Dog Therapy 101: Beyond Pavlov

Dogsitting is odd. My lack of a day job means I'm free to chill with the pooches for long hours. They get walks and attention at times of day that they are unfamiliar with. I feel like I'm disrupting their routine. But it's been interesting. Being away from home, having this spacious apartment all to myself, having a chance to be quiet with canine company has let me sink a bit deeper.

I'm noticing things about their personalities. Hudson is older and fixed. I imagine the whole emasculation thing would cause a personality change in anyone. He's more mellow and quiet, though he still oddly humps things on rare occasions. Percy, on the other hand, is a complete nutbar who bears constant watching. His fondest desire is to take things apart. He noses under the sofa cushions as if convinced he'll find a canine version of Davy Jones' locker crammed with kibble. Left alone too long, he'll worry a rug until a strand comes loose and then pull out row upon row of yarn. When you catch him, he'll look up at you as if to say, "Dude! I figured it out!"

He reminds me of... well... me. As a child, I always needed to understand how things worked and I'd hoard the most random treasures. The click pens in our house never worked because I'd unscrew the barrels and take them apart and get fascinated by the springs. They seemed to me to be miniature slinkys. I'd push them down on the table with my thumb and, without fail, the tension would twist them sideways and they'd launch across the room, never to be seen again. My parents modified their writing grip to hold the button on top of the pen down with their thumbs.

Legos were my favorite toy, in part because they were just as much fun to dismantle as they were to put together. I disassembled calculators, wristwatches, anything I could get my hands on. I think my parents brought me up short when they caught me approaching the microwave with a Phillips screwdriver. Thinking back, it's a wonder they're still sane and functioning considering the number of times I raided their dresser drawers on treasure hunts. I collected foreign coins from past trips. I found my dad's one-inch black and white mini-TV, and we spent about a year taking it back and forth from each other. Aspergum became my favorite treat.

My sister told me recently that we needed to get together and talk, because her eldest son seems to be exactly like me and she has no idea how to deal with it sometimes. Since that chat, I pray for them both every day. They need it.

I hope, though, that I'm becoming more like Hudson and less like Percy. I hope I no longer piss in the dish I drink from. I hope I've learned to respond to the tugs on my leash more rapidly and calmly. I hope that I'm taking more time to curl up on the top of the couch and look out the window just to see what there is to see. I hope I'm understanding that not everything must be analyzed and deconstructed and conquered and possessed to be valued. In short, I hope I'm growing up without losing the wonder of a puppy.

Maybe those metaphors don't work for you. That's OK. If not, just be amazed with me at the way insights come in the oddest packages.