SUGAR

SUGAR

The handsome little boy presses his nose to the glass and looks at me longingly. I try to look cute. A bit of a stretch for a strange-looking beagle/basset mix puppy. I have a long, stocky basset body. And an engaging beagle face with floppy ears like Snoopy. My elite nose leads to fun and trouble! I look straight into his mesmerizing blue eyes. Young and kind, he has a baby face, a full head of jet-black hair, and a deep tan from playing soccer. I think I heard his daddy say he’s 10. But he looks 7. I’ll only allow the best girls to date him when he becomes a teenager. I stand up on my hind legs, press my nose into the glass and stare lovingly at Dylan. My tail wags so hard it almost falls off. I yip eagerly. We’re a match!

The clerk comes over to Dylan and his dad. Adam says, “we’re considering adopting her.”

“That’s Sugar. She has an attitude.” The clerk rolls her eyes and laughs wickedly.

“I wonder if she’ll get along with our shelty. She’s 12.”

“Puppies are resilient and adaptable. Sugar will do fine.”

Well, I had hoped I’d be the only dog. I may be a puppy. But my littermates respect me.

Adam gazes through the glass, inspecting me carefully. He has masterful brown eyes, a bald head ringed with gray-haired wisdom and a chiseled physique for a middle-aged guy. Looks like he could roughhouse all day! I sense he loves dogs and that he is kind and fair, but also that in our relationship he will become THE Alpha. The undisputed leader of OUR pack. I can tell from his tone of voice that he loves that shelty. I better not be too mean to her. If he trains me, I’ll work hard and pay close attention. A shelty is a hard act to follow! But there’s something sad behind those eyes.

Dylan bats his eyelashes. “Can we take her home, Dad?”

“Let’s go talk to your mom.”

As they leave, I curl up for a nap. My “inner wolf” assures me that these are humans I can trust.

If they adopt me, my senses of smell and hearing, so much more powerful than theirs and linked with large parts of my brain devoted to processing data quickly, will give me clues about them and their world that they cannot begin to imagine. My eyesight is poor but my night vision superior. And I process visual clues rapidly. Years of living with humans have given me several unique facial expressions that I use in relating with them. Then there’s the ace up my sleeve—I have a special part of my brain devoted to analyzing and getting along with people!

On homecoming day, I briefly become a frightened puppy. Where’s Mommy? I want my littermates! The shelty is huge. With an ill temper. No matter how enthusiastically I run up to her wagging my tail, she growls. She did pee all over herself when she met me. There’s that. Maybe an edge to exploit. Shelties are fast. They herd sheep and cattle. But this one does seem old and slow. Maybe another advantage.

I meet the other members of my family—the “Davidson’s.” Theodore is 13 years old and attends 7th grade in middle school. He keeps talking about an overnight trip that leaves tomorrow after school. Boy Scouts. He doesn’t have much time to get acquainted.

Brenda is busy making dinner. Juggling 5 work projects laid out in her home office. Asking everyone about his day. Telling Dylan to play hard at the soccer game tomorrow. And warning Theodore to behave on that scout trip. She’s an Alpha Female. But while the rest of the family gushes over the new puppy, she doesn’t even touch me. Won’t let me get close enough to lick her.

Her face is kind. Her voice is warm. Her eyes are tender. After dinner, she clandestinely tosses me a bite of steak. I’ll get steak from Adam one day too. But I earn it by performing a routine from obedience class. Something’s up here, too. She’s not sad like Adam. But she’s a bit afraid of me. Maybe another dog hurt her?

That night, I cry in my crate. Adam comes into the room. Yells “BE QUIET!” and drops a phone book!!! I never cry in my crate again.

By the next morning, Adam has already taken me outside to “do my business” several times. He just takes me out onto the grass and says, “Hurry up.” If I don’t “go,” or spend too much time sniffing--he commands, “Hurry UP!!” more insistently. After I finish, he praises “good girl!” But what I grow to love is when he calls me “Puppy Dog” instead of Sugar. The sound is gentle, happy and soothing.

Maybe he’s sad because that old dog is going to die? Or is it something else?

Adam goes off on a business trip and Theodore hikes with the scouts. It’s just Brenda, Dylan and me for a few days. Brenda takes me out frequently to pee. When she tells me “NO!” or “hurry up,” I obey.

Dylan roughhouses with me on the floor. But when I nip him—even gently—his feelings are hurt. He tells Brenda, and later Theodore, that I’m “being a jerk.” Like all dogs, I learn words through tone of voice. “Jerk” sounds bad. Not quite like the teenage words that I’ll eventually learn from Theodore. But it’s not “Puppy Dog.” Brenda assures him I’m just playing. Dylan forgives me.

