Kristi Noem and Her Dog

5/10/24 — A postscript to the below post. RFK Jr., the “other” candidate for the presidency, recently announced his support for the abortion of full-term infants. Yep, it’s OK to slaughter the little human beings whom God created in His image and likeness. And yet we hear almost nothing about this from the mainstream media or the nattering social media crowd. These and too many others are more upset about Governor Noem’s shooting a dog 20 years ago. What are the moral priorities of a nation in which so many are far more concerned about the death of a dog than the premeditated murder of millions of innocent children?

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I expect that much of what I write in this post will make many folks here in The Villages all aflutter. In truth, though, I don’t care…so here goes, 

Let me begin by saying I’m a dog person and have lived with dogs most of my life, dogs that represented a variety of breeds: Boston Bulldog: German Shepherd; three Weimaraners; Samoyed; Shetland Sheepdog; and Bichon Frise. Let me also assert that, despite what the so-called experts say, not every dog is trainable. As one vet told me, “Some dogs just have a few mental wrinkles that can’t be ironed out. You can ease the problems with good training, but you never know if they’ll arise under certain conditions.”

A lot of people seem very upset because twenty years ago S. Dakota Governor Noem shot a dog that was not only untrainable but had also proven to a danger to man and beast alike. Most of those who fret and wring their hands over the governor’s act have never set foot on a farm or ranch and don’t understand that for many country folk dogs are often working animals. If a dog makes a habit of killing livestock and other farm critters, if it attacks people, and if it cannot be trained to do otherwise, it simply has to go. 

A few years ago I met a man in West Texas who had a huge dog in the back of his pickup. He thought it was part German Shepherd and part Bull Mastiff — as I said, a very big dog. In his words, “He seems to have a bit of blood-lust. At night he roams pretty freely on our ranch, and I have to keep him away from the calves. But if a deer enters our property — it’s  a few hundred acres — that dog knows it and that deer is dead. He’s the only dog I’ve ever seen that can pull down a fullgrown deer and kill it. He’s okay with the family, because I guess we’re his pack, but when guests visit I have to put him in his shed. If he ever hurt a person I’d have to shoot him.” 

Right after we were married, well over 50 years ago, Diane and I ended up with a large, male Weimaraner. How we got this dog is another story. Anyway, thanks to the Navy we found ourselves in San Diego, and for the next few years I spent a lot of time at sea. The dog seemed to be good protection for Diane, but over time we discovered he had more than a few problems. He was overprotective, destroyed all our furniture, and was overly aggressive around other humans, so when Diane was expecting our first child, we decided he had to go. This was not a friendly dog, and I worried about him attacking guests, or Diane, or the baby when she arrived. Quite honestly, I thought about doing what the governor did, but figured in Southern California they’d lock me up. So, we tried to find him a new home. We succeeded in giving him to a family that lived on a ranch in northern San Diego county. Within a few months they wanted to return him, but we refused (the baby had arrived). We’re pretty certain they placed him in an ASPCA shelter where he was no doubt euthanized. 

My dogs (with this one exception) were all well-trained animals and a comfort to our family. They were not working dogs — hunters, shepherds, etc. — but were family pets. We cared for them and they cared for us in their own unique way. But they were all very different and displayed their affection in varying ways. 

And yet, as you might expect, I have no problem with the governor’s dispatching her dog. If you’re one of those folks who places dogs and spiders and aardvarks and cows and lions and tigers and bears all on the same value level as human beings, we have a philosophical and theological obstacle to further discussion. You might object to the means she used to dispatch the dog, but it was probably far more humane and quicker than many other means.

Maddie: Rest in Peace

Wednesday morning, Diane and I lost our dear Maddie, an absolutely wonderful 15-year-old Bichon Frise. Maddie was born on January 21, 2008 and died on June 7. Diane and I adopted Maddie on March 29, 2014 from the “Brat Pack,” an aptly named Bichon rescue group out of Mt Dora, Florida. Maddie, then, was a part of our family for almost ten years. It really seems as if she had been with us far longer, simply because she joined us so willingly and immediately endeared herself to us. Here’s a photo I took of Maddie on the day she joined our family.

