Daily Dose of Cute

Dudz, completely spent from chasing his BFF Sam, lies on the ground panting until he hears another dog coming into the dogpark. He rolls up into an alert position, but can't be arsed to actually get up. He watches the front gate with interest, panting. As the new dogs come in—another greyhound, Rocco, and his little brother Hugo, a border collie-great dane mix—Iain and I talk idly. trying to identify them from across the park. As they run in, Dudz stands up. "Go get 'em, Dudz," we both say. "Look, there's Sam, Dudz," I say, as Sam chases a ball in the background. "Go see Sam!" The wind blows. Dudley licks his lips, then suddenly takes off like a shot to the center of the park, where Sam, Rocco, and Hugo have convened. "There he goes," I say, as his tail windmills him to a stop in the distance.

An interesting thing happened at the dog park this weekend: First, on Saturday, an English bulldog got inexplicably fixated on Iain and just started barking at him, not threateningly really, but aggressively annoying. Dudley was having none of that, and wandered over from where he'd been lolling about in the grass to sternly bark at the bulldog in return. Just enough to shut him up, and that was that.

Then, on Sunday, a guy came in with an 8-month-old border collie who likes to JUMP! and JUMP!s like he's made of springs, and also JUMP!s right at your face in order that he may LICK! it. The pup's frenetic jumping (which was not exactly discouraged by his owner, who shrugged it off with, "He likes to jump," to which Iain replied, "No kidding!") sent all the Two-Legs off-kilter, which of course made all the dogs unhappy with the collie. I just stood in my spot, projecting calm in the hope that it might infect the collie.

Well, he liked my calm, all right, and decided the safest place in the park was right at my feet. Big dogs crashed into me in pursuit of the collie, and I nearly fell over. The collie ran and JUMP!ed some more, and got chased some more, and came back to my feet again. More crashing. More almost falling. It was all a matter of seconds.

Dudley was displeased. He came over and stood beside me and blocked all dogs from further contact, nudging the collie away. Not aggressive; just firm. "That's enough of that," his expression seemed to say, and I swear if he could have raised a single dogbrow in smug displeasure, he would have.

He's not a jealous dog: Iain and I pet and play with other dogs at the dog park all the time. He is, however, apparently protective when he needs to be. He just never needed to be before.

Good to know.

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Daily Dose of Cute

Video Description: Footage of Dudley playing with his friend Sam at the dog park last weekend. Set to Yann Tierson's "Yellow."

I've written previously about the sweet friendship that has developed between Dudley and a black lab called Sam who we see at the dog park. Sam lost his companion dog last fall, and he's not great with other dogs; it's not that he's aggressive toward them or afraid of them—he just has no interest in them, or, perhaps more accurately, has less interest in them than in chasing a ball. And Dudley has no interest in chasing a ball, or engaging in the tumbling rough-house favored by the other big dogs, but he loves to chase.

The two of them, who couldn't have more different personalities—Sam is utterly disinterested in people and affection; Dudley adores people and seeks out affection from anyone who will give it—have formed this sort of perfect, complementary friendship. Sam's owner throws the ball; Sam chases the ball; Dudley chases Sam.

The casual observer might think they don't interact at all, really, or even that Sam might be annoyed by Dudley, but if Dudz wanders off to get some water, Sam, who just gulps big mouthfuls of snow without slowing down, will run over impatiently, spinning in joyful, frenetic circles to get Dudz back in the game. And occasionally, instead of returning the ball, Sam will leave it in snow and then cheekily take off running while Dudley investigates it, just to get a head start on him.

They are lovely to watch, these two big-hearted creatures who, without a word, have found a way to give each other exactly what they need.

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Daily Dose o' Cute

Video Description: Dudz at the dogpark this weekend with greyhound friends Suzie and Triton, beagle Becky (I think that was her name; I may be misremembering), and basenji Hatchi. Also playing with a pack of shelties, and playing tag with Iain. Set to Michael Nyman's "Here to There."

That little beagle is the most adorable thing! And so brave! Dudley and Triton were chasing her around that little bridge for ages, and every time they'd stop, she'd run after Dudley to get him to chase her again. The original track on that video is just her owner, Triton and Suzie's owner, and Iain and me laughing uproariously while watching them.

