funny, isn't it?
by jeanne charters

I Betcha think that your dog is the cutest dog in the universe, don’t you? Au contraire, dear reader… you have obviously never met my dog, Poncho.

I adopted Poncho 4 years ago. However, his name at the time was Hoosier. I was walking dogs as a volunteer at the Humane Society in New York. One day, I walked into the cage area hoping to find an animal that would not take my arm off the minute he was released. I’d had a harrowing experience with a maniac dog named Hero the week before. I perused all the cages. Some of the dogs barked at me aggressively…some entreated me with sad eyes…and some were just too tired and discouraged to even acknowledge my presence. Visiting the dog cages in a Humane Society can be daunting to the hardest of hearts.

In the last cage on the left, in the rear of the room, I saw him. He was crouched in the back of the cage, looking frightened. He was a big gold fluff of what looked like puppy hair with a red scarf tied around his neck. I was startled to read that the dog, Hoosier, was 4 years old. He looked like a 50 pound golden retriever puppy. His eyes were brown and very, very melancholy. He stared into my eyes and never looked away. I fell in love.

His tag gave his name and age and said he had all his shots. It also said that he was a mix of a golden retriever and a terrier. Golden retrievers are notoriously sweet animals. I had never owned a terrier and was unaware of their guard dog proclivities. Surprises awaited me.

My husband, Matt, had laid down a firm and uncharacteristic order to me…”no dogs, Jeanne!! We are finally free of kids and can travel. I WANT NO ANIMALS!!”
Well, after one night full of nightmares about Hoosier being gassed, I went back the next day and adopted him. Matt was furious. I hated getting the silent treatment from my usually sweet husband, but I had to have that dog. Since I had done the deed, I offered Matt the choice of names. Neither of us was from Indiana, so Hoosier just didn’t cut it for us. Matt chose Poncho. I wanted Jake, but acquiesced to Poncho. I would have acquiesced to anything at that point just to get Matt to speak to me again.

When we changed his name, I asked the veterinarian if she felt this would cause the dog any kind of psychotic break. She looked at me strangely and assured me that he would just be happy to be called…anything.

It was peculiar how quiet Poncho was on his first day in our home. He never barked. What a pleasure. Also, what a crock! Turns out the dog developed kennel cough the day after we brought him home…a condition that would have required immediate extermination since he could infect all the other dogs in the kennel. It was cured with one shot of antibiotics.

We settled into the weird world of owning an adult dog and adjusting our lives to Poncho’s rules.

It’s been an interesting 4 years. Could anyone out there tell me what it is that dogs hate about delivery trucks? Let a UPS, Federal Express or Airborne vehicle venture up the hill within half a mile of my house and Poncho goes completely out of his mind. I don’t get it. He doesn’t go crazy about just any truck, but mail-delivery vehicles seem to take him back to some former life memory when he was packed in a crate and shipped to points unknown. He races from room to room barking in great alarm as though aliens were invading his territory on their space ships. I don’t speak “dog”, but I think he’s saying, “Just let me loose…I’ll eat that truck and save our family from sure and total destruction.”

Once he gets himself under control (and the truck is long gone), he wants to kiss us profusely in apology for his bad manners; but as soon as another one of those trucks comes up the mountain, he’s off again. It never changes. The excitement never abates for Poncho.

The same paroxysm of barking happens each time a strange man passes me on a walking path or, God forbid, comes into Poncho’s yard or home. It’s that terrier thing. Poncho firmly believes that he’s protecting me from an evil deed doer. He doesn’t understand that I could probably outrun and out punch the poor guy who is just trying to be friendly. If I can convince the man to sit down and tolerate copious sniffing of his legs, hands and genital area, we might…just might be able to carry on a normal conversation. Once the man decides to leave, Poncho, who has now accepted this new male into his pack, again erupts into a torrent of barking and crying at the loss of his new best friend.

Recently, I read about a Strut Your Mutt competition in Lake Lure. One of the prize categories was for “best tail”. Now, I realize that you have never seen Poncho’s tail. You must believe me on this one…it is a plumed treasure raised high and proud above his strutting little butt. I have never seen such a tail. I would go so far as to say that Poncho’s tail is the J. Lo of canine hindquarters.

We were in Lake Lure at 10AM to register. Unfortunately, the competition did not begin until noon and continued ‘til 5PM. We couldn’t stay that long because I had people coming for dinner at 7PM. Also, I was dismayed to see that the “best tail” competition was actually “best tail wagging and dancing”. What?? Dancing?? What self respecting mutt would dance? Certainly not Poncho.

I was further upset to note that this was not a contest for mutts! The dogs there looked mighty classy to me. Also, they were groomed to within an inch of their lives, with hair bows and little costumes abounding. Ridiculous, I thought…as I searched the yellow pages for a dog groomer and costumer open on Saturday in Lake Lure. As I glared at the competition, I had a profound revelation. It was a very good thing that I had never been a pageant mom with my daughters. It could have gotten ugly.
So, home we drove, no trophy in sight.

When the couples came for dinner that night, we kept a barking Poncho on the deck until everyone was seated. Then, he roared into the living room and excitedly did his nasal scan of the 2 men until he determined that they were, in fact, safe to be in the house with me. The women were accepted without incident. When everyone left later in the evening, Poncho grieved deeply and cried until we assuaged him with a milk bone.

I wish I had the space to tell you in this column about my experiences at the doggie park. You would not believe how ridiculous some of those owners are. They actually believe that their dogs are the cutest dogs in the universe. Funny, isn’t it? I never before fully understood the meaning of the phrase “love is blind”.

Oh, by the way, FYI…Matt is now even sappier about Poncho than I am.

Jeanne Charters is a former V.P. of Marketing for Viacom Television. She started her own award-winning broadcast advertising agency in 1990. Jeanne lives in Fairview with her husband, Matt Restivo.
[ charmkt@juno.com; 828-628-0023 ]