In a conversation with a friend the other day, she suggested that for those our age our relationship with the family dog is more evident, much deeper, perhaps more important. When we're raising children, the family dog is a little less present to the parents than to the children since work, child-rearing, homemaking and all the rest take up so much of our time. We actually spend fewer hours alone with our dogs and when they leave us, we certainly miss them, but our grief is tempered by a home still full of life. But in retirement, the children are grown, raising families of their own, and a dog becomes a far more meaningful member of this smaller, aging family. Diane and I shared in Maddie’s care, and her presence was almost constant, just as Maddie shared her attention with both Diane and me. I suppose from Maddie’s perspective, we became the “pack.” Yes, we were a small pack, just the three of us, but the presence of each was important to the others. It’s remarkable how quickly this little dog became a true part of our family.

Maddie & Hang-out the Window Goggles

This was evident in Maddie’s behavior. When I moved from room to room doing little tasks, she would follow me. If I went into my office to work, she’d join me and plop down and curl up on the little dog bed near my desk. She’d act much the same way with Diane. Maddie especially disliked it when Diane and I happened to be in separate rooms with the door closed between us. This she could not accept. She wanted the pack, the family, together, or at least accessible. Maddie actually taught us quite a bit about relationships, and even about discipleship. Over the years I’ve written a few blog posts about this. Here are links to a couple of them:

• In December 2017: Doggone Discipleship.

• In August 2018: Maddie, My Teacher

The Threesome at the Grand Canyon

Within weeks of Maddie’s arrival we took her with us on a long road trip to California. It was then we discovered that Maddie, unlike all our previous dogs, didn’t especially enjoy riding in the car. Why? I haven’t a clue, but she came to us as a six-year-old with a collection of interesting, but minor, neuroses. Although she adjusted somewhat to car travel, she never fully accepted it, and much preferred to ride along in the golf cart on neighborhood trips. But as we also discovered on that long West Coast trip, she loved being with new people. Other than trying to nibble on the toes of two of our grandsons, she made friends with everyone…well, almost everyone. There was one man in the neighborhood she seemed to dislike. Whenever she saw him, she growled, a response never repeated with another. Who knows why, but I never really trusted him.

Diane and Maddie in Tombstone, AZ

Maddie readily accepted other dogs unless they were aggressive toward her. She wouldn’t put up with those snappy little ankle-biters who seem to regard other canines as potential enemies rather than friends. Usually, she would simply turn and walk away from the aggressive ones. But if another dog actually tried to attack her, Maddie would respond in a way that always sent the other dog running. She wouldn’t pursue, but would then just go about her business of OCS, that is, obsessive, compulsive sniffing. Maddie was often the dominant dog in dog-on-dog relationships.

Possessive Maddie and her Milkbone

Maddie seemed also to accept the presence of wild creatures. She would certainly notice the rabbits, squirrels, armadillos, and our little neighborhood lizards — pretty much any wild four-legged animal — but she never chased them. I think perhaps the predatory instincts had long been suppressed in her breed, or more likely it was just Maddie’s unique personality. Interestingly, the local wild critters rarely saw her as a threat. I’ve seen her stand within a foot of a pair of tall sandhill cranes. She’d just sniff away while they searched for food, each ignoring the others. The same was true when we’d occasionally happen on a flock of 20 or 30 ibis gathered in a neighbor’s front yard. Mutual tolerance was always evident. On our daily pre-dawn walk, we’d often stop by a spot where two frogs (or toads?) hung out, always sitting on the same small concrete slab. Maddie would quietly approach them, bend over, and give them a sniff. Truly amazing, but it happened day after day. If I ever came within five feet of this pair, they would instantly disappear down an access hole in the concrete. 

And here is my all-time favorite photo of the two females who joined forces to rule me for the past ten years. You can see why...

Yes, indeed, Diane and I will miss this wonderful, beautiful little gift from God. For those who love Him, God always provides the perfect gift at the perfect time. I think He did that for us when He gave us our Maddie. Living as we do in our odd version of retirement, aging and in imperfect health of mind and body, we became closer to each other thanks to Maddie. And surprisingly, with her physical departure, I sense that this closeness will only increase. She remains with us in spirit.

