"A Mutt Like Me"

Kudos Mr President Elect Obama.

I just watched your first address to the American public regarding your briefing on the economic conditions of our country.

Invariably the question had to be asked regarding the puppy soon to grace your home and entertain your family.

I do not envy you your choices: the pressure to succumb to the desire to appease a segment of this society to 'adopt' a shelter pet when they themselves fail to tell you that there is no assurance associated with such an acquisition. Although it would be nice to order a pup from a shelter ala carte free of the allergens associated with dogs it is simply not possible. The likelihood of finding a hypo-allergenic dog at a shelter, although possible is not without the associated risks of temperament, the reasons it was surrendered to a shelter; compatible disposition for two young daughters? Housebroken? It would be a tragedy to have a new pet come to the most prestigious address in the world to use it as a toilet. I know you are well intentioned, I have to say you handled the conference with grace and dignity.

I liked the comment "a mutt like me" for a couple of reasons. One, we share a similar heritage, of mixed parents, dubious beginnings and a vision for a better future for our families. Although I cannot comment that I agree with all of your policies, I can share the view that as my new President, I must give you the benefit of the doubt and allow you to lead before I pass judgment.

Your selection of a pure bred dog is not without pitfalls as well. Although you can achieve the predictability that you cannot with a shelter dog or a mutt like a Golden-doodle or any of the designer crosses, at least you have options that will enable you to determine the best suited pet for your household.

My personal recommendations in descending order and reasons for such:

Irish Water Spaniel Traditionally used as a gun dog, they are not a popular breed. They are medium to large, have wonderful temperaments and usually love children. They do require coat care, but not so much as a Bichon or the Poodle, from which it is said that these dogs are derived. They require exercise that I imagine two little girls would certainly be able to provide, love to play and are not known to be aggressive. They can be stubborn, but are intelligent and loyal companions.

American Water Spaniel Also used as a hunting dog, they are delightful little dogs, averaging in height around a foot at the shoulder. They carry two distinct coat types, the marcel, which is a wavy, hairlike texture and a curly coat much like the Irish Water Spaniel. They require less coat care than the Irish, are substantially smaller, but can be willful. They are energetic, are usually natural retrievers and are also uncommon. They would meet the hypo allergenic properties you are looking for and are wonderful companions providing they get adequate exercise and have appropriate training.

Poodle Offered in three distinct sizes, all carry the same coat properties, color selections and texture. They are lively dogs that are keenly intelligent and very active. The coat requires a considerable amount of maintenance, but there are several clips that are much less low maintenance and keep the dog attractive without looking 'frilly'. Their drawbacks as with a lot of purebred dogs is the propensity for health issues, so when selecting any of the pure breeds, please research the genetic testing your dog's sire and dam have undergone so you can avoid the heartbreak of having to treat your dog for a variety of genetic anomalies.

These are my personal choices, backed by personal knowledge of the breeds and an admiration for them.

Not that you would take my advise however, but for your consideration; not all breeders are bad, and not all shelters and breed rescues are all that altruistic. It would seem to me that you have far deeper concerns than the pet you bring home for your family, but since the outrage on some of your associations recently and in the past, it is probably best to know who your sources of information are.

It is a known fact that HSUS has financially supported such domestic terrorist organizations like PETA and ALF less discreetly in the past than now, and as a non profit organization has created a war chest similar to your own.

It is also true that although some people who breed dogs are less than honest about their product, there are breeders out there who are genuinely concerned about the health and welfare of their dogs and have only the best of intentions.

Your Vice-President Elect has made a decision to purchase a pup from a breeder of German Shepherd Dogs and has taken steps in assuring the pup gets the right start with training and socialization. He has made a dubious choice, for himself, for the rights of conscientious breeders everywhere. Research will bear out on the type and quality of the breeder he chose.

It would do well for the President of this country to not be denuded by the current opinion and choose wisely.

Best of luck to you and your family.

If Pets Could Talk, Would We Love Them as Much?

I was on my way to a dog training client's home in Adams County Pennsylvania this weekend and I saw those words on a sign in front of a Veterinarian's Office.

The incongruity of the question didn't hit me until later when as I passed the same office on my return home, I saw a morbidly obese Lab exiting the office with it's owner.

I thought that the question should read "If our Pets could talk, would THEY love US as much?

A thousand years ago I had a dream about one of the dogs I owned at the time; a bright, intuitive German Shepherd Dog named Rose. She and I were inseparable for many years and we shared many things. She was the consummate mother to countless litters not her own, was a master of surprise and possessed a sense of humor equal to or greater than most people. She was one of a kind on so many levels.

Anyway, in the dream I was sitting on the first landing from the steps that led to my cellar and she was leaning against the washing machine with a cigarette and a brandy snifter, elbow leaning on the top of the appliance, upright on her hind legs like a human, lower legs crossed at the hock.

Her long saber tail is draped around her feet in a very vintage 20's coquettish fashion, as she asks me to explain to her the differences between she and me.

"Well Rose" I start, "you are a dog and I am a human".

