Lulu in August

Copyright 2021 by Alan M. Puckett

Lulu says it’s hot today, and she’s right. Of course, she doesn’t use words. But when she makes herself as long as possible and lies on the floor in front of the fan with her front paws casually crossed and her truncheon tail held out full-length away from her body, it’s not hard to understand what she means. She’s getting to be an old gal now, 14 and counting from what I was told though with a rescue dog it’s hard to know for sure. She’s got lots of white hair around her muzzle and on her chest and legs and paws, and she seems to have lost some of her hearing. She’s still the best I’ve ever seen at catching treats out of the air, though. Sometimes she snags one over her shoulder after it’s gone by  and you’re sure she’s missed it. Girl’s got reflexes, I’m telling you. The Yankees could’ve had an All Star shortstop with her, but these days I have to make sure she’s got enough light to see by when I toss her a Milk Bone. Otherwise she just waits until the treat hits the floor and then strolls over to gobble it down, which is OK but not as much fun.

Lulu’s a Rhodesian Ridgeback and her name is actually Gloria, but she says that’s too many syllables and sounds like a name for a church lady. She also has several other aliases including Jaws, Harriet, Ms Goodwiggle, and of course Purty Girl. She’s not what you’d call an intellectual by any means, but I think she is the only dog out of the bunch that have lived here over the years to have opened the foot pedal-operated kitchen garbage can—walked right up to it on her first day in town and nosed the lid back, just checking to see what that shiny gizmo was about. She took a good sniff, then set the lid back down and hasn’t done that again as far as I know. Probably helps that she eats pretty well here without needing to paw through the garbage. She came to the right house.

When it dawned on me that I needed a dog to make this place a home my then-homeowner’s insurance carrier had issued an edict that Thou Shalt Have No Aggressive Breeds of Dog or We Shall Disown Thee. Their policy addendum included a lengthy list of Forbidden Breeds: Chows; Rottweilers; Dobermans; German Shepherds; Pit Bulls and probably a few others I’ve forgotten. Having a bit of lingering PTSD from growing up with a vicious Daschund, and from being attacked by a neighbor’s Chihuahua when I was about 5 years old, I didn’t want a little yap dog even though my insurance company seemed to be steering policyholders in that direction. So I opened the laptop and began searching dog rescue Websites, not exactly sure what I was looking for.

And there was Gloria, as she was known then, along with her brother who was at least half-again her size and had his tail in a splint after it had been caught in a door. I know, makes me wince to remember it. I’d never heard of Rhodies but they’re a nice-looking bunch, aren’t yap dogs and weren’t on The Forbidden List. She was kinda, you know, normal-size for a dog without being huge, and I thought she had a calm and easy-going look about her. So I called up, made and appointment and drove down to Grit City for a meet ‘n’ greet.

The doggie foster home was, well, pretty much of a zoo with at least half a dozen dogs of various breeds and sizes clamoring for attention. Except Gloria and her enormous brother, who both seemed placid and self-possessed, sweet if maybe a bit reserved. We made our introductions amid the clamor and she stuck close, up and down the stairs and wherever I went inside the big house, for the rest of my visit.

I really didn’t want to separate Gloria and her brother but just couldn’t take on two big dogs. Not to worry, the rescue outfit told me, somebody will want him too. And I couldn’t see anything not to like about her, so signed up to take her home.

Lulu has a long muzzle and sort of a raccoon mask around her eyes. She’s lost a bit of weight in her old age and is down to about 70 lbs these days, though she’s still surprisingly strong. She’s somewhat atypical for a Rhodie in being bigger in the chest and maybe a bit shorter at the shoulder than most of them are. The ridge of hair down her back doesn’t stand up as much or as often as the breeders like to see, though it will perk up when she’s excited. She has the characteristic short-haired cinnamon-brown coat, old-age highlights notwithstanding. Her big paws have black, translucent and bicolor nails, with long hair growing out between her toes that I have to trim to help keep her from wiping out when she gallops through the house and makes a sharp turn on the tile floor in the kitchen.

She’s an emotional girl and whines if she sees a cat or a squirrel or another dog, or sometimes if she thinks I’m ignoring her. She has a sensitive disposition, and on those rare occasions when I’ve lost my cool and hollered at her it’s become apparent that she doesn’t respond well to that kind of stuff. She’ll cross her front paws and sulk, looking away and giving me the cold shoulder until we make up. Generally, though, she’s a big fan of proximity and will park as close to me as I’ll allow. She likes to keep an eye on her assets.