Oh, yes, one of my favorite philosopher/theologians is Peter Kreeft, a professor of philosophy at Boston College and a man who has written more books than most folks today have read. One of those books, Every Thing You Ever Wanted To Know About Heaven, is a marvelous read, and I recommend it highly. On page 45 Kreeft offers a wonderful, Scriptural explanation of why our pets will join us in heaven. Buy the book and read it.

In the meantime, Diane and I will still shed some tears and be continually surprised by Maddie's absence. We were good to her, but she was far better to us. And so, we offer her to the Lord, Who made heaven and earth and all creatures great and small. 

 

Blessings and God's Peace...

Maddie, My Teacher

How nice it is to have a day off...no meetings, no obligations, just a day to take it easy. As it turned out Maddie, the wonderdog, seemed very happy that I had nowhere to go and would spend the day with her and Diane. The only time we left the house -- and we took Maddie with us -- was to take advantage of early voting in the Florida primary elections.

Maddie, Wonderdog

Anyway, this day with Maddie got me thinking about how remarkably intelligent she is and what she has taught me. Other than Dear Diane, who in her kindness knows best how to remind me of my many weaknesses and encourage me in my few strengths, I believe it is our little Maddie, a ten year old Bichon Frise, who has become my most reliable teacher. 

Yes, indeed, I have become my dog's student. I suspect most dog owners would recoil at such a thought. Dogs are to be trained, fed, played with, walked, and exercised. From this we in turn reap the benefit of their company and their seemingly blind loyalty. I suppose for most people, who share their homes with a dog, this is a reasonable quid pro quo. It was certainly a sufficient trade-off for me and the many dogs I enjoyed before Maddie joined our household. They were all good dogs...OK, a couple had some mild sanity issues. But none ever taught me very much. Or, perhaps more accurately, I wasn't very receptive to their teaching. Aha! You see, I continue to learn. Often enough it's the receptivity of the student that determines the quality of the teaching. Maybe those earlier dogs tried their best to share their canine wisdom with me, but I was simply too wrapped up in my humanity to grasp and absorb their teaching. Perhaps, then, it is the more mature and open person I have become that has made little Maddie such an effective teacher. But, regardless, she does teach me, and her lessons frequently call to mind truths of Sacred Scripture. That's right! Maddie's lessons are the seeds that bear some very fruitful scriptural meditation. 

This should be expected. On the sixth day, right before He created man, 

"God made the beasts of the earth according to their kinds and the cattle according to their kinds, and everything that creeps upon the ground according to its kind. And God saw that it was good" [Gen 1:25]. 

As for dogs, I've always believed the Holy Spirit on that day instilled in them a special nature and intelligence -- "according to their kind" -- something greater than that possessed by the average beast. "The Lord, the giver of life" gave the dog a unique nature that makes it especially compatible as man's loyal companion and workmate. Not only was the dog specially created, but it's been around longer than we have and can perhaps teach us a few things.

"But now ask the beasts to teach you, the birds of the air to tell you; or speak to the earth to instruct you, and the fish of the sea to inform you. Which of these does not know that the hand of God has done this? In His hand is the soul of every living thing, and the life breath of all mortal flesh" [Job 12:7-10].

As I describe Maddie's teaching and the lessons that derive from it, I'll just point to what I believe to be relevant passages  and let you dig into your Bibles should you wish to pursue each more deeply.

These lessons begin early each day. Maddie and I are both morning people -- OK , she's a morning dog, but you know what I mean. We are both at our best in the hours shortly before and after dawn:

"Rising very early before dawn, He left and went off to a deserted place, where He prayed" [Mk 1:35].

"I rise before dawn and cry out; I put my hope in your words" [Ps 119:147].

I rise first, throw on a pair of shorts and a shirt, make the coffee, pray the Church's Morning Prayer, and then retrieve the newspaper from the driveway. I suppose I feel a bit superior because I rise before most others in my time zone, or at least in my neighborhood. I am reminded of the words of the psalmist:

"It is vain for you to rise early and put off your rest at night, to eat bread earned by hard toil -- all this God gives to his beloved sheep" [Ps 127:2].

