For Annemarie: Every Dog Has Her Day

Today, I was going to grouse about New Mexico's 'Banana Republic' caucus. You know, how many people didn't get to vote because the polling places ran out of ballots. Or the five hour wait at the one polling place for the entire City of Rio Rancho--the fastest growing city in the United States. But others have covered the Democractic 'train wreck' better. Like Albuquerque Journal cartoonist John Trever. Check out the Trever cartoon for 02/07/08.

Anyway, Annemarie saved me, by a comment she made here. Instead of grousing helplessly, I am going to talk about something warm and fuzzy, loyal and domestic. Yep, I am going to talk about our dogs.



We have two dogs, one old and one young. They are both rescue dogs, but we got them in very different ways. The dog on the left in the picture is Zoey. She is probably nine or ten years old. She has some arthritis in the hips, and cataracts in the eyes.

The dog on the right is Lily. The pound said she was about seven months old when we got her, three years ago this March. So she's about three years old now. She has enough energy for the entire household and then some.

Zoey is my dog, and Lily is N.'s dog, although she is enthusiastic about anyone who will pet her, love her, or take her for a walk or run. Zoey, on the other hand is quieter and more particular and elegant, a princess to Lily's tomgirl.


Lily was advertised as a Harrier cross, but since there are very few Harriers in the Western US, the vet thinks she is a hound/shepherd/collie mix. Although she has some features of a boxer, she is not brachycephalic--her nose is long, and somewhat narrow, even by hound standards. She has a sturdy build, with a wide chest, and strong legs, but they are not as short in proportion as a boxer's. She has the white flagged tail of a hound, but a thick ruff on her neck, and shorter ears--both features of anything but a hound. She is also more protective than a hound, though she chases rabbits like a beagle. We just tell people that she's all "dawg."

Lily was found at about 5 months old, roaming the streets in the 'war zone' of southeast Albuquerque. I had gone on the pound list everyday, trying to help a neighbor find a lost pet, and everyday, there was Lily, looking sad and lost, in an adoption picture. After two weeks, it was clear that she was nearing zero hour, so on a Saturday near the end of March, 2005, we went to the pound "just to see." She had a frantic, scared energy about her, and when we took her out of her run, she licked and licked our chins, while jumping between us. She couldn't walk on a leash. I wanted an older dog. I was outvoted. We paid the fee, but could not bring her home until she was spayed. When we did bring her home, Zoey was less than thrilled by this bundle of fearful energy. And we had a long way to go with her. There were several times when I contemplated re-homing her, especially in the first weeks, when she cut her feet bloody on her crate and ploughed a furrow into N.'s carpet. But we perservered. And she's now incontrovertibly ours. A rough-and-tumble, tomgirl of a dog, who still get's so excited that she slides past us trying to stop on the wood floors when we come home.

Zoey is a cipher. Most people look at her spots and think 'dalmatian.' The vet thinks that she is greyhound-Aussie cattle-dog cross. She has the hips, gracile speed, and couch-potato personality of a greyhound. She has a very thin coat, too, which makes her good for only about 15 minutes in the snow. Zoey is definitely more robust than a greyhound, and has a strong herding tendency. She is the only one in the household that can authoritatively herd the cats. (Lily thinks they are rabbits and chases them. They respond by ganging up on her and stalking her). She is very protective, too, especially of me, but she is friendly and well behaved with guests.

Zoey was abandoned at a pet store adopt-a-thon when she was between one and two years old, in January 2000. A neighbor's teen daughter was there to get a cat, but brought Zoey home, too. She had a collar, no tags, and a leash. The neighbors already had the maximum number of dogs allowed by the county, so the girl was told to find a home in 24 hours or Zoey would go to the pound. We happened to be walking across a neighborhood park in Rio Rancho--where we lived at the time--and we were talking about getting a dog. The girl heard us and came up and said, "Do you want this one?" The rest is history.
Zoey fit easily into our household, and decided that I was her person. That was that. She used to get loose every once and while and run and run. So I'd take her down to the river or out to the mesa and let her run for hours. Now, as her dog-days become fewer, she is content to go for walks--as long as it's not too hot or too cold or too rocky--and then snooze on the dedicated canine daybed in my office in the sun.


Lily and Zoey are a study in togetherness.
They play together everyday, with fetch toys, and run together to the windows to bark at any other mammal that has the temerity to enter their yard.

I think Lily keeps Zoey young. And Zoey, good dog mama that she is--she raised the cats from kittenhood--keeps Lily in her place.

Zoey is the undisputed queen canine of the household, though she is very deferential and submissive to the humans. Lily, on the other hand, never heard of decorum or grace. Zoey is reserved and friendly and Lily is a bundle of joy and enthusiasm.

Both are very protective of the house and property. When we leave the dogs in charge, we do not worry about intruders. "The girls" as Bruce calls them, sound much bigger and more threatening than they are, when you hear them growling and barking behind the door. And neither are the type to take a bone from strangers.

What is amazing is how both of them, who are so wildly different from one another, have completely and utterly stolen our hearts.

As I am sure other dog lovers can tell you, when you have dogs, you face a sense of the shortness and yet the complete preciousness of life.