Article and photos by Rob Bettaso

I will start my dog story with an account of a couple of cats; feral cats, to be specific, that live in my green, jungle-like yard. These cats took up residence “chez-moi” a few years back, and I have done absolutely nothing to encourage them. Cats eat birds, and I am a lifelong bird-watcher and bird-lover, so naturally, I was a bit disturbed to find first, a smoke-gray cat move in; and then, maybe a year later, a jet-colored cat hanging around. Both cats are shaggy, unloved beasts, bespeaking their wild natures. Initially, they would bolt whenever they saw me, but over time, they now regard me with caution, but not alarm. I must admit, I spend a fair amount of time staring out my windows watching these two cats, and, while I still see plenty of birds in the vegetation of my yard, I no longer see the nasty rock squirrel that, along with his kin, have been a major annoyance to my existence for many years. So, yes, I am glad that the cats seem to have run off the noxious rodents.

Occasionally, the two cats will slowly approach each other, and they merely pass each other after a sniff or two. Although I have not actually observed it, I know that sometimes they will engage in one sort or another of extreme behavior that I presume is mating or fighting. During these mostly nocturnal encounters, they will hiss, howl, screech, and scream for several minutes before silence, if not harmony, is restored. And no, I have never seen any kittens around my yard. Nor have I ever noticed blood on either cat, although for a time, the smoky cat favored his front left paw a bit.

I bring up cats in what is otherwise going to be a dog story (and not a “shaggy dog story” but a straight-forward, factual dog story) because of the age old question: Are you a cat person, or a dog person. Like many binaries, the question is silly, because I would imagine that there are lots of folks (including me) who consider both species to be simply amazing. The primary thing I have always respected about cats is that their link to their wild cousins is quite apparent. When a cat moves, its predatory, feline nature is obvious, and one can easily envision a lioness stalking a gazelle somewhere on the Serengeti. A healthy dog, on the other hand, while it can occasionally evoke a wolf or fox, is more typically unable to contain its goofy, happy nature, and clearly shows its affinity and deep connection to humans.

So, on any given day, when I don’t have a real hike or a birding foray planned for the day, my mornings often start with a walk through my neighborhood, as I make my way to a local semi-wild trail. As always, the first pooch I see as I exit my front door is my across-the-street neighbor’s Corgi. His name is Cody, and he is a mix of tan, black, and white colorings. It seems to me he’s about three years old (having arrived as a young pup) and he has already slowed down from his puppy exuberance and now seems old beyond his years. He pants a bit as he trots along the fence-line as we walk together in a southerly direction; occasionally he will give a “wuff” of concern, but as time goes by, he seems to be becoming more and more silent.

I should mention that while I am certainly no expert on dog breeds, I recognize the basic types. I can credit one of my sisters (Jo) for this as, when we were young, she was (and still is) an ardent dog-lover. While my first love has always been the creatures of the wild, Jo was a dyed-in-the-wool dog fanatic. Because my parents busted their tails raising five kids, working jobs, and maintaining a house and yard, they were slow to allow Jo to have a dog. She would frequently “adopt” strays, but my parents always made her seek the owners, and the lost dogs rarely stayed with us for more than a few days. Her heart was constantly being broken when she would have to watch another grateful owner come pick up their beloved “Fido.” 

My sister compensated by learning everything she could about dogs from dozens of books that she had on the subject. She was so knowledgeable that, before she was 10, she had formed a local dog club amongst her many friends. Even though she was the only member who did not have a dog, she was nonetheless elected President of the Fairway Farms Kennel Club (our subdivision had been named “Fairway Farms” by the local land-developers). I think it may have been later that year that my parents finally relented and let her adopt a black and gray poodle-terrier mix she named “Benjie” (years before there would be a movie of the same name).

But back to Cody the Corgi, I can say that depending on which route I walk in my hood, I will come to two other homes that have the Corgi breed. One I know by name and one I don’t (because I seldom see the people who live in that house). The second Corgi that I know is named Percy, and he superficially looks like Cody, though he is much more energetic, even though he is a much older dog. I used to pass by Percy’s yard frequently, since it is near a favorite destination of mine: Rainbow Lake. Unfortunately, the lake’s access at that location has been fenced off so that nobody can launch a kayak, fish from shore, or even just watch the birds from that spot anymore. Along with many other folks in my hood, I’m uncertain why the access has been blocked and, in the absence of facts; the rumor-mill is a-buzz with theories….