Maddie still sleeps, but after about 30 minutes she rises and greets me. She neither drinks coffee nor reads newspapers, so it makes sense to grab an extra half-hour of sleep. She does, however, pray. Indeed, every beast prays through its very existence, a sign of God's creative love, a sign revealed through His prophet Daniel:

"All you beasts, wild and tame. bless the Lord; praise and exalt Him above all forever" [Dan 3:81].

Despite the fact that she wakes up hungry, Maddie usually lies at my feet, quietly and patiently. She always allows me time to read the paper and sip my coffee, thus setting an example for all of us who are called to wait patiently: 

"Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? Bur if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience" [Rom 8:24-25].

Eventually, though, she lets her stomach speak. She sits up, wags her tail enthusaistically, stares at me intently, and utters a series of muted but mildly irritating high-pitched whines. This, she has learned, motivates the lazy, distracted me to act. In truth I see myself as little better than the unjust judge of the parable, pestered by the widow who won't cease requesting justice:

"...because this widow keeps bothering me I shall deliver a just decision for her lest she finally come and strike me" [Lk 18:5].

Take some time to read and meditate on the entire parable [Lk 18:1-8]. There is much good to be found there.

And of course, as Maddie realizes, it is only just that I who accepted the responsibility to care for her, should be willing to feed her when she is hungry.

After eating, Maddie most often curls up in her little bed and rests for a while. Like Our Lord, she seems to know that both food and rest are necessary for the disciple who does God's work:

"He said to them, 'Come away by yourselves to a deserted place and rest a while.' People were coming and going in great numbers, and they had no opportunity even to eat" [Mk 6:31].

But it's not long, perhaps another half-hour, before she again lets me know -- more wagging, staring, and whining -- that it's time for our morning walk. The length of our walks varies, determined largely by the weather. But most Florida mornings are pleasant enough to allow for a longish walk, say 30 to 60 minutes. 

Walking, of course, is a good thing, depending on its purpose. For me it offers a time and place for prayer and an opportunity to contemplate God's greatness through His gifts.

"Arise, walk through the land, across its length and breadth, for I give it to you" [Gen 13:17].

"And walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave Himself up for us, a fragrant offering and a sacrifice to God"  [Eph 5:2].

During these walks Maddie and I converse about all kinds of things. In fact, a few of the neighbors, have occasionally remarked, "Oh, yes, I hear you when you walk your dog, talking to her. How interesting..." I suspect that someone, somewhere in the vast bureaucratic wasteland we politely call "government", has started a file with my name on it. Conspiracy theory? I don't think so.

But did you know that "experts" -- that is, those who spend taxpayer money on such things -- claim that the average intelligent dog has a vocabulary of upwards of 200 words? I don't find this at all surprising. My conversations with Maddie during our walks only confirm this -- something, by the way, I concluded without expending a single tax dollar. 

Let me describe a typical conversation during one of these early morning walks. (Note: Maddie is an adept at what the experts call non-verbal communication, and her expertise is bi-directional: she both "sees" what I'm saying and communicates through both expression and posture.)

When I mention the word "walk" and she hears the noise associated with my retrieval of harness and leash, she heads for the front door. Overflowing with excitement, she begins the game of hiding from the harness. This "game" lasts only a few seconds, but it must be played. Once the harness is on, I tell her to "shake" which she does in a remarkable display of bodily control, a rapid progression of high-speed shakes that moves from head to tail in less than two seconds. Leash attached, she moves to the door, but glances at me over her right shoulder, and I hear the words, "OK, I'm ready. No hesitation. Let's move." And I'm reminded of the need always to be enthusiastic in our faith. When that which is good calls, there should be no hesitation:

"Never flag in zeal, be aglow with the Spirit, serve the Lord" [Rom 12:11]

"He said to them, 'Come after me, and I will make you fishers of men.' At once they left their nets and followed Him" [Mt 4:19-20]

When we reach the end of the driveway, I ask her, "Which way today?" She looks right, then left, and finally decides. 

Again, without hesitation she moves down the street with obvious purpose. 

