I have a blog because I got a dog. Sparky is a great dog and I can go on about him. I have a blog so I can write about having a dog without boring everyone to death. I can’t imagine how a mundane article like this gets column space in the Wall Street Journal, but of course I read it.
I am not now, nor have I ever been, a dog person. One of my earliest memories of a dog is from when I was around 5 years old and a neighbor’s golden retriever knocked me face-first into the concrete.
One of my earlier memories is being bitten by a white German shepherd in Karl’s Kiesle’s yard while we were playing hide-and-seek. I was bitten on the thigh, so Mrs. Kiesle asked me to pull my pants down so she could take a look at it. To a modern person, that sounds inappropriate and creepy. Actually, it was a pragmatic German mom evaluating an injury and treating it as necessary. I may have gotten a few stitches and I don’t recall if the dog was tested for anything.
Doesn’t matter, I’ve always been a dog person, at least partly because dogs always look great in photos. Dogs are like cartoon animals. Whatever emotion they portray, it’s written all over them. If a dog is angry, sanguine, happy, excited or contrite, it’s obvious.
As an adult, I harbored both a mild fear of dogs and a major irritation at their seemingly entitled owners who would bring them into places they don’t belong, let them invade my personal space and then say, “She’s friendly!”
This journalist should stay out of Paris. Cats wonder down the bar as patrons are enjoying a nice glass of wine. That’s disgusting. I was a little surprised how, post-Covid, people bring their dogs into stores. Pre-Covid, people would buy a “service dog” vest on Amazon, and pretend like the dog had some role in medical care. By law, that assertion can’t be questioned. It was getting ridiculous, but now, it’s seems like everyone gave up on the issue.
Sparky is a delight, but nobody should ever assume a dog is friendly and owners should stop saying that.
A GSP (Golden shorthaired pointer), as they’re often called, isn’t a starter dog like a golden retriever or a bernedoodle. It’s a dog bred for hunting, with so much energy it’s hard to imagine it unless you’ve spent real time with one.
A few months later, I was looking at litters of GSP puppies—just for fun, I told myself. Then I reached out to a breeder named Amelia Brockelbank in Alpharetta, Ga., and soon we were having regular phone conversations.
Unbelievable. A tech journalist who doesn’t much like dogs, decides to get a high maintenance puppy with zero research from a breeder 2500 miles away.
I’m not a cautious person, but there is an assumption of duty when accepting responsibility for a living being. I talked to every dog owner I know to figure out I should get a male dog, not a puppy and a beagle mix for temperament.
The transition into full-on dog mom was swift. My Instagram feed was soon full of Bo’s antics: Bo asleep on the couch with his legs so straight I call it his rigor mortis pose; Bo tagging along while I clambered up Snowmass mountain on skis at sunrise; Bo leaping in the air with the backdrop of the Golden Gate Bridge.
Bo is no doubt a handsome dog, but this just reaffirms my decision to get off social media. Also, notice the humble bragging the author inserts in that sentence.
The first signs of trouble came when Bo was around 8 months old. He jumped out the car window after getting a whiff of a milkshake on the side of the road, ran across four lanes of traffic and relieved himself at a gas station before I was able to get him back.
Notice how the author takes no responsibility?
The $470 emergency room visit after he inhaled the better part of three slices of Indian-seasoned pizza was when I knew I was in over my head. Much of a dog’s behavior, of course, is a reflection on its owner, and I admit there was no shortage of mistakes I made.
Every anecdote describes another mistake made by the journalist. How did the dog eat three slices of pizza without intervention? Taking the dog to an animal emergency room seems excessive. Let the dog eat some grass, mope around, vomit, then two days later, the pup would be fine.
Around the time that Bo hit adolescence and seemed to forget all the training we’d done, he started having consecutive bouts of a parasite, which required me to sanitize my entire apartment. I lost count of the vet trips, canceled vacations and the number of times I stood alone on the streets of San Francisco at 3 a.m. with him wondering why I had ruined my otherwise responsibility-free life. GSPs can be a “vocal” breed, and Bo whined constantly, no matter how much I seemed to do for him. Some nights the whining got so bad, I’d go sit in my car and cry.
Oh good Lord. Count the bad judgement in that paragraph.
She brought a high energy puppy to live in an apartment in a dense city. Being a WSJ tech reporter, she probably can work from home, but she must travel a good deal. How much time is that dog spending in the crate?
Why is she standing alone in the middle of the night in the shit smeared streets of San Francisco? Perhaps that’s where the parasites came from. Dogs can be pad trained, and usually are when living in an apartment. Sanitizing the apartment wouldn’t have been my go-to move.
The journalist must have had a responsibility-free life, because she isn’t good at it. Why would she bring a “vocal” breed into an apartment building? No mention of the other tenants. She seems to have trained Bo to whine to get whatever he wants.
In my lowest moment, I googled, “When is it time to rehome a dog?” Why had I ruined my life with this idiotic choice, I thought. I don’t even like dogs!
Notice the passive voice in “rehome”. She should admit that she failed the dog and wanted to give him up for adoption.
It’s never explained why she got a dog. I don’t know why anyone does. Getting a dog is a huge responsibility that is completely unnecessary. Sure, one can inherit a dog. Otherwise, it’s an elective complication. I’ve always loved dogs, and having recently retired, have the time and energy to take one on. Had I not gotten a dog now, I would live my life never having one. A single, working person acquiring a dog is almost certainly irresponsible. The dog is sentenced to spending most of the day alone.
Yet I never came close to giving Bo up. Part of it was not wanting to be someone who made a choice she wasn’t strong enough to handle. But more than that, I thought about my life before Bo and remembered how I was often lonely. Life before Bo was more free, but it was also less full.
Sounds like she came close. If she had a friend with a farm in the valley, Bo might have been gone.
A reason for not giving up on Bo was that she couldn’t bear to admit that she made a huge mistake about a living being without doing any research or critical thinking. It would be hard to think of oneself as a kind, compassionate soul after that.
Notice that she never looks at it from Bo’s point of view or her duty to him. It’s entirely about her.
It is a strange thing at this stage in life to have discovered a new kind of love. If I have a good day or a bad day, if I am cranky or if I am sweet, it doesn’t matter: In Bo’s eyes, I am worthy of only love. And in my eyes, despite everything we’ve been through, Bo is the best dog that has ever lived.
I don’t understand most of that paragraph. I really like having Sparky around, but it feels creepy to think of it as “a new kind of love”. In Sparky’s eyes, I fuck up a lot. He is constantly judging me, and I disappoint him often. Sparky doesn’t understand why I never let him drive my truck. He is frustrated when I make myself a hamburger, and don’t fire up one for him. Sparky figures I will eventually cave on giving him human food, so let’s just skip the part where I try to be responsible.
Bo is obviously not the best dog that has ever lived. Not even for her. She hasn’t met Sparky, so we can excuse that slur. Sparky would love shitting on a poop pad. Except for the whimpering noises he makes when he gets night terrors, he doesn’t make any noise. Sparky never gets parasites, even when he has a dead bird in his mouth. I think he’d like meeting hobos scattered around the Frisco streets, and his unapologetic good nature might turn some of their lives around.
She should have gotten a bird.