She sips her brandy with strangely articulated paws, draws on her cigarette and says "Nope".

"Oppose-able Thumbs".

She sets down her glass, puts out her cigarette, walks to the stairs and past me on the landing sashaying like a queen.

I remember waking up with a start and trying to remember where I left the car keys in fear that she and her partner Indy had decided to steal the credit cards and take a trip to Atlantic City without me.

Somehow I seriously doubt that our pets would love us as much if they could talk, since it would also have to include the requisite criticisms we must face as a result.

I would have to wonder how many of us would make it to enduring friendship with an animal that could talk. Would our long association abruptly end as a result? Would we end up in a Planet-of-The-Apes type scenario where humans became the targets of exploitation, extermination and mass sterilization?

If our animals could talk, would we love them as much? Somehow I think we would fear them, or at least some of us would.

I for one am glad they don't, but anyone who really KNOWS dogs, know that they can easily convey their emotions. Rose for example, is certainly NOT a dog I would want capable of speech. But all the same we always communicated.

I could hear her voice now, regarding the poor choices I made in men, (she was quite capable of making the right decisions even when I was not) in jobs (when I had jobs that left her at home, they were always bad choices, not because they created separation anxiety in her or any of the other dogs, but because of the withering glares I would get when I got home, "where have you been, what have you been doing, you smell like other dogs") in vehicles (there's not enough room for ALL OF US) in food (Popcorn, MAKE POPCORN! Pizza? Did someone say PIZZA?) and friends of either sex ("She smells funny". "Whaddya mean I can't do THAT? How else am I gonna know if SHE'S RIGHT?")

She was an indiscriminate giver of love and a harbinger of great fear to anyone canine or human that she chose, but she was always right.

Hated my first husband, pleaded with me not to marry him and took great pleasure in giving the poor man a few less heartbeats every chance she got. She never tried to bite him, just treated him with the greatest disdain. Used to deliberately lay in wait for him so she could scare him every chance she got. Usually when he was coming up the steps from the basement of our house in New York. She would wait to hear his footsteps on the wooden stairs and position herself just behind the door so that when he tried to open it he couldn't because she was laying up against it. When he began to recognize her trick, he would leave it ajar so that he could see if she was laying there. In those instances, she would wait far enough back so he couldn't see her shadow or her form and just before he could reach the handle to push it open, she would slam herself against it and shut it in his face.

She would walk away from these episodes like she had just accomplished climbing K-12. She was the greatest show on earth.

She worshipped my second husband. They were best friends from the moment they met. She was in the drivers seat of my Blue Ford van as a matter of fact, working to roll down the window and come looking for me when the both of us came out to the parking lot together as she was vaulting out the window.

She walked over to us, gave him her regard, nodded her approval and jumped back into the van. Through the driver's side window. The same one she had exited. My future husband thought that was amazing. I told her to stop showing off.

Back in those days, electric windows were a luxury for the wealthy. Since I was not so, my windows were the manual kind. I figure she had taught herself through trial and error to do it, but she was always prudent in her use of it.

At a Dog Show in York Pennsylvania a few years later, she let herself out of the van while my new husband and I watched an entry of mine in the ring. There is no way she could have seen us but she found us none-the-less, skirting dog show officials and those who wished to catch the LOOSE DOG! LOOSE DOG! on the show grounds. She came straight to us, plunked herself at our feet and looked at me with those shrewd Rose eyes that told me in no uncertain terms that it was late, she was lonely and why is this taking so long? People came running at us to chastise us for the LOOSE DOG!!! and command us to collar her up so that she doesn't get hurt. And on and on as some fools will do. Hurt? Me? she said. Pah!

Gritting my teeth from the embarrassment of it all, I led her away at heel only to be told again that she needed a collar and leash. "Well, no not really, I comment. "She is that mythical creature of legend, a TRAINED dog, see"?

I never attempted to stop her from doing it. Some may recriminate me for that, but she would exit the van to seek me, not trouble. She would sometimes exit to relieve herself and then jump back in. I had no problems with either and neither did the times. To allow this today would invite disaster with the Humaniacs and PETA Nazis.

She would patrol our little bit of ground morning noon and night and announce an all-clear after each and every search. She could tell me of visitors, how they got there, how they left and practically what they did. She warned of intruders and forbade me entry into my own home until she was thoroughly convinced that no-one was there but those that belonged.

She greeted guests like a diplomat and would coyly encourage them to give her things like a good politician. She was selective in her attentions to the best bratwurst, spare-ribs and steaks at parties and loved it when I made it rain popcorn. She worshiped children and I mourned that she would never meet my only child.

She suffered the loss of her best friend for years after Indy's untimely death and rejoiced in the birth of each and every puppy even if they were not her own.

She was my best friend on the face of the planet for years and I still miss her today so many years after her passing.

I always wondered what she would say to me if she could talk and I am not sure some of those words would be so kind.

In the dream she had a deep, resonant voice. No accent, just plain English.

In reality it was much the same.

Yeah, Rosie.

Oppose-able thumbs indeed.