I jokingly accuse Maddie of suffering from that dreaded canine syndrome, OCS, or Obsessive Compulsive Sniffing. I've learned to live with it and allow her to apply fully her remarkable olfactory talents. The process engages her so completely that all other sensory inputs seem to be ignored. If I speak to her, even using words that would normally bring an instant reaction -- for example, "treat" or "doggie" -- she doesn't react but continues to sample the scents left behind by other of God's creatures. At some point she decides she knows all there is to know and reengages with me. Watching her I'm reminded of St. Paul's advice to stay focused: 

"I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Let those of us who are mature be thus minded; and if in anything you are otherwise minded, God will reveal that also to you" [Phil 3:14-15]

This morning, as we sniffed our way along one of the neighborhood streets, we encountered Angel and her master. Angel, a small terrier-like dog, is both blind and deaf, and navigates using her sense of smell alone. Maddie seems to understand Angel's disability and always approaches her gingerly so as not to surprise her. Angel senses Maddie's presence at some distance and turns toward us. They sniff noses and share friendly canine greetings. To Maddie Angel's disability is nothing strange, nothing remarkable. She doesn't shy away. She doesn't avoid her. She treats her just as she would any other dog, with enthusiasm. What a lesson for us. Read Mark's narrative of the healing of the blind Bartimaeus at the gate of Jericho. Note the condescending way the disciples treated this blind man:

"On hearing that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to cry out and say, 'Jesus, son of David, have pity on me.' And many rebuked him, telling him to be silent. But he kept calling out all the more, 'Son of David, have pity on me.' Jesus stopped and said, 'Call him.' So they called the blind man, saying to him, 'Take courage; get up, he is calling you'" [Mk 10:47-49].

Read the complete narrative [Mk 10:48-52] and then ask yourself, "Who is the true disciple here?" Perhaps the so-called disciples should take a lesson from Maddie.

I won't bore you with more of my conversations with Maddie. But I trust she will continue to educate me, continue to show me God's Word in action. She's quite a dog.

 (Just a quick aside for all you cat lovers out there. The largest of dogs can still be a faithful companion, the kind one would trust with a small child. But large cats simply don't posses a nature compatible with domestication. Would you leave a child in the care of a Cheetah? The loyalty of even most small cats is greatly suspect, and seems more directed to self than to another...just one man's opinion.)

Doggone Disciples

Did you hear about the dyslexic, agnostic insomniac? He stayed awake all night wondering if there was a dog.

Okay, it's an old, tired joke, but it popped into my still half-asleep brain a few early mornings ago as I walked through our neighborhood accompanied by our dog, a little Bichon Frise named Maddie. She's an interesting little creature. Generally predictable in her behavior, every so often she surprises me by doing something unexpected.

Ready to Walk!

For example, it's not unusual for us to spend five minutes walking only 100 yards. Like most dogs, Maddie investigates the world largely through her remarkable sense of smell. Our neighborhood is home to many dogs and a few cats, but it's also the habitat of squirrels, rabbits, possums, armadillos, and even the dreaded coyote. And each one of these critters leaves a scent behind as it roams the streets and passes through the yards and common areas. Maddie, of course, must investigate these residual odors, every single one of them, which apparently linger for days. Since it's one of her few pleasures in life, I usually let her sniff. Sometimes we'll walk for an hour, but cover only a mile.

But the other morning, as Maddie completed her examination of a small shrub, she suddenly snapped to attention and focused on a woman approaching us. This isn't unusual behavior since Maddie enjoys meeting people and often sits down on the sidewalk to await their arrival. But this woman was more than 100 yards away, and Maddie wasn't sitting patiently but was shaking, almost dancing, with anticipation. As the woman neared, Maddie's excitement only increased. When the woman arrived, Maddie sat down and looked up at her expectantly. "She remembers me," the woman said with a laugh and reached into her coat pocket to retrieve a treat. That's when I remembered and understood.

Over the years we've encountered this woman perhaps three, maybe four times, and each time she gave Maddie a treat. She bakes little doggie cookies and takes them with her on her morning walks. I, of course, had forgotten her, but not Maddie. She recognized this woman from a distance and knew exactly what awaited her.

