Power to the Poodle!

Until recently, we were Labrador people. They are the sweetest dogs and are also among the most allergen-producing of any breed—or so my allergist told me. I got the news a few years ago that I had managed to become allergic to dog dander. We didn’t get rid of any of our three dogs—as if that was even any consideration. I started taking three kinds of allergy medications and kept going.

After Gumbo died around this time last year, I found myself lonely without my canine wingman. Ryder was firmly Ben’s dog, and it was hard for me to walk through our winter campground alone and encounter people I knew who inevitably asked “where’s Gumbo?” I thought an allergy-friendly breed would be more practical and I considered poodles. What knowledge I had about the breed was that James Thurber had a standard poodle, Christabel. John Steinbeck traveled with a standard poodle named Charley. Maybe a standard poodle would make me a better writer. I told Ben I thought we should look for another dog when we got home from Florida. A standard poodle, not a miniature nor a toy. All little dogs of any breed think they run the show, and I’d already had a little dog life with Henry.

Unwittingly my casual comment kicked Ben into what I have taken to calling “Genie mode,” meaning that when I say a thing, he wills it into existence. For example, I’ll say something like a chair is too deep for me to sit in and days later I find it replaced with another chair. I admire custom book shelves on a TV program, and a few days later custom steel wall-mounted shelves appear. Like I said, genie mode. It shouldn’t have surprised me when mere days after my poodle remark Ben told me that he’d learned there was such a thing as red poodles, that he’d found a red poodle breeder, that he happened to have a male puppy, and I wouldn’t have to change my blog title. We’d get the dog in May, a couple weeks after we came home.

So it was I found myself clutching a 13-week old red poodle pup in the back seat of the Subaru. I was so excited. He and Ryder hit it off right away. The puppy chased after Ryder and did everything he did. We named the puppy Chase. I took him to obedience school where his poodle smarts made him the best student. I was hoping to take him to agility training. I was committed to learning to groom him, and got all the equipment. We went on a few short RV trips to get him acclimated to the RV and life on the road. We went on hikes in the woods. In September we left for our two-month trip to Michigan and Wisconsin. Chase and Ryder had one beach day in Michigan, and then Ryder became sick, so we headed back home. Most of you know what happened next.

I spent weeks in the hospital. I wondered if my puppy would remember me. When I was moved to the rehabilitation center that allowed dogs, Ben brought him to me and he climbed up in my lap. Finally I was released home. I wasn’t sure if this busy puppy would be interested in the new, less interesting me. He settled in with me on the couch as if he was born to be a couch potato. As I recovered, he goaded me into getting off the couch. I managed to get out the back door and onto the deck. The crisp air and fall color lifted my spirits. It was awkward throwing balls over the deck rail, but Chase brought them back to me every time. Slowly we developed a routine. The hall entry became a ball-throwing chamber, where I tossed balls and banked them off the walls. He ran after them until he was panting. Then we’d watch TV and share a bowl of popcorn.

As I write this he is a year old. For most of his short life he’s known me in a wheelchair. Soon I hope we are able to re-learn walking together. Another adventure will be getting a second dog—Chase misses Ryder as much as we do. I’m not sure when the new adventures will start, but when they do you know I’ll write about them.

One last thing: James Thurber is one of my all-time favorite writers. He’s a native of Columbus, Ohio and has written many timeless, wonderful essays about dogs, people and the human condition. My favorite essay is simply titled “Memorial,” a eulogy for his beautiful black standard poodle Christabel. There is a link to the essay here…have some tissues handy.

Memorial. James Thurber