Happy Dogs

     Driving up Division after church last Sunday, my husband and I saw a happy dog.  It was a golden retriever, out for a walk, that had come upon something to retrieve:  a stick.  And not just any stick.  This stick still had twigs attached, some of them a foot long.  This seems to have been something close to stick perfection.  The golden took the stick in its mouth and shook it toward its mistress, showing her what a marvel her dog had found.  The animal was so overcome by joy that it was prancing.

     Seeing that dog’s delight got me wondering about what makes other dogs happy.  I asked Gundy what makes Kaia happy.  Kaia is a two-ish rescue dog that seems to be half golden retriever and half husky.  Her coat is thick and golden, her body is that of a husky, and her eyes are blue.  She came to live with Gundy and her husband about two months ago, and still has a puppy’s energy and enthusiasm.  “What makes Kaia happy?” Gundy mused.  “At this point, just about everything.”  Then she added, “Kaia means peace in Hawaiian.  Do you think we’ll get it?” 

     Some years back, my sister Carol had a Maltese named Casey.  Carol and Paul live in a wooded paradise Up North, so Casey’s constitutionals were almost always through the woods.  What made Casey happy was to lag behind his people, far enough that they would call to him.  Then he flew to them.  That diminutive dog ran as fast as he could, his flowing, white locks born on the wind his speed created.  He leapt over fallen trees and other obstacles in his course.  He was wild and he was mighty, master of his environment and a sight to behold.

     Three dogs later, Carol and Paul have Juniper, an English cocker.  Juni has sunshine built into her personality.  She’s a delight and goes through life a happy camper.  She came Up North from Georgia, one winter, and encountered that white stuff called snow.  For that southern dog, it was love at first sight.  And smell and taste and roll and cavort.  My favorite photo of Juni as a pup is her steaming through snow up to her neck, long ears rollicking.  She’s moving so fast that the two legs that show through the snow are out of focus.

     Magill, Rhonda’s elderly English cocker, likes cuddling more than anything, these days.  Both cockers’ happy-making activities have merit.

     What made Sue’s border collie, Tesla, happiest was children.  She loved them so much.  She was out walking with Sue and me one day, when we neared a park while the neighborhood preschool was playing there.  “Tesla!” piped a little voice, and the other tots picked up the cry.  “Tesla!  Tesla!”

     Tesla turned to Sue for permission to approach, her thought balloon saying, “My peeps!”

     The teachers beckoned, and Sue told Tesla, “Okay.”

     Tesla dashed toward the park, dropping to a belly crawl when she neared the children.  They swarmed her, reaching out to pet her.  One little fellow stood a bit back, finally edging close enough to touch Tesla with his extended index finger. 

     “I did it!” he yelled, when he made contact.  He was ecstatic.  But Tesla was happiest of all, absolutely aquiver.

     Enzo, Coleus’s corgi, has an entirely different approach to pleasure.  According to Coleus, he gets a big kick from manipulating his family.  He particularly enjoys conning them into thinking no one has fed him yet, so he gets an extra meal.  But, even more, he enjoys stuffing one of his beloved balls under the furniture and then summoning help because his not being able to reach the toy in question is a tragedy.  An emergency.

     Someone had really better come to Enzo’s aid, and right now, or he will take the matter into his own hands.  Or paws and teeth.  Coleus’s twenty- and twenty-one-year-old daughters failed to respond when summoned, one day, and Enzo tore the couch apart to reach his toy.  “I walked into the house,” Coleus said, “and I knew it was bad.  There were bits of foam and fabric everywhere.”

     “Did he get his ball back?” I asked. 

     “Of course,” she answered.

     The happiest I’ve ever seen our dog Rascal, an affenpinscher mix, was when I put his leash on him when we were Up North, and there was no one else around.  After months of having been so ill I could scarcely walk, I was taking him out for a stroll.  Rascal leapt into the air till he looked me in the eye, over and over and over.  And then we walked off together.           

23 February 2024