I like dogs. My ex-wife LOVES dogs. We had two Newfoundlands when I was very little growing up back in Massachusetts. But after that, I remained mostly dogless until the beginning of the 21st century.
I was working for a production company in L.A. when I decided to move to New Orleans. It was the spring before she was going to begin law school there at Tulane. Since I anticipated that I’d be in the area for at least three years, that led me to waiting tables and getting a master’s degree at the University of New Orleans.
We also got a puppy almost immediately. He was named Pedro, after Red Sox legend Pedro Martinez, who was at the peak of his powers back then. Pedro was a rescue that we took in from a New Orleans vet. They told us that they thought his parents were a German Shepherd and a Beagle, and it became a running joke that we pictured his father as one hell of a determined Beagle to make that happen.
But Pedro was just the first of many dogs to come. You might think “Many, really?” Yeah. Many. She and the kids now have…wait for it…SIX dogs. Six. Half a dozen hounds!
The biggest dog is a fairly recent acquisition who, from what I understand, was surrendered essentially because he became too big for his prior owners to handle. He’s a Newfoundland, a notorious beefy breed to begin with. They already had one Newfie and the latest, Zeus, absolutely dwarfs her. He checks in at a robust 180 pounds. Aside from one that I saw in Europe who was a literal street attraction, Zeus the Moose is the biggest dog I have ever seen.
Fayetteville, Arkansas has a charming little downtown square that goes all-out with the decorations at Christmas time. There are lights and food trucks and hot chocolate vendors and one woefully said musician dressed up as Santa Claus who plays exactly two different songs. It’s quaint and adorable and perfect.
We hit the square a couple of times during my Thanksgiving visit, and Zeus came along both times. I was not prepared for the reactions that he would elicit. It’s the South, and complete strangers have absolutely no qualms about talking to each other about their dogs.
But this was a different level.
I quickly determined that, beyond the typical questions about breed, age, and size, there were exactly two things each that adults and kids would say about this massive pooch more often than not.
Adults went one of two ways: Either “Is he part horse/can I ride him?” or “That’s a bear.”
Kids, from teens on down to toddlers, almost universally said one of two things, usually both.
“That’s a big dog…I want to pet that dog.”
His temperament is a perfect fit for this. He’s a big, goofy, gentle giant, and he loved it as kids accosted him with hugs, rubs, and pets. His only apparent fear in the world is…buses. So when a big city bus would rumble through the square, that was the only time there was any level of concern. Anyway, it was fun partaking of the lights in Fayetteville beside a furry local celebrity.
At the other end of the size spectrum in the family group of dogs is Waffles. She’s a mixed-breed rescue, the newest member of the clan, and an absolutely adorable cutie. She took to me immediately, which surprised my daughter a little (Waffles is “her dog”). By my second day in town, Waffles was hopping onto my lap to curl up with me in the recliner. She was beyond sweet.
A couple of weeks after I got back to Las Vegas, I got news that people who care about dogs never want to hear.
“They got out.”
In this case, it was Zeus, Waffles, and a third dog. The two bigger ones were found near the house the next day. Waffles was not. She’s not even a year old and weighs less than 50 pounds.
They pulled out all the stops to try to find this dog. Searching the neighborhood, putting up flyers, you name it. Back in Vegas, all I could do was share the flyer on social media, which felt like I really wasn’t doing much at all.
One day turned into two, and then three. My kids were absolutely crestfallen and I knew that there was nothing I could do to help. A couple more days passed. I wanted to stay optimistic, but probability and reality started to set in. The nights were cold, and I hated to think of what that poor, sweet puppy might be going through.
After an entire week, Waffles was found less than a mile from the house. She had a cut on her leg and was, as my daughter succinctly described it, “really hungry and thirsty,” but otherwise she was fine. It felt like a pre-Christmas miracle.
After I made a gleeful social media follow-up post to report the amazing news, I received a message from a former co-worker of mine at KNWA. She’s a producer, fresh out of college, and had relocated to Colorado for a new job shortly before I moved out here. We were friendly at the station but not super-close or anything. She’s a kind person and a serious animal lover, but I was still shocked when she told me that she saw my post and got in touch with all of her friends who were still in Fayetteville and had them print out flyers and bring them to their respective places of employment to help out.
I feel like that’s above and beyond from a good friend, let alone a work acquaintance. I was floored by the gesture. I don’t know which exact flyer or post led to the return of that wonderful dog, but just the thought that it might have been one from a complete stranger really made me happy. I’m of the opinion that a lot of people just suck, so it was lovely to get a rock-solid reminder that some people are 180 degrees away from that.
Happy New Year, everyone. I spent my New Year’s Eve working, so I hope that you had more fun than I did. But I’m cautiously optimistic about the year ahead. I mean, I’m human, so I’m dreading certain things and expecting the worst of a number of things already…driving in this town the week of the Super Bowl…the chance of next summer being even hotter…the 2024 elections. There’s a lot that warrants concern.
But it’s early. So far, so good. I hope you all have a wonderful year ahead, ready to bring you whatever you want, need, and hope for.