Dawg!

Love my dog, but…a five dollar bill, the window sill, a signed first edition, sofa cushion, two pairs of shoes, the doctor’s bill, blanket, paintbrushes, washcloths, a table leg, the phone book, a bowl of wooden fruit—each a recent victim to the teething process. It’s an odd list by most standards, but perfectly ordinary for a five month-old puppy with 24-7 machine-like teeth that will gnaw on anything to relieve the ache of baby teeth, baby gums. Amazement over her choice of objects to chew on has lessened over the weeks, and now I wouldn’t be surprised to catch my new puppy chewing on a doorknob. Knew when I brought her home that a long period of teething and chewing were part of the deal, just didn’t imagine it reaching as far as knuckles and kneecaps. 

Little Miss Farina came to the Old Dixie Lane homestead sometime around mid-October. An adoption pup, she reportedly got lost and wasn’t recovered by her original owners. A four month-old labrador-retriever mix with a honey gold coat and a sweet disposition, she arrived here weighing seventeen pounds. Five weeks later that weight has almost doubled. From first sight she seemed the perfect mate for this huge expanse of fenced land amidst the oak trees and squirrels, raccoons, gopher turtles, snakes and the occasional alligator. Those creaturely neighbors aside, her biggest fascination has been with the two horses living next door, one of which is a full grown dwarf standing all of three and a half feet. Farina (named for the honey-brown cereal) spends part of each day barking at the horses across the fence, and on trips to the mailbox pulls hard on the leash as we pass the neighbor’s gate. Coming out one day to see what all the barking was about, the dwarf pony easily cowed the dog with its bold approach and cocky head tosses.

Sketches of Farina by J

A part of it all is getting used to holes in the yard, lots of holes. Seems there isn’t a time that Farina is out romping in her one-acre playground that she doesn’t dig a new hole or two. Few would mind a scatter of holes dug way at the back of the yard, and there are a number of those, but the two heavily favored digging spots that worry me are in the driveway and in places along the fence line. The second is obvious, but going in and out of a drive that looks and feels like a prairie dog village is a bumpy ride. There’s a cure in the dog psychology books and that's underway, but the holes are many and the ingredients for that cure take time to gather. A lady at the adoption center with great experience in dogs and digging told me to deposit a pile of the dog’s “business” in the hole and cover it up, that she would be put off and not dig in that spot again. So far it’s working, but new holes appear every day. 

The fun and companionship of having a dog are special but it was a different economic era when I last had a dog and I’ve quickly learned that dog owners everywhere will shout in loud chorus, “It doesn’t come cheap!” I’m wondering who to apply to for child support. Go to the dog store for the smallest thing and ten minutes later leave the store fifty dollars lighter. Wondering too if the vet’s rates are competitive with those of brain surgeons. As far as food and feeding go, one lesson is clear: Dogs will eat more if the food is a cheaper, lower quality food and less if the food is rich in the nutrition they need for growth. Now I understand why some brands of kibble are $45.00 a bag—they are more filling because less of it provides the basis of good health, and the dog, or stomach at least, knows that.

The interesting part comes in realizing that without opposable thumbs and a tongue capable of shaping syllables, communication for a dog is heavily weighted toward gentle biting, licking, chewing and body language. I am convinced that facial expression is a valuable tool for dogs and more than a few times the eyes of my puppy have made clear what words would express if she were capable. How many times have I looked at Farina and clearly understood that she is trying to convey her shame, her impatience, anger, happiness, or confusion?

And with my opposable thumbs and the countless words on my tongue, it’s me who all too often helplessly chases her around the yard unable to make myself clear, grinding my teeth with impatience, angry at the dog and myself as well and altogether baffled at how a honey-colored bundle with floppy ears and too many teeth has completely captured my heart.

More From the Pages of Whatever

I have a very scratchy pet peeve. Unfortunately, being powerless to make it go away brings neither resignation nor consolation. Fact of life in the present digital age, this gripe of mine isn’t going to go away. Like it or lump it, as the old adage goes.

Cell phones today are as common as traffic jams, and to my way of thinking just as likely to annoy. Everyone everywhere has a cell phone, and my guess is, half of those phones are in use for several hours of every day. The impression is that most people here in Japan spend much more time texting, or browsing websites than they do talking on their phones. Well then, is that so annoying? Let me paint a picture…

You’re walking on a sidewalk in a busy part of town at a time when crowds are likely to be the norm. Not much room between you and others in the flow of people on all sides. It’s pretty much a stop-start-sidestep-backstep bump and halt kind of progress while you do your best not to bang into or step on the person in front of you. But hey, that’s okay—it’s a part of life in the big city.

Enter the cell phone. Suddenly you have every other pair of eyes on the sidewalk glued to the screen of a cell phone six inches from the nose and no one is watching where they’re walking, no one is aware of life beyond the small virtual world before their locked down eyes, no one hears, acknowledges or reacts to anything, but moves in a zombie pace through the crowd, oblivious to the reality around them. A person could drop dead at their feet and the phone-zombie would pass on totally unaware. And don’t look for an apology when someone walks straight into you. You are invisible.

Drives me bananas, but like I say, it isn't going to go away anytime soon. Cell phones are the very infrastructure of life in Japan and it’s hard to imagine how people could maintain their social existence and identity without them.

Public space has become a place where physically present individuals interact with other individuals in remote places. On several occasions I’ve sat in restaurants near couples at another table who passed the time texting and talking on cell phones, as if unaware they had come with the person opposite. Why bother to meet? My guess is, instead of meeting face to face, they might be more comfortable talking to, or texting each other on the phone.

People are fast losing the skills of face to face communication, not only with the people around them, but equally with the physical environment they are passing through. It’s no longer unusual to see people in museums, galleries, movies and parks busy with the buttons on a cell phone, completely unseeing of anything connected to their real and present environment.

But let me end this rant with my favorite cell phone story. Not too long ago while walking down the street, I happened to look up and notice a woman passing on her bicycle, a little girl of about three in the baby seat behind her. Since it is a daily sight here, I thought little of the fact that the woman was steering with one hand and working her cell phone with the other—eyes down, of course. But just at that moment she drove her bicycle head on into a utility pole at the side of the street. Everything went flying! Mother to one side, child to the other and bicycle upended, all in a heap at the foot of the pole. Before anyone could come to their aid, the woman was up, dusting off the wailing child, righting her slightly bent bicycle and pedaling off with the crying baby reseated and the cell phone once more active in her right hand, headed I guess for the next light pole up the street.

Photo credit: Taken from the cover of the 1995 Simon & Schuster book Life on the Screen by Sherry Turkle