Lulu sees the world through her nose. She’s the sniffiest dog I’ve ever met, including various other hound-types. She inspects tree trunks thoroughly on our walks around the neighborhood to check for scent where squirrels have scampered up and down, and she can tell with a sniff if there’s been a cat or a rodent in our yard. Then it’s ears up and nose to the ground for further research. I’ve seen her hop like a kangaroo on her back legs to get a better look at a cat on the other side of the compost bins, and my guess would be that she probably has a few other tricks she’s saving for the right occasion.

She loves to charge around and horseplay, and has a darn good head-fake where she’ll act like she’s lost interest in the game then suddenly runs right at you without any warning. I’d swear she has a sense of humor sometimes. Lowbrow, of course, so we’re a good match in the silly games department. Not a pretentious bone in her body, this one. When she comes back inside after inspecting the back yard she canters proudly through the kitchen, tail wagging and head held high, queen of all she surveys.

Lulu’s real gentle with me and great with people in general, including toddlers who wobble up and stick a finger in her eye. I’ve never seen her be anything but friendly and sociable toward humans, except if somebody comes in the yard or up to our door. Then she’ll give a big, deep tough-girl bark to let me know that we have a guest.

The original plan was that Lulu would keep me company here at the Hermit Ranch and help us both make new friends around town—you know, like, Socialize and stuff like that—and she’s turned out to be great company most of the time. That second part of the plan went off the rails before the train left the station, though. The night I brought her back from her foster home in Tacoma—it was New Year’s night, six and a half years ago—my friend came by with Mattie, a beautiful Black Lab who was pretty much the sweetest girl to ever walk the face of the Earth. Without warning or provocation, Lulu jumped all over Mattie and just about ripped her head off.

That incident was just the beginning of my Lulu learning curve. The thing it took me a while to wrap my head around is that she is both very cuddly and personable, and the fiercest, most predatory dog I’ve ever met. A day or two after she came to live with me I took her to a dog park a couple of miles from the house. It’s a busy place where all kinds of dogs bring their people for a few friendly butt-sniffs and some off-leash romping. The first time we went I kept her on-leash most of the time and tried to stay close enough to grab her when she was off-leash, just in case. She seemed happy and excited to rub muzzles with some other canines and nothing bad happened. The next day we went back to the dog park and as soon as she was off-leash she sprinted across a meadow full of other dogs and torpedoed head-first into an Old English that stood head and shoulders over her. I saw the glint in her eye and tried to head her off, calling her name, but I was way too slow. She had the sheepdog down on the ground by its throat and one ear before any of us two-leggers could get over to them.

That was the last time we went to the dog park. The sheepdog’s owner showed me a valuable trick that day: when a dog has its jaw clamped on somebody’s ear and won’t let go, hoisting up the biter’s back legs forces it to release the grip. Comes in handy with a girl like Lulu, as it turned out. During those first weeks I also learned to keep her leash short in my hand and cross the street to avoid questionable situations. It became apparent that a neck collar is basically just a place to hang ornaments unless you’re willing to pretty much garrote her with it, which I prefer not to. One of those chest harnesses like something out of an S&M dungeon doesn’t work well either unless you’re wanting her to pull a plow around the North Forty. She’s strong like a horse and just doesn’t respond well to physical or verbal re-direction once she’s started down the Road to Trouble, though we’ve made some progress on listening when she finds it convenient to do so. Eventually I caught on that a “Gentle Leader” or similar head collar—basically like a halter for a horse, but sized for a dog—lets me steer us without throttling her. Once in a while she’ll try to shake the head collar off in the heat of the moment (“Lemme go! I’m gonna kill him! Lemme go!”) but when it’s adjusted right the head collar stays put pretty well. I just have to re-check the straps after the rodeo is over.

I had to pull Gloria off of 8 or 9 other dogs those first couple of months, before I started to get it that she’s basically wild inside and can be hard to read in many situations until it’s too late. With some dogs she’s friendly and eager to socialize, but with a lot of others she just goes right for the throat—and it’s often hard to tell which type of interaction we’re about to have. One of those early encounters occurred when we met an older fellow walking an Irish Setter on the waterfront path along Alki. The guy had one of those big red noses with lots of burst veins and wore a ball cap like some of the ex-Navy types favor—“USS Constipation” or something like that in big gold letters across the front. Lulu had her ears up and I knew by then to keep the leash short and give the other dog some distance. The old guy gave us a lopsided grin and asked if the dogs could say Hi. I shook my head No and said, She’s kinda wild. And the guy Dropped. His. Leash. On. The. Sidewalk, as if I’d said, Sure, come on over. It was too late to do anything but hold tight, which didn’t stop Lulu from going nuts on the poor Setter. Just about needed a tow truck to haul her off him once she got started. I wanted to give Captain Constipation a fat lip to go with his boozer’s nose but had my hands full so just shook my head and shot him The Look as I walked my girl away.

