Paws and Reflect

by Neil S. Plakcy

  As she was leaving, she commented to me that she had also found her last dog running loose. This is a woman who lived in my neighborhood and drove a Mercedes. I thought to myself, Was it a purebred that you picked up somewhere when someone turned their back? It infuriated me. I thought, How dare you?

  When Liddlewun was diagnosed with cancer, I told my partner, Michael, that I wanted a third dog. He said, “Absolutely not. We do not need another dog.”

  I said, “I can’t imagine having just one dog.” I couldn’t imagine one of them being alone.

  On my birthday, March 11, I was walking through the mall, and in the pet store window was a little black and white Shih Tzu. I’d always gotten my Shih Tzus from a breeder. I know you’re not supposed to get dogs from pet stores. But I went in and asked if I could see the dog. The assistant put me in a private room, where you’re supposed to play with the dog for a few minutes to see if you want to buy it.

  I stayed for two hours.

  Michael worked at a Lexus dealership. While I was playing with the dog, Michael’s boss and his wife came into the store. I said, “What are you doing here?”

  They said, “We’re buying some toys for our dogs. What are you doing here?”

  I said, “Well, I’m just looking at this little dog.”

  Michael’s boss said, “You’ve got to have that dog. That is a beautiful dog.”

  He bought a stuffed, squeaky octopus, handed it to me, and said, “Here’s his first toy.”

  I went ahead and bought him, even though it was against Michael’s wishes. The only way I could think to break the news to Michael was to name him Lexus.

  I went to the dealership, and I had Lexus in my inside coat pocket. Michael came out and said, “What are you doing here?”

  I said, “Oh, I just came to visit.”

  His boss said, “He bought a Lexus.”

  Michael said, “What?”

  I said, “I did. I bought a Lexus.”

  He said, “If you bought a Lexus from any other dealership except this one, we need to talk.”

  I said, “I did buy a Lexus.”And I opened my coat.

  Michael looked at me and said, “You did not buy that animal.”

  “I did.”

  Michael was so upset that he would not speak to me. When he came home, he would not have anything to do with Lexus. But he was such a little puppy, and so playful, that he just stole Michael’s heart. Liddlewun and Blake were eighteen and fifteen, respectively. They were definitely part of the family, but they weren’t into hiding under the couch and running around the house the way Lexus did. Lexus is such a sweet dog who could win anyone over.

  In twenty-four hours Lexus was Michael’s dog. Michael said, “OK, OK, I was wrong. He’s beautiful and I love him.”

  Lexus’s next challenge was to win over the two older dogs. Liddlewun and Blake were so established in their routines that he had to make his way very carefully. He would run at them and try to play with them. But they had no interest. They looked at him like, “Who are you? You’re so little. You don’t even look like us. We don’t know why you’re here.”

  But after a while they started to say, “OK, you want to play?” Lexus put so much life back into the other dogs.

  And it was a good thing, because Liddlewun passed, and Blake and Lexus became best friends. In the beginning, when Liddlewun had just died, Blake really needed Lexus. And Lexus understood it. As much as he wanted to be crazy and run around, he would comfort Blake and let Blake rest his head on his shoulders. For a few minutes. Then he made Blake get up and play with him.

  Two years later, Blake was diagnosed with cancer. We would all miss him so much, but Michael and I had each other. When Blake died, Lexus would be alone. He would lose his best buddy, and I didn’t want that.

  I think it’s important that if you are going to take on the responsibility of an animal, you give him the best care possible, just as you would a child. So I knew I had to get Lexus a friend. I decided to go to the supposed number-one breeder in the state. I called and asked if she had any males for sale.

  She said, “Yes, I have two left in the litter, and they will be available in one more week.”

  I drove and drove and drove; it was a couple of hours away. There were two absolutely beautiful dogs—very, very small. The female had already been promised, but the male was available.

  The husband jokingly told me that the male was a spider monkey. He’s a brindle color, and he has the most beautiful face, almost like a little monkey.

  I took him home. He was so tiny that he fit in the palm of my hand. He weighed less than one pound. I called him Trés Bien, French for “very good, ” or Trey for short. I took him to the vet, and she was crazy about him. She said, “I’ve got to have one of these dogs. I want to buy one for my parents. It’s the most beautiful little dog I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  He was in perfect health. About a month later, I took him in for his checkup and shots. I said to the vet, “You know, he seems different from any Shih Tzu I’ve ever had. His hair hasn’t started growing up between his eyes.”

  That’s the long hair that you can pull up into a ponytail.

  She said, “Well, he’s the runt of the litter, he’s very small, and I think it’s going to take him a while before he starts to grow.”

  I waited, and about a month later I took him back. By then I was worried. I told her, “Maybe something’s wrong with him. His hair still hasn’t started growing.”

  She said, “There’s nothing wrong with him. Except that he’s not a Shih Tzu.”

  “What!”

  “He is definitely not a Shih Tzu. I think he’s a Tibetan Spaniel.”

