Enter the dog

My girlfriend Gaywynn and I got a dog. As with many people who get a dog, we really didn’t know what we were getting ourselves into. It’s a puppy, a female, and she was about eight months old when we got her. A puppy is essentially a toddler in fur, and you had better be prepared for all sorts of non-negotiable demands plus continual acts of creative destruction. We’re still learning these things. And as with a toddler, say goodbye to a neat domicile.

First day in her new home

We got our dog from a no-kill shelter. She’s a black-and-white medium-sized dog of indeterminate breed. The vet declared that she has some terrier in her, and that appears to be true, but she has a smattering of other breeds flowing through her as well. We think some Labrador and perhaps some kind of Pointer. She has a charming underbite. One man at the dog park said, “She definitely has border collie in her.” She weighed 35 pounds when we brought her to the vet for the first time.

Relaxing at home

We named her Manon. Gaywynn, a Cajun girl, wanted a French name. I don’t remember how long we pondered this, but Manon is what we chose. No one we meet says the name correctly the first time or knows what it means or where it came from. There are two operas with the name Manon in their title, and there is the 1986 French movie, Manon des Sources (Manon of the Springs) from the novel with the same name by the wonderful Provençal writer, Marcel Pagnol. Gaywynn likes to point out that the name means “beautiful queen.”

Further relaxing at home.

And our dog certainly acts like a queen.

I had dreams that the dog and I would form one of those Lassie-like bonds, that we would fall in love with each other and become inseparable, walking along some wooded trail, something from a book cover. Instead, Manon fell in love with Gaywynn. She has been wary of me from Day 1. When we come back from a trip to town without her, she’s all over Gaywynn and treats me like I’m some sort of bill collector. We’ve had her for about four months now, and she’s warmed up to me only just slightly. And that tepidness is subject to change, often shooting to lower temperatures. I tell myself Manon must have had some trauma with men before she came to the shelter, and then to us, but maybe she just doesn’t like me. My brother, wag that he is, said, “Well, dogs can sense things….”

She’s a peculiar dog in some ways. Not like any dog I’ve had or known before. She didn’t bark at all for the first month or so, at all—not once. The day she did bark for the first time shocked the hell out of us. You can bark? She can be stubborn, too, refusing to move when you take her outdoors. We don’t know why. When I look at her sometimes, she has an enigmatic stare that makes me wish I knew what she was thinking.

At an outdoor restaurant with her favorite human, Gaywynn

She chews. Everything and anything. She’s a genius at finding things to chew. I have seen her extract a single magazine from a rack of magazines in our home with her teeth and bring it to the couch to shred it. She once managed to purloin one of Gaywynn’s earrings—while Gaywynn was wearing it. She was sitting next to Gaywynn when we were watching TV, and we began to hear a sound like someone was biting a rock. It was Gaywynn’s earring that Manon was attempting to chew. How she took it from a living ear without the owner noticing, we don’t know. But it’s a feat worthy of David Copperfield. Items she has chewed to smithereens or beyond use are: shoes, sweaters, shorts, TV remote (twice), thermometer, books, chopsticks, upholstery (couch, chair), bra—what else? You name it, she’s chewed it. Or will. Yes, we’ve bought her innumerable chewable toys. She still goes for our stuff.

Some of Manon’s handiwork

She’s very social. She likes other dogs and people. She loves going on excursions. (I’m beginning to sound like one of those descriptions they put up on shelter websites or on Petfinder. “Adopt her now!! She’s ready to love you!!!!”) She’s lightening quick and runs faster than a speeding bullet. She goes absolutely out of her mind, like a Walmart shopper on Black Friday, if she sees a squirrel or a rabbit. Her ardor is so strong, I’m tempted to let her go, but that could prove disastrous for both animals.

We have a cat. Actually, it’s Gaywynn’s cat. Her name is Grace. That’s a name no one has trouble with. They don’t ask us what it means or how to pronounce it. Manon wants desperately to play with Grace, but Grace is highly uninterested. Manon runs after Grace who occasionally will hiss and swat, but not with much conviction. Generally, they get along fine, especially since Grace can leap up on tables and other places where Manon can’t go.

Grace regarding Manon from a lofty position

Right now as I write this in the early morning. Manon is in the bedroom with Gaywynn. They’re both sleeping. We’re planning on going to the dog park today if it doesn’t rain. It’s cold—for Louisiana. High 45 degrees today. So we may not.

I hope she warms to me. I just have to remember to put my shoes away at night.