Now this was all very interesting, but not particularly surprising. After all, dogs have excellent memories. It was what followed that amazed me.

While Maddie enjoyed her treat, the woman continued her walk at a brisk pace. By the time Maddie realized her benefactor had left us, she was 100 yards away and moving quickly. So Maddie began to follow -- no sniffing, no glancing left or right -- focused entirely on the source of this good. For the next half-mile we moved as we have rarely moved before -- Maddie in the lead, tugging at the leash the entire time. We had almost caught up with her when the woman turned into her driveway and entered her home. Maddie stood still, staring intently at the house as if she were committing it to memory.

Later, as Maddie continued her walk home, once again sniffing and watering the flora, I considered what I had just witnessed. This little dog continues to teach me, and this time she offered a lesson in discipleship.

I thought of Bartimaeus, the blind beggar of Jericho who sat by the city gate hoping for a miracle. Take a moment to read again this wonderful passage from Mark's Gospel [Mk 10:46-52]:

They came to Jericho. And as he was leaving Jericho with his disciples and a sizable crowd, Bartimaeus, a blind man, the son of Timaeus, sat by the roadside begging. On hearing that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to cry out and say, "Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me." And many rebuked him, telling him to be silent. But he kept calling out all the more, "Son of David, have mercy on me." Jesus stopped and said, "call him." So they called the blind man, saying to him, "Take courage; get up, he is calling you." He threw aside his cloak, sprang up, and came to Jesus. Jesus said to him in reply, "What do you want me to do for you?" The blind man replied to him, "Master, I want to see." Jesus told him, "Go your way; your faith has saved you." Immediately he received his sight and followed him on the way.

Blind Bartimaeus Leaps to His Feet

Like Maddie, as she awaited the arrival of the one who would provide her with nothing but good, Bartimaeus heard that Jesus was about to pass by and could hardly control himself.

He called out, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me." Yes, filled with the Holy Spirit, he called out repeatedly, loudly, and enthusiastically. Bartimaeus knew that Jesus, and only Jesus, offered what he thought he needed to be whole: his sight.

Maddie recognized the one who approached and knew her desire would be satisfied. Unable to speak, she simply danced for joy.  

Bartimaeus received his sight and is told, "Go your way, your faith has saved you." With that, Jesus continued on His journey to Jerusalem where He suffered the death that would save of all humanity.

But did Bartimaeus go his way? No, he followed Jesus on The Way. More important than his physical sight was his spiritual sight, and this, too, he received from Jesus. Before he met the Lord on that dusty road in Jericho, he was blind, unable to see the way he was called to travel...but afterwards? He dropped everything, including his beggar's cloak, and followed the Lord with the total abandon of the true disciple.

Maddie preaching (or yawning?)

As I hurried along behind Maddie, her little legs moved by a determination to follow the one who had rewarded her, I thought of Bartimaeus and realized that my little dog, like everything that enters my life, is a gift from God. And from her I can get a glimpse of true discipleship in action.

I came to appreciate that the disciple must ignore the world's distractions, all those enticing things that sprout up on either side of the path we are called to follow. When Jesus issues the call and says, "Follow me," the true disciple responds with singular focus. This isn't easy in today's world, a world in which we compartmentalize our lives, a world that encourages us to keep our faith private. But the disciple is called to "Go, make disciples of all nations...", something that can't be done in private.

As a dog, Maddie lacks all those human inhibitions that conspire to keep us from displaying and proclaiming our faith to the world. She simply decides that the good she seeks is greater than anything else the world can provide, and she just goes for it! Would that you and I could be so focused, so determined to follow Jesus on the Way.

It's a Dog's World

For almost three years Diane and I have shared our home with a wonderful little dog named Maddie. Now almost nine years old she is a rescued Bichon Frise who has seemingly adapted well to our household. Last evening I took a photo of of her doing what she does best (below). As you can see, she makes herself comfortable wherever she likes, and in this instance has made good use of one of Diane's Christmas pillows and a red throw. The deep dents in the white sofa cushions are the result of her testing out various napping spots. She prefers the extra-soft, down-filled cushions on the living room sofa and chairs...as do I. Fortunately, Bichons don't shed so I need not follow her around with a vacuum cleaner.

