The Animal Person Minute: On Nearly Killing Your Dog

Today’s photo is of Charles, and its significance is that it’s one of the first taken with my brand new Nikon D40. I’ve been so envious of the photos of Deb at Invisible Voices that I simply had to ditch my Canon A70, which had a shutter lag of like 5 seconds, and get serious about taking some decent photos. Clearly, I’ve got a long way to go. My gorgeous boy Charles Hobson Booger, III shall serve as my baseline photo.

Today’s topic is by request.  One of my dearest friends, who has asked her name to be changed because this story is embarrassing for her, is the most remarkable dog person I’ve ever met. You could put her in a ring with Cesar Millan and have them both do that dog whisperer voodoo thing that they do, and this woman, we’ll call her Pam, would kick Cesar’s ass everyday and twice on Sunday. She’s the most competent caregiver of dogs I’ve ever seen, and in fact bought her current house because of its particularly dog-friendly features, such as big, open spaces, an enormous, fenced in yard, it’s a couple of blocks from the park, and the ocean is just over a bridge. Calling her Pam, by the way, is really stupid, as once you hear the details of the story, if you knew anything about me or her, she’s instantly recognizable. But we’ll pretend that she isn’t for a moment.

Pam is actually one of my success stories. When I met her, she said things like "I only get purebred dogs" and she ate lobster.  She had a wolf hybrid for a decade. Now, the wolf is dead (I was there for the blessed event and I hope to blog about it soon. It was a remarkable morning), and she has two rescue dogs in addition to a purebred cairn terrier whom she’s had for years. She recently said to me, " soon, I’d like you to take me shopping and teach me about ways I can live without eating animals." She has a bionic metabolism, is tall and skinny no matter what she eats, and has an extraordinary thirst for protein, so I’ve got my work cut out for me.

Last weekend, shortly after Pam’s grandmother moved into her house, with hospice workers, to die, Pam took her three dogs to a friend’s huge piece of land to run around. She returned at about 3pm, there were people all around, everyone greeted everyone, and Pam went into the house, napped, worked out, meditated, tried to get her Grandma to die, and at about 5pm, Pam suddenly realized she hadn’t seen Kashi, one of her rescue dogs, who was actually a feral dog and looks a lot like Charles.

Kashi was in locked in the car. For over two hours. In South Florida. In the sun. In a car lined with black leather, but we won’t get into the leather thing right now. Kashi survived, as she has a tremendous will to live, and if you were a dog you’d be in no rush to leave your living conditions at Pam’s house. The moral of the story is that it can happen to anyone. When you take your dogs with you in the car–wherever you live and whatever the season–make sure they’ve all left the car before you close and lock all the doors. It would be practically impossible for me to forget my dogs because they’re so huge and they’re always in my face. But still, I asked a hypnotherapist friend of mine for a way to increase the odds that I wouldn’t lock my dogs in the car. She suggested this: when I open the doors and tell them to exit the car, I say, only when their feet are all on the ground, "Violet’s out" and "Charles is out." I can’t say that until they’re out, and I must say it every time. It reminds me to be present, and when you’re present, you’re less likely to make mistakes.  This is Mary Martin, with the Animal Person Minute.