By Gates Murchie

Easy is a Black and Tan coonhound. Once possessed of UKC and AKC papers (lost during an unpleasant period of his life), he is a handsome fellow. In his 7-8 years, Easy passed through several kind and considerate families, a neglectful/abusive owner, a shelter, and a foster home before coming to us. He hunted, slept on sofas and was loved. He also endured starvation, freezing cold, a terrifying wound, a long rehabilitation and the constant threat of death. Yet he came out the other side with several thousand pounds of calm, considerate, canine wisdom in a seventy-eight pound body; Easy is a better person than I. 

Kind to all non-tree-climbing mammals, and our cats, Easy harbors no pre-conceived notions about others and judges only on behavior, not rumor, stereotype or prejudice. He cares not about feline nature, social station, physical limitation, past transgression, religious belief or political af filiation. A thinker of deep thoughts, he does not act precipitously, even in the face of social pressure, intimidation or implied force. Easy is the independent captain of his own ship; loyal to his friends, open and accepting of strangers, kind to children, intolerant of bullying, immune to bribes, and fierce in the face of hostility. I want to grow up to be like him.

     Others may “walk” their dogs, but close observation reveals that the dog on said walk is not having a very good time. The people stop, talk and socialize; the dogs aren’t allowed to. The kids run, shout and play; the dogs don’t. The dog on these walks seldom does what it was born to do (unless early cave men had purses).

I get approached by other men, men who are walking dogs on shoestring leashes, and they say, “Gee, I wish I had a real dog like yours.” That’s because we get our recreation and exercise on “hunts” in the local parks to locate and exercise the local squirrel population. Maintaining their tree-climbing skills is a vocation for Easy. Though his punishment for those failing to maintain those skills may seem harsh, it is all for the best. When asked by the local squirrel-feeding lady, “Do you think that is a good time?”, I can only reply, “Not particularly, but he does!”  Easy is passionate in the pursuit of this hobby, marshalling his energy and resources in rest only to expend them in a great rush of activity and song. Similar to flying a line-control aircraft with a full-size fighter aircraft on the end, he is joyful and focused from his nose to his rapidly circling “helicopter” tail. This endeavor can lead him into dangerous adventures and requires the intervention of friends with a more objective view. 

     My constant companion, he provides the resigned acceptance only available from true friends when I come up short. I know that as a “hunting” pack member, I am slow, lazy and relatively stupid. My lack of focus and failure to consummate our hunts in the public parks frustrates him, but he never gives me a hard time about it. I know I’m merely projecting when I think I detect a sarcastic smirk. Were he human, I feel in my bones that Easy would pick me, despite my shortcomings, in any team selection process, just because he’s a nice guy and I’m his friend.

     Easy accepts the hand that life dealt him. He stands stoically to receive the bandages, padding and protection that are to be his lot in life, without complaint. He deals with the inconvenience of his cats and the limits of his home turf. He luxuriates in the attention of his humans. He trains others in the protocols and traditions of his species and stands ready to be a friend to all. In short, he is Andy Griffith in a really good dog suit… and I am either Barney Fife or Opie, depending on the day.

We may be stupid, stubborn, lazy, smelly, loud and difficult to train, but he adopted us anyway….

We all do it; we get our guilty little pleasure out of going to the pet store and picking out a new toy for our dogs. There are balls to toss, stuff and hide in a puzzle.

And squeak? Every imaginable squeak and squawk can be squeezed out of hedgehogs, bunnies, chickens and more.

Tug toys, pull toys, throw and fetch toys, and is your dog bored? Need something to chew other than your favorite chair?

Toys.  Our choices are endless, we love to pick them out and bring them home to our best friend. For some, the squeak can be de-squeaked in 15.5 seconds and stuffing shredded into a zillion little tufts all over the rug.

Some toys get a good sniffing over and a poke with a paw and nothing more. There is always one that becomes the favorite toy, the go-to toy when your dog wants to play with you, he dashes to get it and drops it at your feet.

It begs the question (excuse the pun), who are all these toys for? Some dogs will happily play by themselves, but what they really want is for us to PLAY with them.  Play can be a positive interaction of give and take, helping us bond with our pets and providing great teaching moments. Fetch, “come back” fetch it again. Give or out! “really I promise to give it back to you,” and you do. Tug “gentle, good boy!”

Some dogs, especially shelter dogs have to be coaxed and encouraged to play - they may not have ever had toys in their life or had the chance to learn how to play with people. When we adopted our Black and Tan Coonhound, Olivia, she had gone from being picked up as a stray, to a shelter, to a foster home.  In her foster home she played rough and tumble chase with a large Malamute; one coveted toy between them – a tug rope. I think that it could have been any shared article. It clearly looked like a game of this is mine, chase me if you can!

Olivia showed no real interest in any store-bought toy. They piled up on her bed. If I moved one to another room, I’d find it back on her bed the next day, but it was rare to see her play with one. It was more of a gentle nibble, nibble, chew, chew and then she was done. I emailed her foster mom and asked her if Olivia ever played with toys there. (That’s how I learned of the Malamute play). She thought about it and said, “You know, you’re right, I never saw Olivia play with any toys in the house, but when I cleaned out her crate after she left, I discovered that she had been taking toys and hiding them under her bedding.”

The rope toy that I went out and bought from a store because Olivia loved to play with it in her foster home. It remains unused, she's just NOT interested. Perhaps if I dressed up as a Malamute, and ran around the yard with it she would change her  mind.

Hum, I did try that - just not the same... woof?

Six years later, Olivia still piles special toys in her bed and all of the overflow toys that I bought her over the years are stored in a basket on the floor. About once a month, she suddenly dashes over to the basket, gently pulling out one toy at time – seemingly taking inventory of her adopted largesse.

Good night and sweet dreams.