Having recently visited my daughter, Natalie, and her family in Oregon, I couldn’t help comparing how dogs in Colorado experience life differently from those dwelling in that state. Natalie’s family includes Wally, a black and white Havanese, complete with a busy pom-pom tail, square beard, bushy eyebrows, and a charming underbite. He used to be a Colorado dog, but now that he lives in Oregon, his routines have been altered. During my first visit last year, I witnessed a single defining moment that made me realize just how different his life has become. It all came down to weather. The rain was coming down the entire morning with no signs of letting up. Puddles were forming, the eaves were dripping onto the patio, the turf was wet, the stairs were slick—basically, there was no escaping the wet. Wally did not want to go outside.
If you’ve experienced little dogs, many will pick an out-of-the-way corner of the house rather than venture outside in inclement weather. My daughter feared this, so she stood in the open doorway, insisting that he go out to do his business. Insisting means stomping her foot and repeating these words, “Wally, go potty. Go on. Out you go.” When he ignored her or attempted to turn and run the other way, she’d repeat the exercise, adding sweeping gestures to drive the point home. “I know you have to go. You haven’t gone out yet today. Go on, Wally. Go outside and go potty.” When none of this worked—and it routinely did not—she had to physically pick him up, deposit him outside, and shut the door. Once ejected from the house, he would stand under the eaves, his body pressed against the glass, forlornly gazing at her over his shoulder, his expression very like that of a starving orphan puppy. It was quite the pathetic scene. Being made to feel like the cruelest human on the planet, Natalie would offer encouragement. “Go on,” she’d say, “and then you can come back inside.”
“Wally makes no pretense of enjoying getting wet all over when it could so easily be avoided.”
Forced into it, Wally would reluctantly step out into the yard, but he made a point to avoid getting any enjoyment from it. He approached the entire obligation with disdain. He’d lift his paws up after each soggy contact with a wet surface. First, the patio tiles, then the stairs up to the turf, and all along the path to his favorite potty spot in the corner. This actually made the circuit take longer, but he didn’t seem to consider that part as he high-stepped and judiciously picked his path, avoiding any hint of a puddle. Once in the right spot, he’d execute the task in record time. After, feeling proud of himself for enduring such an unpleasant task, he’d quickly head to the back door, forgetting it was just as wet on the return trip, where he would bark and bat at the door with his wet paws until someone noticed him. Of course, he wouldn’t be allowed back inside until his paws and fur were toweled dry—yet another unpleasantness to endure.
And that’s the basic theme of Wally’s new life in Oregon: soggy, drippy, damp, pooling and puddling. In one word: wet. He gets to avoid snow for the most part, as there’s not much of the white stuff to make annoying and biting snowballs between his dainty paws. That was part of the Colorado package. He considers this a perk. But he finds himself much less enthusiastic to accompany the family on walks in the rain. They, of course, all have wet weather gear—umbrellas and happy yellow boots and the like. He does not. And, frankly, even if he were outfitted with little rubber booties and a yellow dog-tailored slicker and hat, he’d balk at wearing them. He may be pint-sized and cute, but he has no intention of going out in public looking ridiculous. Wally makes no pretense of enjoying getting wet all over when it could so easily be avoided. The family wants to go out there, let them. He will simply watch out for them at the window, protected and warm, until they return. He chooses to stay dry, thank you very much.
Toys are also treated differently in Wally’s new Oregon home. He is not allowed—as in forbidden—to chase a ball outside and then bring it back inside if it has rained recently. The truth of it is that it has always recently rained. Wet fetching balls and furniture do not mix well. Squeaky stuffies? Same rule. There is no mixing the outside with the inside in a wet environment. If he does happen to accidentally bend the rules, the family—and especially Natalie—freaks out, makes a fuss, and embarks on an immediate and thorough scrubbing.
Wally has noticed that the continuous damp weather enhances the smell of everything. The trace of other dogs, the zig-zag path of rabbits, and every other thing the imagination could conjure has been steeped in a damp elixir of heady scent. Every available scent hangs low and pungent for the imbiber to savor. The constant wet of Oregon greatly enhances the already amazing canine sense of smell, so when Wally deigns to experience the outdoors, the experience he gets is enhanced to the point that he gets more out of it. It’s rather convenient, since he chooses to skip some of the available walking opportunities. Less walks traded for a greatly heightened experience? Maybe it’s worth it. I hope so, because Wally is no longer a Colorado canine. Wally is permanently inhabiting Oregon: land of the wet.
