THE DOG DIARIES

In which I really get to know my dogs better by living beside them as an equal.

I am about to post Reasons # Four and # Five of my new series “Why I Waited 22 Years to Get Married” because I am having a good time writing it. But I thought I would offer a little sorbet between courses, since the afore mentioned is kind of dark. So here is a Merrill Markoe Classique! The Dog Diaries was the first piece I ever wrote about my dogs for general consumption! Before this, I had done some dog videos for the first iteration of Late Night with David Letterman and also I wrote a short dog essay that was included in a compilation book about that show. But in 1984, US magazine (! of all the unlikely magazines to have employed me), requested an essay. I gave them The Dog Diaries and to my shock, they printed it! It has got to be easily the least US-magazine-like thing that was ever printed in US magazine. And that includes Patrick Duffy’s recipe for Monkey Bread.

THE DOG DIARIES

I pick dogs that remind me of myself: scrappy, mutt-faced, with a hint of mange. People look for a reflection of their own personalities or the person they dream of being in the eyes of an animal companion. That is the reason I sometimes look into the face of my dog Stan and see wistful sadness and existential angst when all he is actually doing is slowly scanning the ceiling for flies.

We pet owners demand a great deal from our pets. When we give them the job, its a career position. Pets are required to listen to us blithely, even if we talk to them in infantile goofy voices that we’d never dare use around another human being.

We are pretty sure that we both share the same reality until one day we come home to find that our intelligent friend who reminds us of our better self has decided a good way to spend the day was to open a box of Brillo pads, unravel a few, distribute some throughout the house and eat or wear all the rest. And we shake our heads, unable to comprehend what went wrong here. Were they just bored or out for revenge? They certainly can’t be as stupid as this behavior would suggest.

In order to address these questions fully, I felt I needed the kind of new perspective that comes from truly understanding both sides of the story. And thus I made up my mind to live with my pets as one of them: to share their hopes, their fears, their squeaking vinyl lambchops, their drinking space at the toilet.

What follows is the revealing, sometimes shocking, sometimes terrifying, sometimes really stupid diary that resulted.

7:45 A.M. We have been lying on our sides in the kitchen for almost an hour now. We started out in the bedroom, with just our heads under the bed. But then one of us heard something and we all ran to the back door. I think our quick response was rather effective because, although I never ascertained exactly what it was we heard, I also can’t say I recall hearing it again.

9:00 A.M. We carefully inspected the molding in the hallway, which lead us straight to the heating duct in the bedroom. Just a coincidence? None of us was really sure. So we watched it suspiciously for a while. Then we watched it for a little while longer. And then, never letting it out of our sight, we all took a nap.

10:00 A.M. I don’t really know whose idea it was to yank back the edge of the carpet and pull apart the carpet pad, but talk about. rousing good time. How strange that I could have lived in this house for all these years and never before felt the fuzz of a carpet pad between my teeth. Or ever actually bit into a moist chewy chunk of carpet padding. I will never again think of the carpet as simply a covering for the floor.

11:15 A.M. I’m not sure how we all wound up in the kitchen but once we arrived, the other two began to stare at me eagerly. Their meaning was clear. The pressure was on for me to produce snacks. They obviously remembered the old me—-the one with the prehensile thumb who could open refrigerators and cabinets and cans. I saw they didn’t yet realize that today I was attempting to live as their equal. But as they continued their staring, I soon became caught up in their obsession. That is the only explanation I have as to why I helped them topple over the garbage. At first I was nervous, watching the murky fluids soak into the floor. But the heady sense of acceptance I felt when we all dove head first into the half-full can more than made up for my compromised sense of right and wrong. Pack etiquette demanded that I be last in line. I didn’t want to break protocol. Though by the time I really got my head into the can, most of the really good stuff was gone. But wait! I spied a piece of aluminum foil hidden in a giant clump of hair and inside I found a wad of previously chewed gum. I remembered enjoying that gum so it was tempting even though it was now lightly coated with sugar or salt. I tookit off to a corner and was settling down to enjoy my treasure when I had the sense I was being watched. Raising my head just slightly, I looked into the noses of my companions. Their eyes were glued to that hairy rubbery mass. Their drools were long and elastic. And, well…I succumbed to peer pressure and split up my gum three ways, though now I am not sure I did the right thing. As is often the case with wanting popularity, I may have gained their short term acceptance. But I think that in the long term, I lost their real respect. No dog of reasonable intelligence would ever willingly divide up something that could still be chewed.

