and Shamus promptly lunged to pee on a snow bank, pulling me over, onto my side, on the slick, wet, icy cold sidewalk. I stood up, soaking wet and angry with him, and tried to walk him further. In front of us were snowbanks, beneath our feet was ice; slush was being splashed on us as cars went by on the road. It was misery. I looked at him. He wagged his tail.
We tried to keep walking, approaching dark, slushy puddles that had the sheen of gasoline on them. "Up," I told him, using words from our former pre-agility class. To my surprise, he responded to my command and jumped the puddles. Always, this dog shows heart. We tried and tried to find a place for him to poo. It seemed every time he found a spot, a car went by and splashed him. Finally, I took shelter behind a pizza place, beside a dumpster, and held my umbrella over him so that he'd relax enough to complete the task at hand. He did it. This made him my momentary hero. In fact, it gave me the feeling that he and I were both heroes of sorts, survivors, making our way together through an unpredictable and often uncomfortable world, solving problems. We went home through the rain and the slush, leaping snow banks, passing other unfortunate pedestrians and giving them a nod and a tail wag. At home I dried him off, stared into his brown eyes, and said, "I'm proud of you, Urban Adventure Dog." A name, a theme, a way of life, was born.
PS: If you love incredible dog stories (of which the above was definitely an example), you should check out this You Tube clip