  “Wait a minute. I just received his papers in the mail. He is a 100 percent registered AKC Shih Tzu. There were his parents’ names and numbers and all the registration information!”

  She said, “I’m telling you he’s a Tibetan Spaniel.”

  I went home and looked up the breed on the internet. She was right; my dog looked exactly like a Tibetan Spaniel.

  What should I do? I had wanted a Shih Tzu, but I was so in love with this little dog! Besides, he had taken full command of the household.

  I tried to reach the breeder, but she never returned my calls. .

  There was never any thought of returning him because he is the most adorable animal. He and Lexus are so close; they sleep nose to nose in the same bed. They play and roll around on the floor. They are so compatible.

  When I introduced Trey into the pack, he brought life back to Blake and Lexus. There was this young puppy, so full of energy, and the other dogs seemed to think, OK, we’ll go along with this until he leaves.

  But of course he never left.

  Trey is now two and a half years old. What blew my mind was that he is so agile. He can jump from the floor to the back of the sofa exactly like a cat.

  This dog has so many toys. But he is organized; he has a system. When he gets up in the morning, he takes every toy out from the bedroom to the living room. They stay there all day long, and he takes turns, playing with each toy. At night, about nine-fifteen, he starts collecting and transporting them to the bedroom. It’s almost like he knows when it’s time to put his toys away.

  If Trey’s toy rolls underneath the sofa or a chair where he can’t get it, he will sit and look at you and talk and talk and talk. He’ll go to the sofa, look underneath, and look up at you. He’ll do this again and again until he gives you this frustrated look that says, “Why don’t you get it?”

  He’s not barking. He’s trying to speak.

  He looks like a raccoon. His fur is a dark golden with a lot of black, and a red tone under his eyes and his face, like a mask. And on his legs and tail, he has almost like feathers. If you look at him walking from behind, he looks like he has on a pair of chaps.

  The dogs have grown up with our handful of friends as their family. When any friend comes to the door, they get so excited. Trey will run and get a toy and bring
it out, like he’s saying, “Here’s a present!” He gives each guest one of his toys.

  He’s so curious that he would follow anyone. I put a special set of tags on him that I had custom-made. It says, “My name is Trés Bien. If I have left home, it was not because I wanted to. I need to get back. There will be a huge reward.”And I put all of my phone numbers.

  When they sleep, they sleep on their backs. And they snore! They sleep in the bed with me. I would never think of telling them that they have to sleep on the floor. They know the routine.

  Michael and I had our home in Atlanta for fifteen years. Some very dear friends of ours wanted to buy a cabin, and they found this town in north Georgia called Blue Ridge. It’s so quaint, almost like Mayberry. It has a train depot, bike races, fishing competitions, concerts in the park, antique shops, log cabins and trail riding. They celebrate Smokey the Bear’s birthday like it’s a national holiday.

  We just fell in love with it and bought our home there. About a year ago I said to Mike, “We need to open a business in this town.” It was getting ready to explode. We bought a business in downtown Blue Ridge called Wrapsody in Blue. It’s a gift store with very high-end furniture and gifts. It’s been such a huge success that Michael moved there full time. It’s only about an hour and fifteen minutes from Atlanta.

  The dogs stay in the mountains with Michael. I’d love to move there full time, but to walk away from Indulgence would be kind of foolish at fifty years old. In Blue Ridge, Lexus and Trey have four acres where they can run. Mike can take them with him to the store with him, which is the perfect environment for them. They love the people coming in. They can walk around the store or just lay down and chill out.

  But I miss them horribly. I call them every night. Mike puts me on the speaker phone and I ask them how their day went. They actually respond. Mike said they always start looking at the door, as if saying, “Where is he? We don’t see him.”

  Dogs have a such a good sense of time. When I was up in Blue Ridge, I realized that at about six o’clock Trey would go to the front door and sit. And he would not move until Mike pulled up. He knew it was time for him to come home.

  I think it’s a sense that we as human beings aren’t aware of. It’s an internal, mysterious skill, like the way they know a storm is coming. Lexus is terrified of thunder. He’ll come and jump in my lap, looking at me like, “Something is going to happen.”And, sure enough, within about thirty minutes we’ll have a thunderstorm.

  The dogs have taught me about togetherness, about what it’s like being part of a couple. When you find your friend, you know it. We’re a family, but inside of the family, they’re a couple. They are uniquely attuned to one another’s needs. It’s a goal, to be that attuned. Like knowing when someone’s coming home, and when the sky is about to break apart with thunder. They have that perfect compatibility. Maybe it’s another thing we humans can’t know.

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  Hal Campbell: BABE, MY THREE-LEGGED HERO

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  Many dog lovers believe that dogs were placed on earth to teach us lessons—lessons about love, loyalty, and loss. Hal Campbell’s Beagle, Babe, had lessons to teach in abundance. Suffering from the complications of AIDS and the side effects of the drugs, Hal thought that he had the market locked on suffering—until he found a lump behind Babe’s head. The way she jumped at every chance to enjoy life—even after she lost a leg—inspired Hal to apply that same gusto to his own life, and to dedicate himself to loving more Beagles after Babe, even though he knows these dogs may outlive him.