As I continue my walk to the south, the next dog I greet is Chloe; a lean and rambunctious black Lab. Chloe has been a neighbor for maybe four years now, and she is finally showing signs of slowing down, but just barely. Her “owner” (a term that bothers me, no matter the dog or the person, as it just doesn’t sound right; perhaps “companion” would be a better fit?) is one of the more dedicated dog owners, er, companions that I know; in that she and Chloe take numerous walks every day. Nonetheless, Chloe is still quite restless when she is confined to her yard, and she tends to bark up a storm when people, vehicles, and other dogs pass her perimeter. She knows me well enough now that she usually just wags her tail as I pass by, unless, I’m zooming by on my bicycle and then she so badly wants to join me she races along her fence in a fever-pitch of longing to run free.

One common trait that I think I’ve noticed among the dogs in my hood is that even most of the quiet pups tend to get very worked up whenever a UPS truck rumbles by. My hypothesis is that many dogs consider bears to be their sworn enemy, and, as such, even something as big as a delivery truck, when it is brown in color (such as the UPS trucks) somehow triggers a protective response by dogs in defense of their home territory. Watch the dogs in your neighborhood and see if they don’t have a similar reaction to the big, brown, rumbling UPS delivery trucks as they drive by.

Riley is the next dog I meet as I walk along our dirt road. He’s a sweet old guy who anymore just gives a half-hearted bark when he sees a pedestrian. Like all the other pups in our hood, if he is out being walked and I stop to talk with his companion, then Riley will frequently drop to the ground in a paroxysm of joy and hoping to be given a quick rub-down. Most of the dogs I routinely greet seem to enjoy a vigorous massaging of their lower back area; just above their tails.

Next along my route is an old chum by the name of Luna. She’s another black Lab, and since I’m good friends with her human companions, she always greets me as if I’m a long-lost litter-mate. Of all the dogs in the hood who have been most disadvantaged by the closure of the Rainbow local access point, Luna suffers the most. Labs are obviously water dogs, and Luna surely exemplified that trait anytime she was at Rainbow, where she would tirelessly fetch sticks thrown into the water with as much enthusiasm as I’ve ever seen any dog show for any type of favorite playtime activity.

As I approach the end of my street, I pass a house that for several years was the home to a very interesting dog. I say “interesting” because she was a mysterious and seemingly complex individual; a husky-mix that was virtually mute, yet extremely alert and perceptive. I would talk softly to her as I walked by, and she would gyrate her ears to hear, and also watch me closely with her wolf-like eyes. She’s been dead for a few years now, but I sometimes feel that her ghost is near, in that fenced yard and beyond, and that she observes me on my local, solo sojourns.

The last dog I see before I leave my hood and head off to hike along the Rim Road is a new-comer to our street. I have yet to meet the people who live in the house, although I frequently see a guy working on the vintage, classic car in his garage, but he is always so focused on his work that there is no point in disturbing him. His pooch companion is a young Border Collie type that is sometimes silent as he keenly watches my every step and, at other times, barks excitedly, begging to be taken on a walk in the nearby woods. And, speaking of the nearby woods, for the final (but primary) stretch of my walk there are no homes, people, or pups. I do, however, occasionally spot coyotes and foxes along the dirt Rim Road and I expect that, since the road is the boundary between the Apache lands and our county lands, that there are far more wild canids present than I will ever know are there. These wild canids, I consider to be my “companions,” and although I don’t get to see them very often, I take great comfort in knowing that they are out there somewhere.

So, those are the pups along my route and now, as we wind down the “dog days of summer,” I probably don’t need to remind any dog “companions” of their basic responsibility to shelter, care for, and protect their “best friends.” No, reminders aren’t necessary, not when a person befriends a sentient being that is so obviously capable of profound and enduring love.