It takes almost no time to teach that old dog I’m in charge. Without Adam around to protect her and Brenda ignoring me, I run circles around her while pulling her tail. I steal her bones and toys and take them far across the yard. If she limps over to retrieve one, I move it further away. When Dylan approaches her, she growls. I saw her growl at Theodore, too. I’m pretty sure the boys won’t protect her from me. By the time Adam gets home from his business trip and starts to keep us separated, I’ve pulled most of the hair from her tail. And when I sniff her, I smell fear. And hurt.

The sound of Adam’s voice is poignant when he sees Sally like that. I’m sure she was once a beautiful dog. One day about a year later, he takes her away. She doesn’t return. He’s more sad than ever for several weeks.

If it hurt Adam, I’m sorry I hurt Sally.

When Theodore comes back from his scout trip, I learn advanced roughhousing. We have battle royales on the family room floor. He shoves and pushes me and practically throws me through the air. I growl and snarl and bite him but not hard enough to break the skin. His friends are fantastic! They all love me. Christopher kisses me every time he sees me. I hear and smell him long before he reaches our family’s house. I run to the door baying and howling and wagging my tail furiously as I wait for him to come inside. I decide I don’t have to worry about Theodore’s friends or what he’ll do with them. He’s an Alpha in training. There is one that smells like he eats different food at home. So I growl and snarl at him and sometimes “tree” him on top of the patio table. He’s not the same color as everyone else either. But I’m more into smells. Theodore and his buddies call him “Habib.” I don’t sense anything else bad about him except his mom’s food, so I quit treeing him.

Every day when I play in the backyard for nearly my entire life, I stalk a squirrel. It always gets away. First, it got away because I barked at it and got too excited. I learn to sneak up. But when I get close and make my final run to pounce on him, my rabies and license tags jingle. He escapes. Once I pull off most of his tail and leave it proudly on the patio hoping Adam will find it.

I kill a rabbit and several birds and leave their warm, freshly killed bodies by the patio door. Adam and the boys think it’s funny and praise me for it. But I can tell that Brenda doesn’t like it. So, I stick to the squirrel. I can’t ever catch it. That way, I won’t make her mad. How I want Brenda to pay attention to me! Sometimes she almost touches me, especially when she sneaks me food treats that Adam doesn’t let me have. A dog hurt her once, I feel sure.

The boys shoot the squirrel with BB guns or try to knock it out of the tree with brooms or hockey sticks. They are great hunting buddies. But when Brenda finds out they’re doing that, she makes them stop.

I become well house broken and hardly have an accident. Adam is almost a “dog whisperer.” We understand each other well, except I don’t know why he’s sad. I watch him even more carefully. He has these bottles with little pills in them. Over the years, the pills change shapes, sizes, and colors. Maybe those have something to do with his sadness. Or maybe they’re supposed to make him “well” from the sadness like the pills I get at the vet. I can’t put anything over on him. The first time I get a prescription, Adam puts the pill into a delicious wiener. But I ate the wiener and spit out the pill. He looks at a book with a golden retriever on the cover. After that, he puts his fingers down my throat and forces me to swallow every future pill!

From experiences like that, I know even more than I knew at the adoption place that Adam is THE boss. I decide that I will blow him away when he takes me to obedience class. I pay as much attention to Adam in that class as the border collies pay to their masters. And lo and behold, I become a big star! Usually hounds are not so good at that class. Our noses distract us. We get into trouble. But I was every bit as good at doing all the exercises and working off the leash as the most raptly attentive herding dog.

Although I’m little, and young, I already fiercely love the Davidson’s. I’m sure none of the other dogs in the class would have hurt Adam. But I take no chances. I crouch in safety under his chair where those other dogs can’t get at me very well. And then I growl in the most frightening, blood-curdling way you’ve ever heard from a puppy. Those dogs make big circular detours to avoid coming anywhere near “my chair.” And they leave Adam alone!

By the time I’m a year old, I am strong, mean, lean and all muscle. I’m kind to my family. But I make sure strangers are okay before they’re allowed to have anything to do with the boys, Adam or Brenda.

The girlfriends are all fine and fawn over me. But some of Dylan’s friends worry me. He’s not an Alpha. He’s a Follower. One of them smells a bit like a skunk. Or some sort of nasty plant in the woods that a human wouldn’t want to touch. I really have fun treeing him on the patio table or chasing him up and down the stairs. Adam doesn’t make me stop until—as I hear him tell Brenda—I have “scared the shit out of him.”

