{"id":15582,"date":"2014-08-22T20:20:41","date_gmt":"2014-08-23T00:20:41","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.saratoga.com\/waynesword2\/2014\/08\/dog-day-acquisition.html"},"modified":"2014-08-22T20:20:41","modified_gmt":"2014-08-23T00:20:41","slug":"dog-day-acquisition","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.saratoga.com\/waynesword2\/2014\/08\/dog-day-acquisition\/","title":{"rendered":"Dog Day Acquisition… Dawg Ownership Begins"},"content":{"rendered":"

Part Two… Pet History as of Summer 2014<\/i><\/b><\/p>\n


<\/i><\/b><\/div>\n
So it was May 31st of this year when our lives changed, and we became “dog people.”<\/b>  (This is the ballad of Bentley…)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
It was a somewhat spurious decision– my wife’s local yoga teacher mentioned a cousin of hers who was about to start selling golden retriever puppies at a mere hundred dollars a pop, with a few still unclaimed.  No papers or pedigrees were promised, nothing official, and we would have to drive almost all the way to Potsdam to retrieve said retriever, but it seemed worth the risk.  On that fateful Saturday we boldly ventured out of cell phone range and had a great drive up through the more desolate parts of the central and northwest Adirondacks on that fine sunny Saturday…<\/b><\/div>\n

<\/b><\/div>\n
We meandered our unhurried way through the Mountainous part of the State, just the two of us– no kids along to make the decision for us.  Up into North Warren off Exit 29, past Newcomb over to Indian Lake, through the Blue Mountain Lake area and then Long Lake, finally Tupper Lake and then further up past a remote reservoir area to South Colton, a small agrarian crossroads north of the Adirondack Park Area border.  The farm we were aiming for was on a turn up a hill, off a picturesque side-road of rolling hills and pristine valley views.  A golden eagle  could be seen swooping around in long looping circles as we got there, a good sign. <\/p>\n

 Our cordial hostess– who had raised 6 or 7 children on the pristine farm where these fields met the sky– led us up to a well-kept board-&-batten barn and opened the half-door. Spilling out in unison was a roiling horde of eleven perfect puppies, identical except for subtle shadings of color, from blonde to light brown.<\/b>  The proud<\/b><\/div>\n

Mom was a beautiful lithe reddish retriever who bore no ill effects from having spawned this litter ten weeks before.  She sniffed at her brood and hovered a bit, but ultimately they moved as a unit, flowing in an undulating attern, otter-like furballs spilling across the manicured lawn, into the tall grass, and back out.  They were pure frivolity in motion.<\/b><\/div>\n

<\/b><\/div>\n
Five of eleven had been claimed but not taken yet, and the owner had marked those by painting their toenails different colors.  Mostly males remained.  I liked one of those who clung to my feet a bit but Melinda picked up another, an almost pure blonde puffball, who seemed to love being held, and that was that.  We paid the hundy, as my downstate friend Danny would say, thus separating the first one out of the pack, and started our way back.  Melinda was ready for this, in theory anyway, and cooed and coddIed him on her chest– like she’d suddenly adopted a new baby,<\/b><\/div>\n
sixteen years after having our youngest — and hugged him to <\/b>her chest all the way back to the Saratoga region, <\/b>via Route 30 South.   The pup barely moaned or complained at all, and licked her chin.  “Right outa central casting<\/i>,” the little dude seduced us with cuteness from the start…<\/b><\/div>\n

<\/b><\/div>\n
Flash forward roughly three months… the cuddly blonde puppy who could have fit into a small child’s shoebox when we got him now has become a lanky beast who stretches out to about five feet in length from tail to toe when he sprawls sideways on the floor.  He had doubled in size after two weeks, and tripled after six.  He seemed to be larger every time he emerged from his crate in the morning.  What at first were pellets and lumps in the yard became small logs and now resemble the kind of scat small bears leave behind.  To produce this fodder he eats no less than sixteen meals a day, handfuls of Rachel Ray-endorsed dogfood and whole cans of Alpo or equivalent in 20 seconds flat.<\/i><\/b><\/div>\n

<\/i><\/b><\/div>\n
The only indication of what was to come was when we had stopped the car for the un-named-at-the-time-dog’s first official pee in Long Lake, and fed him some kibbles we had brought.  Five minutes later on the road, I hear a sharp OOOOOWW!! <\/i>and look over to see my wife contemplating a steamy little heap of dog puke adorning her cleavage.  She seemed more concerned about him, seeming not to want to traumatize him by yelling about it, though he did look a bit sheepish,<\/b> even at that infantile phase.   This a precursor of both comedy and clean-up maintenance that would be required in coming weeks and months.<\/b><\/p>\n

Once we got him home and the four of us (as Daryn didn’t seem to care) tossed out our favorite potential names, each dubbing him something different for a while… my daughter’s choice of “Bentley” won out<\/b>, mostly because “she liked the sound of it…” without reference to any particular college or unaffordable car.  <\/b><\/div>\n


