The Old Coot remembers
self-walking dogs.
By Merlin Lessler
Culture and social norms are
forever evolving. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. A change
is well under way that I’m not sure is better or worse; it’s the relationship
between dogs and humans. It was a Mother Goose and Grim comic strip, penned by
Brad and Paul Anderson, that brought the change into sharp focus for me. It
pictured two dogs walking with their owner on a double leash. They spotted a dog
ahead of them, wandering alone and untethered. One of the leashed dogs said,
“Look at that. It’s one of those new self-walking dogs!” It made me think about
the dog I had as a kid. Those were different days. Dogs were free to roam. They’ve
lost that freedom, so have children, but that’s an issue for another day. We no
longer have self-walking dogs; we have self-driving cars.
When I was four-years old, I
led a stray sheep dog into our kitchen and said, “Mom! Look what I found. Can I
keep him (it turned out to be a her)? I was a lucky kid, not many mothers would
let a preschooler keep a stray dog. Especially one that was obviously about to give
birth. (To seven pups, as it turned out.)
The stray, dubbed Lassie, had her
pups in our basement. “Topper,” was the first to make the assent up the stairs
and into our kitchen, earning him his name and a place in our family. His
siblings were dispersed throughout the area; he and his mother stayed on. I was
one happy cowboy. I roamed the driveway and back yard in my cowboy suit, a
pistol on each hip and a pair of happy dogs by my side. Lassie chased cars, and
no matter how many contraptions my father rigged up to stop her, she never
failed to break free when a sedan came past the house. She was a relentless
pursuer, a tire bitter. She eventually was exiled to a farm owned by a friend
of the family, put out to pasture. From then on, Topper and I formed a duo that
rivaled that of Batman and Robin. We went everywhere together.
As I said, it was a different
era. Dogs were dogs; people were people and cars didn’t drive themselves. The
confusion we have today about the people - dog pecking order didn't exist. Dogs
were tougher, more self-reliant. My friends and I rode our bikes to the movies
in downtown Binghamton. We' d park them in a heap in front of the Press
building on Chenango Street. After a quick glance in the window at the evening
paper that was speeding across a giant set of rollers, we’d head into the
Strand Theater. (The Binghamton Press was an evening paper in those days. The
morning paper, the Sun Bulletin, was produced at the other end of the block)
Topper would plop down next to the bikes and stand guard. When we came out
three hours later, rubbing our eyes and squinting into the bright sunlight,
he'd be there, his tail wagging like crazy.
Truly a different world. Kids
played outside and the dogs in the neighborhood played along with them,
providing a layer of security that gave our parents a level of comfort when we
wandered out of sight and beyond earshot. A stranger wouldn’t dare come after
kids with a dog or two around. We were free to spend our days in the woods and
creeks that surrounded our neighborhood. Leashes were seldom used back then.
Pooper-scoopers didn’t exist. If a dog left his calling card on the lawn, you
simply found a flat stone and covered it up. Nature went to work and took care
of things. When the stone was removed a week later, there was nothing there.
The microbes had done their job. In another week the grass grew back. People
who let the stones accumulate ended up with a nice rock garden. Which, I hear,
is how the concept got started, just another positive contribution to the human
condition from our canine friends. Where would we be without our dogs?
Self-walking or not!
Comments? Complaints? Send to
– mlessler7@gmail.com
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