Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

My dog, Una, is a Great American Mix, so people see what they want to see when they look at her.

Nobody in my family is entirely sure what's in her; just about anything is possible. We have some guesses, though. From her mother's side, we think she has some German Shepherd. We've known this dog family for three generations, and Una's grandmother looked like a Shepherd mix.

When I'm out walking Una, I often get complimented on her. They tell me she's a pretty dog. They'll point out different aspects about her: her eyes, golden to match her fur; her pink nose, one of my favorites; or perhaps her fluffy tail or golden coat.

Then they tend to guess what kind of mix she is, and it's usually a type of breed they like. Chances are the kid who is petting her lovingly and asking if she's part Pit Bull likes Pits. The same with those who ask if she's part German Shepherd or part Golden Retriever.

Most people see her as a friendly dog, which she is, although children learn the hard way that sudden movements make her run away. Those who are afraid of dogs interpret her smile as a threat and leap across the sidewalk.

Those who dislike dogs see an annoyance and in me, and irresponsible dog owner, ignoring the baggie in my hand.

Regardless of who looks at her, Una is Una, friendly, eager, curious, silly, and a bit of a wimp. Or maybe this is just my doggie Rorschach.

If you care to, you can find out a lot about your neighbors just by walking a dog around the neighborhood. People often use a dog as an excuse to talk. They wouldn't come up to you on the sidewalk otherwise, but if you have a dog, especially one that's approachable and cute, they'll stop to say hi.

While most of the time the conversations revolve around dogs or pets in general, sometimes they'll tell you other things. Maybe where they're going and how they feel about that ("I wish I could just walk a dog on a day like this, but I've got to get to work") or even something personal, like the fact that they once had a dog named Buster. They loved that dog but couldn't take him with them when they moved.

Dogs, if we let them, bridge gaps for us. A dog will run right up to somebody you'd never approach, sniff their hand, even lick them. And if the person addresses the dog, they may also talk to you.

Anybody who runs away scowling at a cute, golden, pink-nosed dog is probably not somebody you'd get along with anyway.

I'm reminded of a blind date I went on once. We'd agreed to bring our dogs and meet for a picnic in a park. Una didn't get along with his dog; she kept running away and hiding under the picnic table.

I knew right then it was never going to work.

Instead of saying, "Sorry, my dog thinks your dog is a freak, which probably doesn't say great things about you either," I made an excuse about excessive ticks in the park and left.

But though I never got to know that guy well enough to know if Una was right, I can say she loves the Gryphon, my boyfriend. The doggie Rorschach test, apparently, works both ways.

Copyright 2004 by Alyce Wilson

Musings Index

What do you think? Share your thoughts
at Alyce's message board (left button):