<\/b><\/div>\n
….<\/b><\/div>\n

<\/b><\/div>\n
I was the one who’d resisted this acquisition for years, as some of my friends and relatives know.  And now, as I feared, it is usually me, at 6:30 or 7 a.m., and then at night too, wearing the yellow or olive-green bag on my hand, seeking out heaps of Bentley poop, and removing them from the lawn, the median, and occasionally the grass of unnamed neighbors… (sorry!)! <\/p>\n

 Whereas I used to be the guy raging against other fools who catered to their canines in this manner, now it is me.  I never wanted to be “that guy” <\/i>yet that guy is me.  At least I don’t live in the city where other people can see me.<\/p>\n

I spend a half an hour or more I cannot spare each morn setting him free from the crate, watching him ritually pee in the “squat-with-curled-tail” routine, feeding him a bowl or three of food, changing his water, and then awaiting the sharp single bark that tells me it is time for the the constitutional walk.  He sniffs till he finds a good place and I am the fool-in-waiting.   What fun<\/i>, I always think, as my wife and two younger kids are still sleeping.  Although it does get me out in the brisk morning air, I long for the e-z days of just opening a can of food for the cats and then letting them out the back door for the day. The dog requires so much more.  He wants to play, he wants to track, he wants to sniff, he wants to sample grotesque things in his mouth like a<\/b> road-squished toad, or worse yet, a live one, <\/b>along with objects like sticks, roots, dirt, cans, insects, weeds, cardboard, pine cones, squished plastic bottles alongside the road, and god forbid the occasional dead mammal.   Then, once inside, to stay in practice, he will chew any available shoes, sneakers, slippers, couch covers, anything with tassels, pillows, hassocks, furniture legs, folded laundry piles, and anything he can pull from the recycling bin.  <\/b><\/div>\n


<\/b><\/div>\n
The cats never did any of this stuff.<\/b><\/div>\n

<\/b><\/div>\n
They might leave a stray mouse or shrew on the deck, or parts thereof, and gross us out in other ways, but it didn’t take hours of your day to entertain or babysit them.  <\/b><\/div>\n
A dog of this sort is insatiable when it comes to food or play or exercise, that’s all there is to it.<\/p>\n

<\/b><\/div>\n

When I complained to my buddy Chris, who had two more or less mature and civilized (though still very energetic) Goldens… he texted back–  DON’T WORRY, THAT PHASE WILL ONLY LAST ANOTHER YEAR…OR TWO!<\/b><\/div>\n

<\/b><\/div>\n
I didn’t know whether to laugh or curse my stupidity.  Itz a love\/hate thing at this point, and I don’t see any easy way out of that.  At one point my wife was at the local Stewart’s with the 3 or 4 month old Bentley on a leash.  Grizzled hunter-guy walks by, sez: Thatz a fine lookin’ dog– if you ever wanna sell that pup you let me know?   <\/i><\/p>\n

When she came home and told me that, I said, What do you think he would offer?<\/i>
and my daughter and wife were mortified.   On other occasions, when it was THEIR turn to be exasperated by his antics or rough play, they asked the same question.  This became our running joke– how much would a country-lovin’ dude with a pickup truck pay for a sleek retriever like this?<\/i>  <\/p>\n

It was really touch and go whether we should keep him or not during that first month or two… only a tag-team match of constantly taking turns dealing-with-the-dog kept us from losing it, and posting his cute face of Craigslist– Free for the Taking! Comes with collar and leash…<\/p>\n

…..<\/p>\n

Flash forward, late August.  He is growing so fast now that when Miles goes away and comes back in three days, he swears he’s bigger than he remembers.  Also turning redder, losing the blondish fur…<\/p>\n

<\/i>My wife and the kids went up to Loon Lake for a few days so it was just me and Bentley last night, and then again this morning.  He let me get some writing done
without being too needy, and willing went to bed at eleven.  This morning I rewarded him with a long walk down to the Creek, a steep hike down and up and along the banks of the North Fork of the Kaydeross.   Off the leash he galloped ahead and then ran past me 20 yards turned around and did it some more.  Repeat, repeat, repeat, now pant.  He never ventured too far out of sight, and came when I spoke his name. He ventured out on some rocks with me and lapped at the clear water.   He followed commands and the paths, sometimes overgrown, instinctively and swiftly.  He is proving to be a dog-of-a-hiker, which I need to be.  This is the redeeming side of dawgdom– I realized as I rubbed his panting chest on a break sitting in the sun, amid the thick ferns of the valley.   <\/p>\n

You can’t take a cat on a hike like this, at least not since my cross-country skiing cats vanished on me 30+ years ago.  I was stuck with, and hooked on, this critter called Bentley, for better or worse, for older or younger, for wild or tame.  And my both contemplative and chaotic life would never be quite the same.<\/p>\n

And that’s the ballad of Bentley, so far.<\/p>\n

Copyright Wayne Perras 2014<\/p>\n


<\/i>
<\/b><\/div>\n


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Part Two… Pet History as of Summer 2014So it was May 31st of this year when our lives changed, and we became “dog people.”  (This is the ballad of Bentley…)It was a somewhat spurious decision– my wife’s local yoga teacher…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":103,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-15582","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\r\nDog Day Acquisition... 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