a Great Dane and a Frenchie take Erin on a walk
what I learned from a stint of dog walking in Ohio
Miles was the dog that did it for me. That changed me. Winnie was there too but she was more like the ride or die bitch that just wanted to come along out of her fear of missing out with her typical Frenchie ‘tude and cuteness. We’d all met each other once before in the parking lot of the grocery store a couple years ago and I remember being afraid of Miles. His long lanky legs and height made it easy to give him a butt scratch or some spanks, the kind that dogs like, which I didn’t do the first time I met him. That time, in the grocery store parking lot, Miles jumped up on me and after a close encounter with getting bit by a dog a few years back, my instinct was to step back, open palms in the air as if I was being told to freeze. I did spank (the kind that dogs like) Miles during this past time with him which was much longer than our first parking lot meeting. Two and a half weeks I stayed with him and Winnie while their moms took a trip.
It’s mostly been dogs that I know who like spanks. But, one cat I knew loved being spanked too. She actually liked a hard spank with a wind-up. She’d put her rear higher in the air and arch her back as the spanker laid into her with an open palm, she’d turn her head to look back over one shoulder to see the action and, I swear, with a smile. With Miles, you don’t have to bend down to spank him or give him a head rub or scratch behind his ears. Two and a half weeks, I stayed in Miles and Winnie’s house and fed them on their schedule, walked them twice a day, and went to bed on their time. After 9pm, they’d get antsy if I was doing much else aside from relaxing with them, laying on the couch watching TV or in bed reading, which I didn’t complain about a bit due to my lack of these two activities over the previous months in grad school trying to stay afloat after moving to a much more expensive place to live, Pompano Beach, Florida. But, I was back in Ohio for the month of May and Miles made me walk off what I’d been carrying from the past months.
The Heart of a Dog has been one of my standing favorite pieces of art for years. An experimental film written and directed by the artist, Laurie Anderson. In it, she tells a story about her dog, Lolabell, about losing her sweet rat terrier to death, about her own life and the intertwined stories that go into having and loving a dog. The sketches and real life footage that make up the video are dreamlike. The story is dreamlike, filled with philosophical questions about life and death, narrated by Laurie Anderson, herself. The way she connects her own life with the heart of a dog, her dog, Lolabell, has always felt to me, a beautiful way to express the condition of being human, of showing the depth of what dogs can teach us, how we love, lose, grieve, and somehow keep going. It’s dreamlike, what and how they show us.
Before I arrived for this two and a half week time with Miles and Winnie, I’d been growing a negative view of dogs for a while. After the bite years ago, after my neighbors got two German shepherd puppies that constantly bark due to their lack of walks, after I’d smelled the rotten breath of the dog that I run by most mornings, after stepping in turds left by careless dog walkers on numerous occasions, I started to think maybe I’d fully converted. Growing up with one little shih-tzu and a mom with cat allergies, there’d never been a question of which I preferred. Dogs were always on my radar and I was a great candidate for loving them, which Laurie Anderson says is all they really want. To be loved. Yet, about five years ago, without a conducive schedule or ability to commit to the care of a dog, my boyfriend and I took in a cat. That’s when the conversion started. She loves napping, snacks, and an occasional cuddle on her terms. A creature I can relate to. To me, the demanding needs of a dog felt comparable to having a child. Responsibility and being tied down. It felt against my value of independence. Freedom and flexibility. This is what I was thinking as I entered into the weeks with the odd pair of Miles and Winnie. At first, their schedule felt like an interruption to my life and routine.
Miles spoke when he wanted food and anything I got out of the fridge he thought I was getting out for him. Winnie sat at my feet as I prepared my eggs in the morning waiting for something to be dropped and at dinner she’d enthusiastically make her way underfoot each time I lifted a skillet up to pour something onto my plate. Ground turkey onto tortillas. She’d wait for a crumble of meat to fall. Spiral pasta with roasted garlic sauce and veggies. She didn’t seem to care about the flavor. Brussel sprout fried rice. I think she actually liked that it smelled like farts. She knew this is how accidental snacks happened. Floor scores. I had to put Miles behind his gate when I was cooking because otherwise his nose would lead his face and big mouth onto the counter, chin sliding forward to snatch something I’d walked away from. His tongue smeared slobber on the counter’s edge where he could easily reach, cleaning any crumbs or spills I’d left behind. But a boundary for me was that I just wanted to cook, so I’d put him behind the gate. He laid on his dog bed, eyes following me as I moved through the kitchen , hoping I’d decide to share a little something. Occasionally, I gave in. His drool from the corners of his mouth dripped and trailed lines on the ground behind him as he greeted me at the gate sitting for the small piece of something yummy I’d offer. People food. Mind you: this was typical practice in this household and this dog eats well. Pumpkin on top of his kibble in the morning and chicken at night.
