Temperaments

I find it fascinating how many new acquaintances I have obtained now that I am getting a dog. It is somehow as if I have joined a secret society of dog worshippers like in Ancient Egypt, dogs received burial in family tombs and family members would shave their heads in mourning at the death of a family dog. Now I know how single women, or those without children must feel when I discuss the latest disaster or celebration regarding the kids - somewhat intrigued, somewhat repulsed.

One particular woman is named Barbara. She and I are not friends. I repeat, not friends. I see her once a week where I work out. Maybe not, if I don’t work out. She is usually reading the paper, or stretching, before class. Whereas I am just trying to settle in.

When told I was getting a cavalier king charles, she piped up. She owned numerous CKCs over time and was the current owner of one as well. We have talked more in the past week, than in the past five years I have been in the class. Draw your own conclusions but this could be me, could be her, could be the dog. Whereas our expectations from our children are so different that when we discuss our children in public, some will walk away, wondering, what is she drinking, with dogs, there seems to a universal understanding that we expect our dog to be, well, a dog, and not some super human athlete, Albert Einstein, or Yo Yo Ma. A dog exists to simply exist.

That sounds like such simple terms, the existential movement, “I am a dog, therefore, I exist.” “I have nothing else better to do, anyhow.”

Barbara was rather insistent when I mentioned I would be selecting my dog this past week, from a pool of three contestants. “You should look it up on the internet, do you know about puppy temperament tests, there’s a lot out there to read, you should read up on some of that before you pick one out, you know, if you hold them on their backs and tickle their belly, if they remain in your arms, they are submissive which is a good thing.” So this steady stream of advice played like a bad film fest documentary in my mind all during my workout. I am sure my biceps suffered because I could no longer concentrate. I was leaving the following day and was not sure I would have time to research those options.

And I didn’t. It was more important for me to fit in some exercise before leaving that morning and sitting in a car for four hours. It was also imperative that I leave behind some clean laundry, even if it was only the tidy whiteys. I also decided that making myself a lunch for the road took preference over practicing the tests for puppy temperaments.

I was a bit wracked by my indifference to the topic, but without a computer at hand in the car, I had no choice but to simply accept the fact that I knew nothing about temperaments tests, and suggested to my friend Leigh, “I am leaving this up to fate.” Afterall, my parents didn’t ask for any temperaments tests when they had me, or my siblings, though, being Italian, they probably should have, and in hindsight, have also realized the test results may have been helpful in determining the long term consequences of running over mailboxes, pretending to go to drugmart, but driving to see a boyfriend, getting arrested for shoplifting. But temperament does not equte to belonging. We all belonged together, and when I found my Enzo, we too would belong.