Some still pix from the dog park below the fold (on most browsers)...


Dudley and Emma.


Dudley in motion.


It's really hard to get good pix of him in action! This is why.


Dudley and Sam.


All tuckered out.

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Daily Dose o' Cute

Video Description: Dudley runs around the dog park on a truly beautiful autumn afternoon, with some of his friends: Dash the Australian Shepherd, Emma the American Bulldog, and her older brother (whose name I don't know), and Sam the Labrador. Set to Yann Tiersen's Comptine d'Un Autre Été: L'après-midi.

My battery ran out before I got any great video of Dudley and Sam running together, but there is a still shot of the two of them together at the end of the video. (And also below.)

As always, pix of all the furry residents of Shakes Manor below the fold (on most browsers)...


Dudley and Sam. In this picture, Dudley's caught in Iain's favorite position when he runs, where he's almost folded in half and his back legs actually stretch out in front of his front legs.


Dudley.


Sophie, aka Monitor Cat.


Olivia.


Matilda.

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I'll Run at Your Side

"That guy coming in now—he's my friend. He had to put his other dog down earlier this week."

Iain and I shifted our gazes from the man standing beside us toward the entrance to the dog park. A white man in his early middle age had just come in with a beautiful black lab at his side. The other dogs, as is their usual habit, ran to the gate to greet the new arrival, who had no particular interest in greeting them. Sam, as we later found out he is called, held fast to his person's side. All he wanted was for his person to throw the ball! throw the ball! throw the ball!

His person accommodated him, launching a tennis ball over and over across the field, which Sam would pursue with singular determination.

It's not totally unusual to find a dog at the dog park who ignores everything else to concentrate exclusively on retrieving. What was unusual about this pair was the silence with which they executed the ritual. There was no excited encouragement, no plaintive and excited barking. It was a perfunctory motion, steeped in grief.

Dudley, bred to run sprints not marathons, was already lying in the grass, panting after having run around a lot already with Buck. And he is resoundingly disinterested in chasing balls or playing with dogs who don't want to interact in any meaningful way.

But something compelled him to get back on his feet and run with Sam.

Dudley, who doesn't care a whit about running after balls, started nonetheless running after Sam every time Sam went after a ball. Over and over and over. Back and forth they ran across the field, Sam chasing the ball and Dudley chasing Sam.

And doing it with a stamina and intensity I've never seen.

He stuck to Sam like glue, and I was a little worried at first that he was being a pest, but Sam didn't seem to mind.

When Dudley finally could run no more, he came over to us with his "I'm ready to go now" look. Sam's owner approached us and patted Dudley's head, complimenting him on what a handsome boy he is. And then, in the way that dog owners have of talking to other dog owners by talking to their dogs, he said, "Thank you for running with Sam today, Dudley. Sam's buddy died unexpectedly this week, and he hasn't had anyone to play with."

Iain and I expressed our condolences.

Sam's owner kept talking to Dudley, while stroking his head. He told him that Sam wasn't very good with other dogs: "But you figured out how to keep him company."

Dudley, his paws stained green with grass stains and the pads of his feet engorged and red from running, leaned against Iain's leg and stood quietly receiving this affection and gratitude.

Sam's owner patted his head one last time before he wandered away, back to throwing the ball for Sam, who was still going. "Go get it, Sam!" he shouted.

I looked down at Dudley, who was so very tired, and told him what a good boy he is.

There are things I had hoped for and things I expected when we adopted Dudley—but though I have read abundant stories of people who learned something from or experienced something profound with their dogs, that was not one of my hopes nor one of my expectations. I hoped and expected to love Dudley vastly and boundlessly, and I do. But I never imagined how capable of moving me, how able to exhort me to a better self, such a silly, awkward collection of legs and ears could be.

I can be someone who does not run away from grief, or squirm in its presence, but runs alongside its bearers, steadily and tirelessly. I'm pretty sure I could have been, anyway, but it was my lovely dog who made me sure, who made me see, on a Saturday afternoon at the dog park, how easy it is to just Be There.

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