The best one caught me off guard several years later, after we had the walking-on-a-leash and crossing-the-street-to-stay-out-of-trouble thing pretty well sorted out. It was a lovely June day, warm but not hot. Thunderstorms were in the forecast. We don’t get to see a lot of those here, so big excitement in the ‘hood. I was out back working in the garden and Lulu was in the yard supervising when our neighbor came through the yard next door with a couple of little yap dogs. She had one leash in each hand and was spaced out, looking up at the sky. (The thought balloon over her head read “Gosh, wish I could remember what you call those big, fluffy ones. Cumulosomething? I think that’s right. Jeepers, they’re so tall!”) One of her charges, a little yellow string mop with a big mouth, came right up to our back fence and started talking trash at Lulu. “Yap! Yap! Yap! Lulu’s a dumb bitch and her butt smells! Yap! Yap! Yap!” My neighbor was totally oblivious, but Lulu’s ears stood up and she got that extremely focused look. Uh-oh. I hollered “Leave it!” and tried to grab her, but by then it was too late. Ever seen a dog run right through a 6-foot wood fence like it wasn’t there? I guess the good part is that my neighbor didn’t actually have a heart attack, and the hole in the fence was big enough for me to duck through behind Lulu and tackle her before she actually killed the dumb yapper.

Turns out Rhodies were bred to hunt lions, and many of them are still closer to that aspect of their lineage than most other breeds you might meet around town. Little did I know. With lions mostly unavailable in our neighborhood, Lulu’s happy to go after lesser beasts. She’s still got those tendencies but has mellowed out quite a bit over the years. She used to dig holes in the yard, which offended me greatly. Not that we have a putting green out there or anything, but I hate stepping in someone else’s foxhole when I didn’t know it was there. I suspect that her digging may have been a symptom of a semi-latent tendency to burrow—she tunnels under the blanket on her dog bed sometimes, and has tried to dig a hole in one of our rugs a couple of times. Now, in her old age, she likes to lie in the sun in the dry grass out back until her coat is hot to the touch, then come inside for a few slurps of water before resuming her post in front of the fan. My neighbor’s husband is a very sweet man who has declined slowly with Alzheimer’s over the past several years. A couple of summers ago he saw Lulu lying inert in the yard and eventually it got back to me that Lulu had been reported dead. They were very concerned for me and expressed heartfelt condolences. But Lulu had just been lying completely still, a skill she’s honed through years of practice.

My girl has found other ways to teach me patience, including occasionally surfing people food off the kitchen counter. One Sunday evening several years ago I was preparing for a hike early the next day and had a Clif bar, some almonds, some dried fruit and a large, dark chocolate bar in a Zip-Lok on the kitchen counter. All very neat and tidy. When I came back inside after taking my hiking boots out to the car I found a corner of plastic baggie and a torn bit of Clif bar wrapper on the floor, all that was left of my lunch for the next day. I had a bit of a meltdown and then spent an hour or so researching what to do if your dog eats chocolate, which can be toxic for canines; trying to figure out whether the veterinary hospital was open at 10pm on a Sunday; and reminding myself to take deep breaths. Unable to learn anything definitive about the LD50 for 70% dark chocolate by breed of dog, I finally told her: OK dammit, if you die, you die, and went to bed. The next day Lulu was her usual perky self, hoping I might have more goodies to share.

One take-away for me from that incident was that Lulu is basically a reasonable and well-behaved girl, but to go off and leave people food sitting at the edge of the kitchen counter is just me being a knucklehead. As my mom used to say, “Yes, it’s a sin to steal—but it’s also a sin to tempt.” Those words were an abstraction to me before Lulu came to live here, but their meaning is clear and concrete now. Life lessons from a dog.

I’ve made it my mission to be the best kind and loving friend / parent that I can be with Lulu for as long as we can both still get up and down these back steps. Sometimes she bays softly in her sleep, calling the pack to come chase a rabbit. And sometimes she thumps the floor with her tail when she’s dreaming, which seems like a good sign. She’s a lot of work, not like some dogs you can just tell them to sit and wait for further instructions. Lulu requires attention, engagement and a mutually respectful relationship. But she’s worth the trouble, and I may be ruined for life as far as being satisfied with just any old dog. It’s hard to picture taking on another Rhodie after Lulu’s gone, but on the other hand it’s difficult to imagine life without someone like her around. Hopefully I’ve got a bit more time to think on it.

Stay safe, I’ll write again soon.