Maddie's a very happy little critter and complains only when we leave her alone for more than a few moments. She also smiles a lot which is a common trait among Bichons, a remarkably sociable and friendly breed. Right now she's resting on the bed in the guest bedroom from which she has a commanding view of our front yard. She seems to believe her primary job is to warn us when anyone steps foot on the property. I consider this adequate work for her room and board; but because she also offers us real affection, we provide her with all kinds of tasty treats -- a true symbiotic relationship.

Among her favorite treats are the large sized milk-bones (see photo below), the kind marketed to big dogs. But when given one of these treats Maddie won't eat it, at least not right away. She will walk throughout the house, milk-bone sticking out of her mouth, sometimes for an hour or more. Then she'll usually "bury" it under a throw pillow and retrieve it the next day. Eventually she will eat it but not before completing this ritual of instinctive canine behavior.

Maddie and I walk together for a mile or two every morning and every evening. The Villages is home to many dogs, so we often encounter several as we stroll through the surrounding neighborhoods. Interestingly, Maddie has never barked or growled at or tried to attack another dog, regardless of the other dog's attitude. Based on her reaction to the dogs we encounter, I've concluded that she places dogs in one of three categories. 

First, there are the nasty little -- and some not so little -- dogs. They represent perhaps 20% of the dogs we meet on our walks and include the small yappers and ankle-biters that really care little for other living beings. The category also includes a few -- and only a few -- large dogs that view other dogs as prey. For example, we sometimes encounter a large Akita who growls whenever it sees another human or canine. Maddie senses the nastiness of all these dogs long before they approach and simply encourages me to avoid them.

Maddie seems to lump many other dogs into the second category. These are the indifferent dogs and represent maybe a third of the dogs we meet. Maddie tries to approach them, wagging her tail in friendship, but they simply ignore her and continue on. These rejections of her offered affection always seem to surprise her. but she quickly puts it behind her. 

The final category includes what I call the dogs with good hearts, the dogs that simply enjoy the presence of humans and other dogs. Maddie herself falls in this category, so I suppose it's natural that she would gravitate to others of her kind. When she spots one approaching, she will often just sit down and wait for them to arrive. They then sniff and play and enjoy each other.

As an aside, I've often noticed that the person on the other end of the leash mimics the behavior of the dog (or vice versa): grumpy, indifferent and happy dogs tend to be accompanied by grumpy, indifferent or happy human beings respectively.

Speaking of happy dogs, someone recently sent me a link to a video of a rescued Pit Bull named Brinks who smiles constantly -- certainly among the happiest-looking dogs I've ever seen.  I've included two videos of Brinks, the one my friend sent me and another of Brinks walking through his Brooklyn neighborhood. This is one neat dog who has apparently become a YouTube celebrity.






Actually, the Pit Bull is a wonderful breed, a naturally friendly and protective dog that makes an excellent family pet. Sadly the breed has been often mistreated and misused by far too many people resulting in its rather bad reputation. In fact, one neighborhood dog is part Pit Bull and he and Maddie have become fast friends. He's about four times her size but that doesn't seem to bother her at all. His name happens to be Trump (no relation), a name he was given long before the onset of the recent presidential race. On our twice-daily walks Maddie insists we go out of our way to visit Trump. 

Over the years our family has been blessed by many good dogs, both large and small, but I really think little Maddie is my favorite. 

By the way, according to the Harvard Health blog: “The evidence reviewed by the AHA indicates that dog owners are more likely to exercise, have a better cholesterol profile, have lower blood pressure, be less vulnerable to the physical effects of stress, and be more likely to survive a heart attack.” Sounds like a good reason to bring a dog into your life.

Gone to the Dogs

My life has changed drastically since we  adopted our dog, Maddie. I now join her on two-mile walks twice daily, once in the early morning and again in the afternoon. My days, once relatively free and and far less predictable, have now become as regulated as the German rail system. Contributing to this change, Dear Diane gave me a FitBit for Christmas. This clever little wristwatch-like device provides me with a wealth of health-related facts. I now know how many steps I take daily (always between 11,000 and 16,000), my heart rate, the miles I've walked, and all sorts of other data. I'm told the American Heart Association recommends walking at least 10,000 steps daily. After two months with this device I suspect the American Association of Funeral Directors recommends a minimum of 11,000.

