Sun, April 20, 2003

For the most part, I'm not a pet person. I'm wholeheartedly not a cat person, and I'm definitely not a bird or rodent person. Basically it's limited to dogs, and even then I'm not normally wild about it. (Actually certain reptiles are okay, too. Iguanas in tanks are kind of irritating, but we had geckos that just lived free in the house and they were quite nice.)

Anyway, I'm coming to a point here, and that point is this: Just like the people I know, there are those few dogs I know that single-handedly justify the decision not to write off the whole group. Just like people, most dogs are irritating and stupid. Entirely devoid of attention span and downright inconsiderate. But, like people, a few shining examples – intelligent, friendly, compassionate, and engaged – more than make up for the rest.

Growing up, I was lucky enough to share the company of Oliver, an English Springer Spaniel with an incredibly good heart and a warm and generous personality. He wasn't always so bright, but he was effusively eager to please. He was a fantastic listener and, while active, he had the ability to provide quiet companionship without needing to be chained down. Plus, as someone who had a security blanket almost all the way up to middle school, I appreciated his huggability.

Ollie lived a full and long life but, as dogs do, he eventually succumbed to old age and had to be put to sleep. Due to a mild case of Empty Nest Syndrome (my sister and I both away at college), he was replaced not too long after with Abby. (Her given name is Abbaye, but in informal situations she prefers the more common form.) Abby is a bright, fast, compact Brittany Spaniel, precociously active and streamlined for speed.

My mother is the unique the kind of person who possesses more than just compassionate sensitivity, but an uncanny focus that enables her to recognize highly specific traits about people. Personality traits that you wouldn't realize were important until she brings them forward. As a result, she found Abby, who is perfect. Bristling with intelligence, warmly compassionate, fiercely loyal (to an almost antisocial degree) and playful. (This also describes me, so maybe it's a nature vs. nurture thing.)

Abby is the type of dog who is a perfect companion. Good for reading in bed or out in the sun, great for walks on the beach, fun for talking to. And, in a way few dogs do, she has her own life. This is important because it can be kind of depressing to look at dogs who are full of energy when it's time for a walk or dinner but otherwise just lay around. Abby's motivated! She's an on-the-go gal! Chief among her responsibilities is Squirrel Alert. Squirrels are drawn to the backyard birdfeeders, and Abby believes it's her responsibility to chase them away.

Well, at first it was. But the chase immediately proved to be a fleeting endeavor. The squirrel goes up, a direction she can't, and at that point it's pretty much over. So, early on, she switched from chasing to monitoring. Monitoring is a far more dignified pursuit anyway. It's like she's part of the intelligence community. (I can just imagine her sitting at a reel-to-reel tape player, scrubbing back and forth like Gene Hackman in The Conversation.)

Dignified and intelligent. It requires such patience, such resolve. Hours and hours of silent waiting, with precious little reward. I respect her tremendously for it. And, in a rare guest contribution to our little online volume, Mommy has sent in some photos of Abby in sentinel mode. Besides being obvious evidence (in the case of the first shot) that my mom should be a professional photographer, the pictures expertly document the steadfast diligence of Abby's pursuit.

You have to love someone who's passionate. Doesn't matter what they're passionate about as long as it's something.

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