  Dog ownership can provide many health benefits, from lower blood pressure to higher levels of serotonin. Studies have also shown that dogs can reduce stress levels in doctors’ and dentists’ offices. Pet-therapy programs exist at many hospitals around the country, helping patients recover more quickly and in better spirits.

  In San Francisco, people whose doctors believe a pet can improve the quality of their lives can officially register their dogs with the Animal Care and Control Agency as “assistance dogs.” Just like the canine companion of someone visually impaired, an assistance dog has the legal right to ride on the bus or in a taxi and to go into shops, restaurants and public buildings. The dog must be trained in some way that helps the patient—and that training can be as simple as licking the face of someone who’s depressed. Since beginning this registry in 1998, the City by the Bay has seen a big jump in the number of those who recognize how a dog can help those suffering from any impairment to their health--even something as invisible as high blood pressure or HIV infection.

  BABE STARED OUT the patio window and watched the rain splatter against the glass. Her posture was as perfect as it could be—considering that she only had three legs. What was she thinking? Were her thoughts focused on those years when she was young, healthy, and filled with boundless energy, eager to chase a ball or play tug-of-war over the bedraggled little stuffed bear that she protected so fiercely when she wasn’t chewing on it? Or did she wonder why all that pain was coursing through her body?

  Whatever her thoughts, when she turned away from the window after her long vigil, she focused her full attention on me. She sat a few feet from my recliner and tilted her head slightly. It was as if she was saying, “I know you hurt, too. I’m so sorry we can’t wrestle on the floor or go for walks like the old days. But we still have each other, and that’s all that really counts.”

  Of course, I knew that a certain amount of her attention toward me was motivated by her insatiable appetite. So with great effort I pushed the foot-rest-release pedal on the side of the recliner, grabbed my cane, and then forced myself upright. As I shuffled toward the kitchen, Babe followed, hopping on her remaining three legs like an excited rabbit.

  She never let me go into the kitchen alone, since she knew she had a fifty-fifty chance of getting a treat. I lifted the ceramic lid off the treat jar and retrieved a “gourmet” biscuit shaped like a fire hydrant. (The biscuits were truly labors of love baked by a friend whose landlord didn’t allow pets. ) I used to make her sit before I gave her a treat. But it became hard for her to maintain her balance due to the missing leg. She was no longer my personal circus performer. She got the treat for just simply being. Why make the surviving of daily life any harder than it needs to be?

  Surviving is something with which I am on intimate terms. In 1995, after enduring a long period of fatigue and weight loss, I got a complete physical examination. When all the blood test results came back, the diagnosis was conclusive: AIDS. The survival prognosis for most AIDS patients then was only eighteen months after beginning treatment. At that time I had two Beagles, and after I came out of my shell-shocked state, I thought about what would become of them after I was gone. But my fears about their future were soon put to rest when my two dearest friends— the “parents” of a Beagle acquired after they saw the pleasure I got from mine—assured me that they would gladly become a three-Beagle family.

  Two months later, the first of the protease inhibitors came out and I was one of the first patients to begin treatment with it. The long-term effects of the drugs were not known, but at that time the greatest focus was on extending a patient’s lifespan. A decade has now passed and I am still here. However, some of those early drugs did terrible damage to my liver. Now I need a new one, but because of my overall poor health, I can’t get approval for placement on a transplant waiting list. (You can be sick; you just can’t be too sick!) So now I’m biding my time until the end comes. But I have had a wonderful life, and the Beagles who have passed through it have been a major source of all the joy I have known.

  Maude, my first Beagle (named after a great-grandmother) arrived in 1969—a gift from a coworker whose Beagle couple had produced an unplanned litter. She brightened my life for nearly eighteen years, and when she died in 1987, I understood what people meant when they said they had lost their best friend. But by then I had learned of an organization that matched unwant
ed Beagles with people like me. I went to a dog show at the San Francisco Cow Palace and registered at a booth sponsored by the Beagle Rescue Society. Soon I got a call about a Beagle at the Alameda shelter. She had been found with no ID and was available for adoption. That was Cassie, followed by Claire, and then Chloe.

  It was Chloe I mourned for prior to Babe’s entrance into my life. By the time I was ready to open my heart to a new Beagle, the world had moved into the age of the personal computer. So instead of scanning newspaper ads or trekking from shelter to shelter, I merely had to log on to the Internet to check out the current residents being cared for by various animal shelters and rescue organizations. I found the site for the Sacramento SPCA and came upon Babe’s picture. I called and learned she was still homeless.

  Soon I was driving two hours to meet the Beagle whom I hoped would share my bed just like all those others before her. A volunteer brought her out to the waiting room. I wish that I could say that she leaped into my lap, but she couldn’t have been less impressed with me. She was far more interested in sniffing the rear ends of the other dogs in the room. But finally the novelty of that task wore off, and she began to acknowledge my presence. Although her aloof attitude irked me, at the same time I found it fascinating. This was going to be a unique relationship.