…it’s more an Alpha male dog the size of my foot.
The dog I inherited is a complete asshole to everyone but the German, the Director, and me — to whom he’s most devoted. He was my mom’s dog for a brief respite between shelters. She worried about what would happen to him when if she died. I’ll take him, the German told her. She breathed a sigh of relief with what little breath she had left.
But then the German asked me afterwards if I’d take him. Me being more of a dog nut. He being mostly a worn-out caregiver. The dog hadn’t bit me. I liked him. We had an understanding, which basically boiled down to this:
if I’m a good dog to you how can you say ‘no’ me because otherwise I’m doomed?
How could I?
Neighbors laughed when they saw me walking him. Neighbors I never said a single banjo’d bonjour to stopped and talked to me about this dog, the small bitey one, compared to my last one, the monster weighing in at 125 pounds. It surprised me that they recognized me without my dog and with my new dog. I was able to explain things about the new dog and about inheriting him from my mom, because I’d learned how to say my last dog had died in French. One paw washing another.
Now I am darting my eyes around trees and bushes because it’s autumn and bears with their cubs – well, this is their time.
My dog once a term that meant all things protective and awesome has become My dog, prey.
The walk is different. We don’t go that far off trail. I have to reinvent who I am with what I have now as my inheritance.