The other guy lives just down the street. Dylan comes home crying sometimes and tells Brenda that the guy has “ditched him” to “hang out with someone else.” I don’t know what that means. But I hate seeing Dylan upset. So the next time I sniff this guy, I chase him too. He almost peed on himself on top of the patio table. Of course, I could easily get up there and take a hunk out of his leg. Adam or Brenda will make me behave in a little bit. After I’ve “put the fear of God into him.” Another expression that Adam uses.

Sometimes Adam and the boys pack up all sorts of interesting gear and say they’re going “backpacking.” They talk excitedly about mountains and snow. I long to go. But settle for long walks with Adam or Theodore where I try to chase every rabbit I smell.

Adam and Brenda quit using the same loving tone of voice with each other about the time I’m middle aged. I don’t understand the words. They don’t get as loud as when they tell me, “NO!” But they raise their voices. And they don’t hug and kiss as much. Adam takes more pills in more shapes, sizes and colors. He seems to grow even sadder with every pill he takes.

He wakes up early and sits in his chair reading a book and drinking coffee as I sleep by his feet. He calls me “Puppy Dog.” He only laughs and smiles these days when the TV says something about the “Sooners” winning a “game.” When he sits quietly with me early in the morning, I love Adam more than I thought possible. I want his sadness gone.

If only we could play tug of war all day with the big, braided rope, while Adam laughs and I growl! I sense his happiness return…briefly.

One day right before the boys move away, I give my crowning performance as a “Davidson.” I smell those bastards out on the driveway messing with Dylan’s car. I hear them quietly laughing about stealing his expensive stereo. I run to the patio door…barking, howling and baying. The hairs on my neck bristle.

Brenda says, “Sugar, BE QUIET!”

I sprint to the door into the house from the garage and growl and bark even more fiercely. My mouth foams. Let me at those little shits! By now I know lots of Theodore’s words.

Adam says, “HUSH!”

I obey. But I lie down right by the door into the garage and growl as loudly as I can get away with until I hear one last laugh. And the little turds drive away.

Adam heads off to work but soon comes back into the house.

“Well, Brenda, my day is ruined. Somebody broke the side window out of Dylan’s car and stole his stereo. I’ll have to pick up as much glass as I can and take it to the shop. Please call the receptionist and tell her I’ll be late to the office.”

“You should learn to listen to Sugar. You’re a horrible listener.”

The boys move away. I’m getting old. My arthritis hurts! Adam is gone. I can’t sense where he is and only see him when he mows the lawn. Most of the things that smelled like Adam are gone from our house. How I wish he’d take me for a walk. Even if I limped.

Brenda cries a lot. I lie next to her recliner. One day she says, “I’m sorry, Sugar. I want to touch you. But I can’t. I had a Pomeranian puppy that died. Since then, I just can’t touch a dog. But I love you. We both miss Adam.”

She says something about “counseling.” And starts telling me frequently that she’s going to “counseling” as she puts me in my crate or out into the yard.

Months pass.

And then…I know it. Adam is coming home! I hear the garage door opener. I smell him! I get more excited than the day that Dylan found me. All three of us cry. He calls me “Puppy Dog.”

I never figure out his sadness…completely…but a pack needs its Alpha.

I lose my hearing. How I hate not hearing Adam’s voice or playing tug of war. I have “potty” accidents and spend a lot of time in my crate or out in the yard. But the yard gets cold in the fall and winter. When I get cold I shiver much worse than when I was younger. Adam is mostly happy these days, but sad when I shiver.

One day I can sense that it’s going to get extremely cold soon. Maybe even the next day. Adam comes home early from work. He tenderly brushes me and makes me look as good as a 15-year-old beagle/basset mix can look. I smell his sadness, sniffing his tears before the first one falls. I know where we’re going. I sit next to him shaking uncontrollably. He drives left-handed and strokes me gently with his right all the way to the office.

Other people hand their pets off to the vet. And get them back “later.” But Adam has always gone “back there” with me. His smell is comforting and assuring.

They put me up on a table. Adam strokes me softly. The vet leaves. Adam’s lips move. He’s surely calling me “Puppy Dog.” He must’ve petted me for half an hour. Called me “Puppy Dog” a hundred times! He pushes a button on the wall. The vet comes and gives me a shot between my toes. Tears stream down Adam’s face. But I sense that more than half of them are happy.

I begin to drift off. There’s a blinding white light. I feel peaceful. The dead squirrel is in my mouth. There’s Adam! He’s happy!!! I run to him as fast as I could as a puppy and flop the squirrel at his feet. My arthritis is gone. I can hear him!

“Hey, Puppy Dog. Let’s go backpacking!”

He says we’ll meet up with Brenda and the boys.

A sign reads, “Welcome to New Mexico.” A wolf howls in the distance. We walk off into the sunset. Towards a snow-capped peak that Adam calls, “Wheeler.”