Read Online My Life in Dog Years by Gary Paulsen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gary Paulsen
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time—and the dog (she named him Maddux after the incredible pitcher for the Braves) has keyed in to her life to the point where he
has
to helpher carry her mail,
has
to help her open envelopes,
has
to have coffee and a bagel each morning with her,
has
to be with her wherever she is in the house,
has
to greet people at the door. He monitors all the street activity and reports anything he thinks is odd and protects her from the evil monster that lives in the vacuum cleaner—and he’s only a pup.
But there is more with Josh.
He is … real. No, more than that, he is a person. I do not think in my heart that he is a dog. When I am riding with him in my truck and he sits next to me looking out the window I can speak to him, say, “Look at that nice lawn,” or “They have a sale on fence at the lumberyard,” and he will look and sometimes (I swear) turn back to me and nod.
Once while driving to get a submarine sandwich I took my baseball cap off at a stoplight and jokingly put it on Josh with the bill backward and put a pair of sunglasses on him (I know—people shouldn’t dress dogsbut it was more a friend fooling around with a friend) and told him, “You look cool, man.”
He looked at me and put his right front leg up on the ledge of the open window and kept the cap and glasses on (though he could have shaken them off easily) and really
did
look cool, caught in the moment, playacting with me, and when we pulled up to the drive-through window at the sub shop I said, “My friend and I would like a turkey sub.” Josh looked over, through his shades, nodded and went back to looking out the window.
There are major stages that affect our lives. Enlisting in the army, marriage, success or failure at our careers—leaps forward or backward. Having Josh has had such an effect on me. He has, in wonderful ways, shaken my belief structures to the core and brought me to a level of understanding of other species that has been so profound it will last the rest of my life. Along with Cookie, Josh has changed me forever.
He came to me because he was a “naughty” dog. The woman who owned him had some pet ducks and Josh herded them—as Border collies are wont to do—until he wore them out and one of them died. I had seen Josh earlier and thought he was a nice dog and jokingly said, “If you ever want to get rid of him let me know.”
And so he arrived one day. He jumped out of the car, moved into the house and started— as near as I could figure it—to study me.
It was very disconcerting at first. I would catch him at odd times, at all times, watching me, watching every move, studying everything I did—or said.
He once saw me hurry to get to a phone because I was expecting an important call and after that wherever he was when the phone rang he would run to it and wait until it was answered.
He saw me, just once, put on a Stetson, gooutside to saddle my mare and head out to ride fence. The next time I put the Stetson on he ran to the front door, slammed open the screen, loped to the corral, cut my mare away from the other horses and brought her to the gate, holding her there until I came to saddle her.
Once every nine days we get the flow of water in the communal irrigation ditch. The process is rather involved. I must walk to the head of the ditch and open the valve, then move ahead of the water as it pours down the ditch and clean out brush and debris with a rake. When the water gets to the smaller ditches that run to the apple trees or the pecans, these side ditches must be fully cleared of leaves and grass before the water can run on to the next side ditch, and so on for seven side ditches.
Josh accompanied me the first time and watched what I did. Just once. The next time Iwent he actually tried to help open the valve with his teeth—cranking the steel-handled wheel—and when the water started he ran frantically ahead of it, scrabbling with his feet and claws to clean out the brush and junk. He went to each
has
to helpher carry her mail,
has
to help her open envelopes,
has
to have coffee and a bagel each morning with her,
has
to be with her wherever she is in the house,
has
to greet people at the door. He monitors all the street activity and reports anything he thinks is odd and protects her from the evil monster that lives in the vacuum cleaner—and he’s only a pup.
But there is more with Josh.
He is … real. No, more than that, he is a person. I do not think in my heart that he is a dog. When I am riding with him in my truck and he sits next to me looking out the window I can speak to him, say, “Look at that nice lawn,” or “They have a sale on fence at the lumberyard,” and he will look and sometimes (I swear) turn back to me and nod.
Once while driving to get a submarine sandwich I took my baseball cap off at a stoplight and jokingly put it on Josh with the bill backward and put a pair of sunglasses on him (I know—people shouldn’t dress dogsbut it was more a friend fooling around with a friend) and told him, “You look cool, man.”
He looked at me and put his right front leg up on the ledge of the open window and kept the cap and glasses on (though he could have shaken them off easily) and really
did
look cool, caught in the moment, playacting with me, and when we pulled up to the drive-through window at the sub shop I said, “My friend and I would like a turkey sub.” Josh looked over, through his shades, nodded and went back to looking out the window.
There are major stages that affect our lives. Enlisting in the army, marriage, success or failure at our careers—leaps forward or backward. Having Josh has had such an effect on me. He has, in wonderful ways, shaken my belief structures to the core and brought me to a level of understanding of other species that has been so profound it will last the rest of my life. Along with Cookie, Josh has changed me forever.
He came to me because he was a “naughty” dog. The woman who owned him had some pet ducks and Josh herded them—as Border collies are wont to do—until he wore them out and one of them died. I had seen Josh earlier and thought he was a nice dog and jokingly said, “If you ever want to get rid of him let me know.”
And so he arrived one day. He jumped out of the car, moved into the house and started— as near as I could figure it—to study me.
It was very disconcerting at first. I would catch him at odd times, at all times, watching me, watching every move, studying everything I did—or said.
He once saw me hurry to get to a phone because I was expecting an important call and after that wherever he was when the phone rang he would run to it and wait until it was answered.
He saw me, just once, put on a Stetson, gooutside to saddle my mare and head out to ride fence. The next time I put the Stetson on he ran to the front door, slammed open the screen, loped to the corral, cut my mare away from the other horses and brought her to the gate, holding her there until I came to saddle her.
Once every nine days we get the flow of water in the communal irrigation ditch. The process is rather involved. I must walk to the head of the ditch and open the valve, then move ahead of the water as it pours down the ditch and clean out brush and debris with a rake. When the water gets to the smaller ditches that run to the apple trees or the pecans, these side ditches must be fully cleared of leaves and grass before the water can run on to the next side ditch, and so on for seven side ditches.
Josh accompanied me the first time and watched what I did. Just once. The next time Iwent he actually tried to help open the valve with his teeth—cranking the steel-handled wheel—and when the water started he ran frantically ahead of it, scrabbling with his feet and claws to clean out the brush and junk. He went to each
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