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Read more of Karen Fishler's dog diary columns |
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 October 2, 1998 |a dog appears (or will)
Sometimes in life, things fall into place. Invariably, when this happens, there is no sound. Falling into place is such a quiet phenomenon that you hear no mental or emotional noise. One moment things are unsettled. The next, they're settled. Things are quiet. You feel better. That's how things are happening with us, dog-wise. At the moment of my greatest despair, when I was closest to thinking we would never find a dog that was right for us — that is, shortly after my last diary entry — I went online in search of breeders for a particular kind of dog, and the falling-into-place began. You'll recall that, after failing (for months) to find a mixed-breed dog at a shelter, we were informed by a CD-ROM about dogs that the perfect breed for us was something called an Entlebucher Sennenhund, a rare Swiss mountain dog. This breed, we learned, was a smaller cousin to the Greater Swiss Mountain Dog, the Appenzeller, and the Bernese Mountain Dog. Since the Greater Swiss was immensely appealing to us from video we'd seen of it, but was too big for us, we were intrigued. I went online, and found not only an Entlebucher site (http://www.entlebucher.org), but a breeder… on the West Coast. The breeder, Kathy Marshall, proved immensely approachable, knowledgeable, and helpful. It's worth checking out her Web site (http://www.marshallarts.com/eagleheart/), partly to learn more about Entleys (as they're called), and partly to see the pictures of her dog, Shaman, as a puppy. Kathy suggested we visit a local couple that has one of Shaman's sons in order to meet an Entley in the flesh. So we went, and found a truly wonderful dog. Entlebuchers, which are medium-sized (fifty to sixty-five pounds), with slightly shortish legs, were originally bred as cattle-herding dogs. They're powerfully built, like Rottweilers (like Rotties, they also have blunt tails), with dark brown bodies and splashes of rust and white on the face, chest and legs. Their ears are softly pointed and hang down in an endearing way. They're fine watchdogs, with a deep, intimidating warning bark that makes them sound much bigger than they are. They're also great house dogs: amazingly clean and neat, although they're clearly what Barry and I refer to as "real dogs" (as opposed to what so many people, us included, call "foofy dogs") . But most of what I've just written is about appearance, and although we were very taken by the way Entleys look, what really knocked us out was the overall personality and character of the breed. These dogs LOVE to be with people, and that's what we're looking for. They know how to play, but they know how to be quiet, too. They have energy but they're not out of control. They seem amazingly calm. They're cooperative but they think independently — again, just what we were looking for. And, like so many working dogs, they're very, very smart, with an unusual amount of presence. We were sold, right then and there. So when we found out that Kathy's upcoming litter was already spoken for, we contacted a fellow breeder she recommended, named Teri. Teri happened to be coming to town the following weekend, so she came by with her girl, Gretchen, who is great with child, as the saying goes, and her boy, Bailey. We loved them both; Bailey was living proof that these dogs really do have very active teenage years, and Gretchen, who is older, was living proof that they become wonderful adults. We verbally signed up for one of Gretchen's pups, pending an expected all-clear on the dad's eyes (these dogs can get hip dysplasia, a plague of purebreds, and progressive retinal atrophy, or PRA; the dad has been informally cleared but will be certified soon). So here we are. We said we didn't want a puppy, and we're getting a puppy. We said we didn't want a purebred, and we're getting about as pure a breed as you can find. Are we scared? Less than we ought to be, maybe. Mostly, I just feel so relieved. We really love these dogs. And if all goes well, we will have a puppy by Christmas. (By the way, if anybody wants to get in touch with Teri, email me at [email protected], and I'll forward your message to her.) It's serendipitous that, without knowing how close we're getting, friends have emailed me recently with words of comfort and wisdom. "Dogs don't run your life as much as it might seem they have to," said one. "Surprisingly, dog sitters seem to find you," wrote another. "Any dog you get will love you," he added. I hope so — like most bipeds, we can be unlovable sometimes. My worries are abating slightly, though, now that wiser and more experienced people are telling me it will all be okay. And I think I have a more realistic idea of the potential emotional dynamics in a dog-human relationship now that I've read Caroline Knapp's new book, Pack of Two: The Intricate Bond Between People and Dogs. Knapp, a magazine journalist, wrote the highly praised memoir Drinking: A Love Story (one of the great nonfiction titles of recent years, in my opinion). She got her dog, Lucille, after her decision to stop drinking, and Pack of Two examines what has happened to her, and for her, as a result. I really can't say enough about this book. It's not that Knapp is a brilliant stylist, although she writes capably. It's more that her gaze is so clear and so deep. She examines the expectations that people bring to their relationships with dogs, the depth and power of those relationships, and how and why dogs change people's lives. The neurotic twists are included — along with a lot of inspiring dogs and equally inspiring people. Knapp's own history serves as a loose connecting thread, but there are lots of stories from other people, as well. The most useful nugget for me: one dog person quoted says (I'm paraphrasing) that getting a puppy isn't like getting a newborn, it's like getting a two-year-old. So here I am, observing, with amazement, the quietness of the fallen-into-place phenomenon, and experiencing new pleasures. At last I can allow myself to think about buying dog stuff: bowls, leashes, a crate. I can reread the Monks of New Skete on raising puppies. I can think about fixing the drain in our bathtub, so I can give the puppy baths. I'm even starting to organize my work so I'll be completely available for the first few weeks the puppy is here. It feels… what can I say? Wonderful. 
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