But one only has to spend a small amount of time surfing the millions of blogs on the interwebs to discover that there are people out there who seem to be far, FAR more into their dogs than I am, posting photos many times a week, of their canines doing every single thing you can imagine, as well as some things you’d like not to imagine, accompanied by reflections, observations, and aphorisms, dripping with sentimentalism.
Me: 9 photos posted in three years, mostly because, well, Zuki IS rather photogenic.
But does that really mean that I’m not THAT into my dog?
On Saturday, May 16th, as I’ve mentioned, my wife and I took off for a week-long vacation, for the first time not accompanied by our son, now 17-years of age.
On Friday, May 22nd, the day before we returned home, Zuki, who has a funny loose wire in the noggin, causing her to occasionally bolt away if she doesn’t have solid eye contact with either my wife, my son, or me, took off from a downtown location, only 2-3 miles from our home, but a 2-3 miles she’d never covered on foot before, on or off leash, a 2-3 miles that required crossing over or under Interstate 5 and several VERY busy surface streets.
The Humane Society was contacted daily, ads placed on Craigslist, posts posted to Facebook, streets, alleys, trails searched in as big of a radius as we could manage, a trail of urine and water solution sprayed from our house to the location where she was last seen, the needle eluding us in the haystack, dreams and nightmares invading sleep, thoughts of Zuki preventing sleep, late night departures from bed to check to see if, by some miracle, she had found her way home…
Eight days and nights elapsed, my wife finally had her biggest cry, coming to grips with the possibility that Zuki could be gone for good and that she could be lost, injured and in great distress, or dead, and then, at 4am, after waking from the latest of my dreams of Zuki’s return, I heard what sounded like a faint whine, I arose from bed and walked out into the house, gazed at the first glass door that, every night prior, had revealed nothing, but this time, there she was…
And when she spotted me in return, she bolted to the closer door, the front door to my left, I opened it, and she sped past me, running directly to our bedroom, where her dog bed sits at the foot of our human bed. My wife awoke and asked if it was the cat, I said no, it was Zuki, and in a wave of emotion, tears of joy and relief, Zuki was enveloped back into the family.
I never had a big cry, but I was very sad the whole week she was missing, my sleep was disturbed, I couldn’t imagine life without Zuki, nor replacing her. To say that I’m just not that into my dog is a lie. It’s just the silly, fairly common, though by no means universal, result of male conditioning, where it’s not considered macho or cool to get all mushy and sentimental over a dog.
So, I declare this day, that I am deeply grateful that Zuki miraculously found her way home, grateful that, while clearly shaken up, she survived the ordeal without any injury.
And I offcially embrace and declare my sentimental feelings for my dog, a true and beloved member of the family.
Zuki, please, don’t run away again. Ok?