11:50 A.M. Someone spotted a fly and all three of us decided to catch him in our teeth. I was greatly relieved when one of the others got him first.

12:20 P.M. Someone heard something and in a flash, we were all in the backyard, running back and forth by the fence, periodically hooting. Then one of us spotted a larger than usual space between two of the fence boards. Using both teeth and nails , the three of us joined forces to make the space larger. This was definitely a case where the old prehensile thumb really came in handy. Grabbing hold of one of the smaller pieces of splintered wood, I was able to enlarge the hole immediately. Ironically, I was the only one who was now unable to squeeze through the hole to freedom. And so I watched with envy as the other two ran in pointless circles in the vacant lot next door. What was I going to do? My options were limited. Sure, I could go back into the house, get my power saw and cut a larger hole in my fence. Or I could simply let myself out through the gate. But by backsliding like that, did I not betray my two companions? And would I then not be obligated to round us all up and punish us? No. I was a collaborator and I had the lip splinters to prove it. So I returned to the hole and continued chewing. And only a few hundred dollars worth of fence damage later, I was able to squeeze through that darned hole myself.

1:30 P.M.The extra time I wasted chewing on the

fence hole was just enough for me to lose sight of my two companions. And so, for the first time, I had to rely on my keen new animal instincts. Like the wild creature I had become, I was able to spot and follow their tracks immediately. They led me in a series of ever widening circles, then across the lot at a forty five degree angle, then into a series of zigzags that ultimately led me back to the hole again. Finally, I decided to abandon tracking and head out on all fours to the sidewalk. And that is when I spotted them both across the street where they were racing back and forth in front of the neighbor’s house, They seemed glad to see me so I eagerly joined them in their enterprise. The three of us had only been running and hooting for less than an hour when the owner of the house came to the front door. And while I admit that this was an awkward moment for a first introduction, nevertheless I still feel the manner in which she threatened to turn the hose on us was both excessively violent, unnecessarily impatient and vulgar. Clearly it was up to me to encourage our group to relocate. I admit I was shocked at how easy it was for me to again take command of our unit. A simple, “Come on, let’s go guys!” and everyone was willing to follow me home.

3:00 P.M.By the time we successfully moved our running and hooting activities back into our own front yard, we were all getting a little tired. So we all lay down on our left sides on the porch.

4:10 P.M. We all changed to our right sides.

4:45 P.M. We all changed sides again.

5:20 P.M. We all rolled onto our backs, for a nice change of pace.

6:00P.M.Everyone was starting to grow restless. Occasionally one of us would get up, scratch the front door with their paw and moan. As I watched this, I’ll admit I wrestled silently with the temptation to simply let us all into the house. But then I realized I hadn’t brought along any keys. Of course it also occurred to me that we could all just get back into the yard by using the new hole in the fence. But everyone else seemed to have forgotten about that whole incident by now. As my grandmother used to say “A word to the wise…” And so, taking a hint from my friends, I began to forget about the whole thing myself.

6:30P.M. We all reacted when we heard the sound of an approaching car as it pulled into the driveway. The man who shares this house with us has returned home He is both surprised and perplexed to see us all out in the front yard running in circles. He is also quickly irritated by the fact that no one offers him any explanation. So after he finds his keys and opens the front door, he unleashes a furious string of harsh words at us as he observes, for the first time, the garbage that has been strewn all over the house. My friends and I just stare at him. We have sympathy for his tragic misfortune. But since none of us knows anything about it, we all retire to the coat closet until he quiets down and things appear to have blown over.

6:50 A short while later, when he sits down at the table in the dining room to eat the take-out food he has brought home for dinner, I join the others under the table. We sit quietly. We are all watching the floor under his chair for any sprinkling of crumbs. And as we do, a pleasant feeling of calm washes over me as I realize just how much I have grown as a person from today’s experiences. Perhaps that is why the cruel things I can hear him saying to me seem to have no effect on me at all. I just wait and watch and wait and watch with the others. And then, when he gets up to go to the refrigerator to grab himself a cold soda, I raise my head so I am eye level with his dinner. And once I am sure that his back is turned, then silently, very carefully, using only my teeth, I lift his sandwich off his plate.