WHO’S THAT SNOOPY

Oh, who’s this?

Please say hello to our new life partner, Franklin Hughes. He is part black lab, part border collie, and part “hound dog.” He is sleek and dainty as a tiny little seal swimmin’ in the water.

I know what you’re thinking. “Is that face for real?” I am here to tell you that yes, it is for real.

We can’t believe it. For 30 years I knew one day I would have a dog, and that is a long time to be sure of something but to not actually make that thing happen. Now suddenly–even after 30 years of preparation, it feels sudden–it has happened! How can this be the dog we have waited so long for? But here he is.

Yes, I know what else you are thinking: For years we have said we would get an old, depressed dog. Specifically a female dog. When we finally stopped jawing about it and actually went to the shelter, we said “please show us your old depressed female dogs,” and the lady was like “we don’t have any of those right now,” and we said, “well we want an old lady dog who is mellow and gentle and thoughtful and doesn’t bark,” and she was like “Well here’s this lady, but she’s none of the things you described” (crazy giant dog leaping seven feet in the air and barking wildly) “…but there are these three puppies we just got who sound exactly like what you’re describing.” We said, “No, we don’t want a puppy,” and she said, “ok” but then we said we’d go look at them anyway, just for fun, and THE MOMENT I saw this guy, I had this feeling. Nothing stupid, like I didn’t believe he was communicating directly with me or even that he saw me at all. But I just liked his vibe. His energy and his spirit. He seemed immediately different from his 2 brothers, who are identical to him. I didn’t say anything because I wanted to see what Gary thought. “THIS ONE” he said. We kept looking at each other. Is this really happening? A puppy? Never did I think I would get a puppy. But there he was. We took him into the field and lay in the sun with him and he told us he likes you to grab his paw and rub his belly. We said “this is our dog, I can’t believe it.” We signed the papers, we slept on it, we spent $300 on dog products, and just like that, we became those annoying people who read “Bark” magazine and worry about the fiber content of their dog’s shit.

His mother was a stray dog lurking around a trailer park who had a litter of puppies and a lady in the trailer park was feeding them. So they aren’t super socialized/house-broken, but they also weren’t abused or neglected. But they also did need rescuing, even if they aren’t (yet) old and depressed.

We went and picked him up today. We were acting like crazy people at the shelter. “Do you think he’ll like this collar?? WHAT’S HEART WORM PILLS?” We are following all the suggestions in all the dog books we bought yesterday. We took him for a long walk. That second photo is a picture of him refusing to take a single step closer to a fire hydrant. He was scared of fire hydrants! We had to walk a different way! But then after a romp in the park and some good lie-down time he approached a fire hydrant on the way home very tentatively, then went through Gary’s arm to sniff it from safety (amazing), then he was fine. HE FACED HIS FEARS. This is one of the many things I like about Franklin. The other thing I like is that he is a poet. He’s working on a poem right now.

If he studies hard he will receive his PhD or MD or even maybe an MFA (we are liberal) but for right now we are not calling him Dr. Franklin Hughes. He is still too dumb–he needs to apply himself.

He has a soft mouth and already almost knows “sit.” I think he is a genius. He does not like the molasses cookies we got him at the pet food store.

When he wakes up I’m going to give him a Kong filled with frozen dog food.

We are really scared, we are nervous that we will do it wrong, that he won’t be happy. We are scared about our lives being disrupted! These are bourgeois fears, but you know, we’re pretty bourgeois. That’s our “subject position.” And now it’s Franklin’s too. Bourgeois hound!

He’s black as the ace of spades and he is dainty, his hands are very dainty. He is not a puddin’-footed fellow. He is supposed to double in size by the time he’s done but it’s hard to imagine–every part of him seems sleek and perfectly proportioned. He did pretty good on the leash. He didn’t want to go in the crate but I mildly forced him and now I’m afraid this was a bad move. he’s asleep in there now. I wish he’d chew on a bone. We are trying not to just sit and stare at him.

Imagine having a baby, if getting a dog is like this. Everything feels totally different. Our house feels totally different. There’s this other guy living in it with us. Imagine–if he lives a normal life span we will be ALMOST FIFTY YEARS OLD when he dies.

He smells amazing.