I must be the luckiest dog owner in the world.
This is Abita Turbodog. For those of you who don't recognize the trademark, she's named after a beer made in Louisinana. I didn't name her. She was born in New Orleans the year hurricane Katrina hit.
Her owner left New Orleans like so many others that year, and ended up in San Francisco, which she apparently couldn't afford, like so many others. My free-spirited son took the bus down Mission Street to his job as a line cook at a 4 star restauarant, and met Abita with her owner, on their way to the pound. He got off the bus with the dog. The tips of her sharpest teeth are all broken off but she is otherwise in good repair.
Like so many others, my son was struggling to make ends meet in San Francisco. He went straight from high school to the city he thought would be just the thing, but he forgot to save up enough money to live there for more than a few weeks, and wouldn't accept money from the family. I tried to talk him out of it, but also drove him to the airport when he wanted to leave. A few hours later, he called and asked me how to get from the airport into town. I explained there are shuttles, and I googled and found him a hostel to stay in for the first week. We talked almost every day on the phone, and I asked him every time if he'd had enough yet. But he is stubborn. He lived in San Francisco for five years.
My ex thought the dog was a big mistake, but I was so glad my son found Abita. He needed a best friend, and a healthy dose of real responsibility.
I call her "The Beautiful Dog." She made my son very happy. For that, I will always be indebted to this dog.
My son met a funky British femme fatale at Burning Man, and was invited to Bristol. I agreed to dog sit while he was in Europe, almost two years ago now. The funky Brit girl dumped my son hard, and he came back heart broken, not sure what he wanted to do next. But he still didn't like the East Coast. He wanted to go back out west to explore and find his way. I've been dog sitting ever since.
It's not as though he no longer wanted Abita. My son is in Oregon now, he's into stuff I really don't get, industrial art and lasers and sculpting. My son made a glass violin, how did he do that? We still talk probably more than most doting moms are allowed to call their sons. The other day I told him if he wanted Abita back, I'd fight him for her. I could tell that hurt, I had to recant. No, I wouldn't stop you from taking her, I lied. He said his landlord doesn't allow dogs, and I sighed with relief.
Abita and I are very comfortable together. She sleeps on a giant dog futon I bought that takes up most of the space right next to my bed. Did I tell you that this is my very first dog? Yes, I am a cat person.
As soon as Abita arrived at my house, she called a truce with the cats. She really doesn't care about them at all, except that every morning when I feed them, she tries to steal their cat dishes. She also has a problem with my very favorite cat, Orion, the loviest, friendliest, most mellow cat I have ever met. You look at Orion, and he starts purring. He makes friends with other cats too, even strays; he snuggles with them and licks the tops of their heads. I call him "The Mahatma Kitty."
When I give Orion his morning hug, Abita doesn't like it one bit. Every time Orion and I try to have a moment together, Abita starts pacing back and forth and barking at us. She is quite jealous. It's the only thing that bothers me about Abita. We're working on it.
The reason I am the luckiest dog owner in the world, other than the fact Abita is so beautiful (I have had strangers stop me on the street to tell me how "gorgeous" my dog is), is that she is amazingly well-trained. She "comes" when she's called, she "stays" and she "waits." I make her wait every time I feed her, there's this big splendid bowl of kibbles sitting at her feet and she looks up into my eyes waiting for me to say "go!"
Abita still has a bit of NOLA in her. She doesn't "sit," but she will "kick it down." "Go kick it down" means go somewhere else; say it and she hangs her head and goes off to kick it down somewhere else. Say "petit bourgeois" and she'll roll over on the floor. But don't say "revolution" or she'll jump up, put her paws on your shoulders and knock you over.
As a brand new dog owner, I was stunned to discover how needy yet endearing, how smelly yet huggable my new dog is. I never have to worry about "accidents" or pee on the carpet or finding things chewed up and destroyed, not with this dog.
She LOVES me so much! Abita knows how to kiss, too. No gooey licking and no teeth, I say "kisses" and she presses her muzzle gently against mine for a split second. I get a peck every morning when I wake up. It's really true that your dog becomes your very best friend.
To the woman who trained my dog, wherever you may be: THANK YOU so much. I am truly grateful (especially for no "accidents"). Rest assured, I am taking good care of the Beautiful Dog.