We have a dog named Walter. He’s an 11 year-old Rottweiler/Shepherd mix.
Walter recently went through surgery to remove a few problematic lumps, one on his knee and one in his spleen (they took the whole thing out). While he’s expected to fully recover, it’s hitting our family that he won’t be with us forever. Rather than dwell on the inevitable end, today I pay tribute to my guy Walter. It’s been a great 11 years together and along the way he’s made me think about life in some different ways.
Here are a few things I learned from my dog Walter.
Piss on Anything, Anywhere
Do yourself a favor and don’t lock your bike up anywhere on my block. At some point I’ll be staring at my phone, picking out the next song in Spotify, when Walter sneaks over to your bike and pisses all over it. Don’t park your stroller near him or expect your holiday lawn decorations to come back into the house unsoiled. If you see Walter coming down the street, don’t drop anything of any value in his path. He’ll figure out a way to drench it in piss. Nothing is safe.
The only thing more impressive than Walter’s burning desire to piss on everything is his seemingly limitless supply of piss. In a 15 minute walk he will piss no less than 87 times. If you take him on a longer walk, say 45 minutes, you will find out it is not humanly possible to count how many times he takes a piss. I believe the concept of infinity was invented to for this reason.
Obviously the lesson here is not that I now piss all over whatever I want. I’m not a maniac. But I’ve realized that Walter isn’t trying to be a d!ck, he’s just trying to relieve himself in his own f@cked up way. I’ve noticed that occasionally I will accidentally piss someone off (i.e. my wife) while trying to accomplish a well-intentioned goal. And sometimes other people (i.e. my wife) do that to me, too. Maybe we shouldn’t assume the worst of each other all the time. There’s no nefarious plan. Walter was just trying to go the bathroom, not intentionally wet the seats of your pushable ride-in kid car (sorry, neighbor).
Loudly Lick Yourself at Night
We all have our bedtime routines. Walter likes to choose the moment I am about to fall asleep and loudly lick himself in the dark for 30 to 45 minutes. It’s difficult to describe the specific sound this makes. It’s a cross between an old toothless man trying to chew a giant spoonful of peanut butter and a horse eating an apple.
Technically it counts as sustained, focused attention on one task, so perhaps it’s some sort of meditation for Walter. Or maybe it helps him sleep, akin to a human taking a warm bath before bed. Whatever the benefit, it’s a reminder to me to engage in regular self-care, even if that self-care sounds like going down on a humpback whale.
People in Wheelchairs are Suspicious
We don’t leave the shades down in the front of our house for the privacy. I don’t mind people sneaking a peek as they walk by. We leave the shades down because Walter likes to viciously bark at anyone who walks down the sidewalk, especially if that person has a skin tone darker than mine. And if you dare to require a wheelchair to get around, Walter apparently believes you should be run out of town.
My dog Walter is a racist who hates people with disabilities.
Sure, that’s awful. The silver lining is that Walter reminds me that we shouldn’t prejudge people based on their appearance. You may be right when you look at someone and think they are probably an a$$hole, but it would be irresponsible to draw any conclusions without talking to them first and finding out they are definitely an a$$hole, which they probably are.
Begging Works
Every night I cook dinner Walter stands in the kitchen looking at me with an expression on his face that can only be read as expecting the human food. For the majority of that cooking session I look him right in the eye and tell him he isn’t getting sh!t. Still, the look persists.
At some point I remember he’s an old man and maybe I should spoil him a little. Then I remember he’s a racist and wonder if I should be an instrument of karma and deny him the scraps. Then again, we don’t give him treats regularly so a little chicken or steak here and there seems justified for a good old boy trying to enjoy his golden years. His stare wears me down. I give him a little schnitzel. I give him a big schnitzel. I dump a good portion of the leftovers into his bowl.
Maybe it feels a little pushy, but you don’t often get what you want if you don’t ask for it.
Lead the Pack
My family likes to go for hikes. Even though we live in a major city there is a fantastic forest preserve about 30 minutes from our house. Most of the time we take Walter along with us.
Walter is a specific type of hiker. I would describe his style as Stay Behind Me, B!tch. Unfortunately for him, being on a leash means that his ability to go first can be hampered at times. That doesn’t prevent him from dragging the walker along in an attempt to regain the lead.
He doesn’t know where we’re going and he doesn’t care. He wants to be out front as the first line of defense. We’ve never encountered a single threat while hiking in the woods but that doesn’t stop Walter. In his mind the threats keep their distance because they see his vigilant a$$ out front taking care of business.
I’ve always appreciated this about Walter. He’s always looking out for us. When the kids get too far away at the park he whines until they get back within range. One time I had to take Walter out late at night (Walter has had the late night sh!ts about 50 times in his life. His GI system be f@cked) and was approached by a sketchy gentleman asking for money. Walter told him to f@ck off and he high-tailed it down the street. He’s always had our backs. He’s as loyal as they come.
Feel better soon, old man. There are many bikes left to piss on.
-MG