Maddie - 5 am Wake-up

In truth these walks with Maddie have been a delight, even though the morning edition sometimes starts long before dawn. On Thursday mornings, for example, Diane and I must be at the soup kitchen by 6:30 so I set the alarm for 5:00. This gives Maddie and me enough time for our 45-minute walk in the early morning darkness. Maddie dislikes being taken from her bed so early, but adjusts well after a few full-body stretches and gaping yawns. Within a few minutes she's at the door, ready to go. She and I leave the house promptly at 5:10 and wander through our neighborhood enjoying the pre-dawn silence.

For Maddie a walk in the dark is really no different from a walk in the noonday sun. She's just happy to be out in the world where she can enjoy its variety of smells and sounds. Unlike most people, the average dog is easy to please. If a dog enjoys something, it never tires of it. Indeed, dogs seem to thrive in a well-regulated, habit-driven environment.

Maddie is a rescued Bichon Frise, already six years old when she entered our home. Her life during those first six years is a complete mystery to Dear Diane and me, so we cut her a lot of slack and just enjoy her uniqueness. And, believe me, she arrived with her own personalized bundle of neuroses. For example, she dislikes riding in the car, but loves to ride in the golf cart. Of course, she's usually restrained in the backseat of the car, but sits next to me or on my lap in the golf cart. Her aversion to the car might also have something to do with the 7,000 mile, cross-country road trip we took just two weeks after she joined our little family. 

Ready to Walk

We, of course, break all the rules of dog ownership. She sleeps with us on our king-size bed, and for someone who weighs only 15 pounds, seems to take up a lot of room. She also demands long stretches of belly-rubbing each morning before rising. Of course, Diane obliges.

Maddie's also rather un-doglike in her eating habits. We feed her twice daily, after her morning and late afternoon walks, but she'll often leave a bowlful of food uneaten for hours. On Thursday, for example, we filled her bowl at 6 a.m. and it hadn't been touched when we returned from the soup kitchen at 1 p.m. I've never known a dog to do that. All our previous dogs treated each meal as if it were their last. And yet, once Maddie realized we were home for the day, she went into the kitchen and emptied her bowl. It would seem she associates eating with our presence, although oddly she will not eat if either of us are in the same room. It's all quite perplexing, but there's more.

Maddie likes most humans and really doesn't discriminate. If  she spots a dog-less person walking toward us she will often sit down and wait. When the person finally arrives she excitedly offers licks and hugs. She's this way with everyone...except one man, who lives a few blocks away. Whenever Maddie sees him she utters one of those low growls, and if he approaches she barks at him. It's all very strange since she acts this way with no one else. Makes you wonder, doesn't it?

When it comes to dogs, however, she's far more circumspect. On our walks, she'll approach other dogs but always gingerly. If the other is friendly, she responds accordingly; but if she senses hostility -- and there are many little, ankle-biting Yorkies here in The Villages -- she simply backs off and avoids the offensive creature. I've seen her bark and growl at another dog only once, and he was particularly nasty old dog. Interestingly, she seems to have developed a crush on a little neighborhood Westie named Odie. It was love at first sight and has continued. If their paths cross she rushes toward him excitedly, and if we pass by his home she stares hopefully at the front door. 

Maddie has no street smarts whatsoever. Before crossing the street she doesn't check for cars, but just goes. Our other dogs seemed to realize that moving cars are large, fast, and potentially deadly objects, things to avoid. Fortunately, I still have the will to live and always restrain her on a leash. So far neither of us have been squished by a speeding SUV.

I offer these thoughts today for those considering bringing a dog into your home, especially those of you who, like Dear Diane and me, are retired. Owning a dog in retirement is far different from owning one with a houseful of children. Maddie has been a wonderful addition to our home, but a needy and demanding addition. And while your life with a dog will change drastically, I know Diane will agree that in our case the change has been a delightful one. Maddie, who sleeps at my feet as I type, is definitely a keeper. I trust she feels the same about us.