Smart Dogs, Dumb Choices: Part Two

After reading my post on smart dogs, Peter remarked that I should have written about Caper, the second dog of the life we had in Wheaton. He's right - Caper totally qualifies for the "smart dog" designation and I don't write about Caper with the same frequency I write about Kodiak.

Kodiak was MY dog whereas Caper was Peter's dog, so I feel a little funny writing about Peter's dog. More to the point, he's not our dog at all anymore. When we started the search for new homes for our animals, a friend of Peter's sister fell in love with his picture and now Caper is living the life of luxury and indulgence in California. I've never even been to California but my ex-dog lives there. Kodiak is still a part of my family, albiet my extended family. (Sometimes, on our weekly phone chats, my dad runs out of things to say to me and puts Kodiak on the phone.)

So, today is about Caper, since this is the anniversary of the day we adopted Caper - 22 February 2003.

Caper was everything I never wanted in a dog – smart, young, and high-energy. He was a blur, a force of nature, forty pounds of pure energy, a truck that hit us head-on.

We wanted a companion for Kodiak and Peter had his heart set on a Blue Heeler. We set up a time to check out a two-year-old Blue Heeler mix who was listed on a web site as obedient, a good listener, and good with children and cats.

On a blustery morning, we drove 80 miles to a small shelter. The attendant brought the dog into a cramped office to meet us. He was in motion the entire visit - jumping on us, the chair, the edge of the desk. Several red flags flapped in the small space, but we ignored them. He had a great face – expressive eyes under brown eyebrows and ringed by a black mask, the distinctive white blaze of an Aussie Cattle dog, endearingly floppy ears. We couldn’t say no to that face.

At home, it was readily apparent that the dog was not quite as advertised. He was just barely a year old He chased the cats with a gleeful vengeance. Commands were noise to him. He was only marginally housebroken. Kodiak spent the first night staring at me with doleful eyes, the thought bubble above his head practically screaming, “What are you doing to me?”

I wanted to call him "Badger" because it's a funny word and he had a white-stripe on his head, but it soon became apparent that "Badger" and "bad dog" were far too closely related. We christened him Caper after the playful way he pranced and frolicked.

Do you get the dog you want or do you get the dog you need, even if he’s not what you think you need? Dogs work in mysterious ways. Despite the accidents on the carpet, Caper improved our lives. He kept Kodiak and us active. The rigorous training he required forced us to become better handlers. The pure joy he displayed bounding around the backyard reminded me to take the time to enjoy the simple things. The athletic way he moved made me appreciate the job his breed does.

If I’d known the truth about Caper, I would never have agreed to even look at him. But I’m glad that we did. He added a spark and excitement to our lives and I miss him.