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Today is a special occasion at my house. It's Bodie
Day,
for it was on May 7 in 2005 that we got our dog.
Our two previous dogs, Jezebel (1972-84) and Ted
(1989-2004) arrived as puppies, but Bodie was eight months
old and full of mystery.
For instance, he seems to be a shepherd-collie mix, but he resembles a large coyote more than anything domestic. Even so, two people who have owned Tervurens have assured me that Bodie must have some Belgian sheepdog genes. He's too small to be a pureblood, but his big chest, small waist and graceful running suggest a Tervuren heritage -- or so I'm told.
We do know that he was named after a Dumpster. We got him from a woman who worked at a local veterinary clinic. Her husband had been working for a highway contractor in northern New Mexico. A dog started hanging around the job site, and when the job ended, a soft-hearted workman brought the dog home to Colorado.
The dog's favorite spot was the Dumpster at Bode's
General Merchandise in Abiquiu, N.M. The store is
pronounced Bodie,
and thus the dog's name. He still
gets excited when I take out the trash, racing about the
yard, then leaping at the trash bag or bin, apparently
hoping to rip it or tip it so he can enjoy an avalanche of
garbage.
That's just a start on his bad habits. He chews seatbelts and auto interiors in general. He demolished the back seats of both our Geo Prizm and Chevy Blazer (which now abides at the local salvage yard), as well as the upper portions of the front-seat lap belts. In less than a minute, he bit a chunk out of a back-seat lap belt in a friend's Subaru. His taste extends only to vehicles; he's never bothered our house furniture.
I have no idea what training would be required to stop
this. I tried Bitter Apple
spray, which is supposed
to make things unpalatable to dogs. It merely seemed to
whet his appetite -- not all that surprising, really, when
you realize that dogs seem to enjoy rotting garbage, fetid
deer manure, even their own vomit.
When I bought a used Ford pickup in January to replace the dead Blazer (broken tooth on a differential gear), I was glad it had a camper shell -- a place for Bodie that he couldn't damage. However, it had an interior lining that resembled carpet. Bodie had it torn down and shredded in about a week of 10-minute rides.
But he still gets those rides almost daily because I need to exercize and he needs to run, and there are some good spots a couple of miles from town. If you're supposed to walk a mile or two every day, get a dog. The dog is a better nag than any imaginable combination of doctors, therapists, spouses or parents.
So Bodie, despite his many flaws, improves our mental
and physical health by insisting on walks. I have met a lot
of nice people while walking him. I don't know many of them
by name. Mostly I just know the names of their dogs:
Cowboy, Uboo, Max, Sugar Ray, Cheyenne, Cane, Gus, Cindy,
Gracie, Cada, etc. Owners call out their dogs' names,
whereas the dogs don't tell us much besides woof
or
arf.
Getting out to enjoy our river and mountains is
generally a blessing. But one learns that the Great
Outdoors also includes rattlesnakes, skunks, cougars, icy
footing, mud sloughs and slippery slopes, which provides a
more balanced perspective than those abundant groove on
benign Mother Nature
essays.
Some years ago, after visiting my parents who were spoiling their dog, Martha and I concluded that people who don't have children at home shouldn't have pets. And of course, we have violated that sensible conclusion. I'm glad we have. Bodie is doubtless spoiled, but his energy and enthusiasm are contagious, and make every day a better day, no matter how great his appetite for seat belts.
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