One of Miles and Winnie’s moms lent me a book to read while I stayed with them. The Friend by Sigrid Nunez. She said it might be fun to read while you're with Miles since there’s a Great Dane in the novel. The writing was one of the best things I’d read in a while and couldn’t help but draw some connections to the dreamlike qualities of The Heart of a Dog, blurring lines between reality and dreams, fiction and nonfiction, life and death and, of course, the relationship between person and dog. As I read, Miles slept at my feet and Winne burrowed under the blanket to rest on my legs. In The Friend, which has been adapted into a movie (which I have not seen), a writer living in New York City acquires her dead friend’s Great Dane after he kills himself. She recounts memories, conversations, and moments of life before the dog lived with her in her small apartment, moments with her friend before he died. Life through the novel shows the complexity of our lives and what we see as fictions or realities. I loved it. A short novel, I was easily able to finish it in two sittings and cried at the ways she describes the strangeness and wonder of having a dog in your life. The annoyance and the blessing. At least this is what I read as I turned the pages between head pats and nudges of foot to paw, all three of us piled on the couch. Leaning into one another.
Like the Great Dane in The Friend, Miles got a lot of attention from passerbys on our walks in town. They live on a windy country road on a ridge in the hills of southeastern Ohio and walking far on this road isn’t totally safe. It’s not guaranteed that you won’t get hit. So, we mostly went to town or the trails at the state park nearby, a ten minute drive. On our walks, people slowed their cars, stopped to ask to say hello, smiled at Miles and didn't even look at me or Winnie as we passed. Gawking biker heads turned to follow us as we strolled past fast. He made me walk quickly with his four long legs. It looked as if he was floating next to me, or gliding might be a better word. Just a step-and-glide on repeat with his back even and a little sway side to side, as my two short legs kept up and Winnie trotted almost at the pace of a jog. I asked several friends to meet up to walk with us. It was the perfect way to catch up, getting the dogs their exercise and poop out while seeing friends I’d been missing since the move. It was nice to have help, too. My friends took Winnie as she darted, sniffed, tried eating grass and goose poop, while Miles and I got our rhythm, our stride. Him on my left side, gliding.
Most days, we’d do a long walk in the morning, 45 minutes to an hour and sometimes more. So, some evenings I’d stick around the house and risk walking the road, getting over into the high grass when I heard a car coming. We’d go down a quarter of a mile and back just for them to do their business and then I’d drop Winnie in the house to rest. Miles and I would continue down to the field behind the neighbor’s house. Each time I dropped Winnie off, Mile’s demeanor changed. He’d look up at me from the corners of his eyes and pick up the pace. It was like he felt special. Just him and I on our own little adventure. His energy shifted. I felt a little pep in his step. Going down the hill, we’d walk along the mowed perimeter of the woods that dropped down into a ravine, a stretch of forest that eventually met up with the state park. A small trail opening led us into the woods that ran along on the top of the ridge where Miles would hug in closer to me, head level and almost touching my left hip. We walked the less than a quarter of a mile trail brushing against rain wetted leaves of small saplings growing into the path and pop out on the other side of the field to make our way back, completing a circle. He knew the way and this part of the walk was for fun. For exercise and smells and fresh air.
The routine started to feel like it was as much for me as them. Being on school break loosened the reins for me. So did the dogs. Something about this outside, food, walk, outside, food, walk, outside business felt like a pattern I could get down with. I also ate, went outside, walked, and repeated. I also wrote, read, saw friends, and did chores in between. I also sat on the front porch, listened to birds, wondered what distant sounds were, dreamed, and sniffed the air for new smells I’d been missing in my time away. Whether we live with our dog friends all the time or get to be with them on occasion, letting our routines intertwine led me to understand some things about myself that I didn’t realize I wanted to know. That I like my routine being interrupted. That walking the dogs somehow gave me more time and space in my day even though it took time too. That I like company, in both human and animal form. And most importantly, that I like dogs again.