The Lady is a tramp

A quiet morning, I’m up early, the house is asleep. My dog Lady lies on the cool hardwood floor near the front door, in one of her many cute poses – lying flat, as if she had been standing up and then fell over sideways without moving a muscle, except that she crosses one paw over another. Her eyes never quite close all the way – they drift closed ever so slowly, but just before they close completely, she’ll blink them open again, ears twitching slightly, or tail wagging just a touch, or stretching her legs out into the air, as she glances over to remain assured that I am still where I’m supposed to be.

Lady is a purebred American Eskimo, almost 9 years old. She is the best living being that I have ever come across, and I have known quite a few really good ones. If I could be like Lady – no, if any human being could be like Lady, then all our problems would be solved. If I were to simply list her good qualities one after another, it would sound stupid, as if I had dumped some church-lady’s list of nice adjectives onto the page. Loyal, smart, happy, loving, strong, gentle, beautiful, faithful, intuitive, generous, kind, energetic… blah-di-blah-di-blah.

Lady came to us as a little white fluff-ball. Alex was getting to the age where she wanted a dog, and I had in mind to get a Husky, or something similarly big and cool and matching the dog-fantasies I’d acquired from reading the “Red” series when I was younger, by Jim Kjelgaard (that’s the advantage of an unusual name – it’s so memorable. How the heck do I pull Jim Kjelgaard out of the ether after 35 years?). But one of my sisters-in-law had a little American Eskimo, and apparently this was for a brief period a fashionable dog among Asians (all white – how cute!), and we’re kind of a spectrum from Asian to non-Asian in this house (my daughter being the non-Asian :-) ). So we went to visit an American Eskimo breeder, kind of on a whim. Basically, the first breeder we came across that was nearby and didn’t sound like a serial killer when we called.

Well, this was just another illustration of how stupid I am, and how well it works out anyway. What did I think would happen when a seven-year-old suburban girl held a cute little 6-week-old fluffy white puppy in her hands, squirming and licking her fingers, with excited little barks? As anyone with half a brain would guess, she became immediately and irrevocably attached, and insisted that we not look any further. I actually told her (stupid newbie dog-buyer and general idiot that I was) that we needed to try seeing some other dogs (if I could just get her away from there, my dreams of a manly Husky would survive this unexpected challenge), and I eased the puppy away from her little hands, and actually had driven a block or so away when I came to my senses, turned around, and submitted to my fate (and to my daughter’s better judgment). My good angels saved me, as they always do.

American Eskimos are great dogs. They were bred from Pomeranians about 100 or 150 years ago, are all white, and look like miniature Samoyeds, or little white sled dogs. I’ve heard they were bred as circus performers, and it certainly could be true – they are smart, very acrobatic, with great balance and incredible energy. Lady is all of this, in spades, and so much more.

My sister-in-law’s dog, Dimples, is a very smart and spoiled (though lovable) example of American Eskimo. She genuinely thinks and feels that she’s human – she talks to her “mother”, she sits properly in the front seat of the car, she disdains contact with other dogs (except to hump them), she picks at her food, and she likes to take short, frequent walks. That’s not Lady.

Lady is a force of nature. She’s my little white wolf. As a little 18 pound 9-month-old puppy, she would tug so hard on her leash when she was taken for a walk that my wife and daughter literally could not hold her. She would scrunch down low to the ground, her legs driving forward, her strong shoulders pulling with all her might, and with a sudden burst, her leash would pop out of their hands, and she’d be off down the street at a hundred miles an hour, and woe to any rabbit that chanced in her path.

Lady never really understood the concept of a walk – still doesn’t. In her mind, getting outside means a chance to run and to catch things, and she’s not about to miss the opportunity. Every single day of her life that she’s come out my front gate, she immediately sets off on a dead run, as fast as her leash-holder can go, down the street toward the green-belt where the rabbits might be. Eventually she’ll settle down, and some other imperatives will take over, like sniffing after all the other dogs that have been by and leaving her calling cards, so her master can get a breath. But should any cat or rabbit or squirrel chance by, she’ll spot them and leap in their direction with a mad abandon, as if she thought that just this once, after ten thousand tries, her leash would not hold, and she’d be allowed to chase down her prey.

Lady has a gorgeous stride – wickedly fast, with a kind of spring every third step or so, leaping a little higher in the air, as graceful as can be. When she was younger, she was just impossible to catch when she got loose… one time, she got free at a kid’s soccer game, and the game had to be stopped for 10 minutes while 10 or 12 adults tried to chase her down. Nothing could have entertained her more – her favorite game in the world at that time was to run towards you and then at the last instant to give a little Jordanesque fake and zip past you, then spin around and come back at you for another round. She could turn on a dime, in a flash, like a little fluffy white pinball sped up to bullet speed. I was finally able to step on her leash as she whipped past, and one crisis was ended.

Her first mission in life – completely self-appointed – is to protect her territory. We have fences and gates all around our house, five feet high at the lowest point. We have had the same neighbors on one side her entire life – a very nice older couple – but every day, when either of them walks past on their side of the fence, she charges over to the fence, and tries to leap up and growl and chew them to bits. She can easily leap up to the very top, with her front paws gripping the top of the fence for just an instant, as she barks and snaps, and then flips back down, and then back up again like a jack-rabbit. More often, she will jump right at the fence, trying to knock down this barrier with her strong forelegs, then spin in mid-air to land facing away from the fence, and then jump-spin back again into the fence. Of course, the neighbors know and love her, and just laugh and call to her. After a minute, she’ll decide that the other side of the house needs checking, and she’ll zip off at top speed, rushing around the corner of the garage to check the bushes, and then back again, skipping and leaping for the pure joy of it, to slam once again into the fence with a will. Or she’ll charge into the back yard, where we have a few low trees and a row of bushes that grow over the wall – with birds constantly fluttering in and out of the branches. Into the thick of it she’ll leap, then hop around beneath the branches on her hind legs for perhaps 30 seconds to a minute, looking up longingly at the birds just out of her reach, trying to set herself to jump straight up into the trees or over the wall. Eventually, she’ll settle down for a bit of a rest, breathing hard, tongue hanging out, with that happy smile that Eskies have. Or she’ll remember that she loves it inside the house, and will rush back around to the front door, and when let in will rush around the house, skittering and slipping on the hardwood floors, jumping onto the forbidden couches and then immediately back down, running all through the house, locating everyone before ambling over to her big soft green pillow for another well-deserved rest.

Well… time to give Lady some breakfast, and head off to get some work done. She stretches out, front paws all the way forward and down, butt raised, shakes a bit and yawns, and indicates her willingness to follow me out front. A little water, a slow spin or two – Eskies love to spin, and when happy, will often stand on their hind legs and then spin around quickly 3 or 4 times, like a spinning top, a kind of gymnastic chasing-the-tail, smiling and leaping, then rush off and back, and repeat the process. But in the morning, it’s just ambling in a circle once or twice, and then a nice breakfast. When she was younger, she’d eat in gulps, as quickly as she could, but now she takes her time, sometimes leaving half for later, for little self-rewards throughout the day. Now it’s time for her to walk me to the gate, a final rub and nuzzle, and then each off to our respective jobs. We make each other very happy.