Some Dogs Are a Strange Breed

On a recent vacation my husband came across a small, white metal plaque in a gift shop upon which was written three words in large black letters: WARNING, STRANGE DOG. He brought the sign over and showed it to me and with a knowing smirk on his face said "Is he worth 12 bucks?" The sign now hangs next to our mailbox near our front door where the only people who ever see it are the people who already know the dog is, well, different -- such as the mailman, the UPS man, and our next door neighbor who, if truth be told, is a little odd himself. My daughter saw the placard for the first time recently and she squealed, "I love that sign! It's so perfect for Domer!" My aforementioned neighbor caught a glimpse of it and dead- panned, "I don't think you have to hang a sign."

Hardy har har.

Having a strange dog not some thing you ever plan on. Unfortunately, as with kids, you never know how your dog is going to turn out. You go to the breeder or the animal shelter or the pet store and, throwing sanity to the wind, pick out a wiggly, squirming little yapper and, as with kids, pray it will turn out normal.

Ours didn't. Not the kids, the dog. Of course, during the teen years -- not the dog, the kids-- hanging a sign on my front porch that read WARNING, STRANGE KIDS would have been a huge understatement.

We picked up our German Shepherd puppy ten and a half years ago when he was six weeks old. He was a wedding gift from me to my husband who had longed for a German Shepherd dog ever since he was eight years old when he and his brother found a stray Shepherd puppy and begged their father to let them keep it but he refused. My husband vowed that one day he would have a German Shepherd of his own, but that he would get a wife first so she could take care of it.

As a responsible pet owner, the first thing I did was have the dog neutered. After I returned from the vet my husband was horrified. "Now what if he winds up having a high-pitched bark?" he really and truly sputtered.

The next thing I did was enroll the dog in obedience school. He flunked out after one week. It was obvious he had absolutely no intention of ever obeying anyone and was only there to socialize with his classmates. But at least he didn't try to bite the instructor like one of the other naughty pups.

I decided that I would have to train the dog myself. For hours I would take him to the park and throw the ball and tell him to "retrieve." Over and over and over I would walk over to the ball, bring it back to him, and say "retrieve." To this day he has never brought a ball back to me, and thinks the word retrieve means, "Here, I brought you your ball back."

Then, of course, there was that unfortunate incident down at the grade school when he was about three years old when a playground full of kids waiting for the morning bell spotted Domer and me walking by one morning and, like a swarm of bees, descended upon the dog and chased him around the school yard until I heard snapping sounds coming from the mouth of my up-till-then non-snapping dog. I called the kids off as the dog sought refuge behind my legs. Since that day no child has been above suspicion, and there is no more terrifying sound to the dog than the sound of children laughing. The mere mention of the word "kids" results in the dog folding back his ears and trotting quickly towards home, glancing suspiciously over his shoulder several times.

Yes, the dog is strange. He hides if he hears someone come in house until he's sure it's someone he knows. Once my daughter told me that he came crawling out of the bedroom on his belly when she disguised her voice just to see what he would do.

He won't eat his dinner until someone throws a tennis ball or a toy near his dish. He will immediately go downstairs every time I get on the telephone and refuse to come back up until I hang up. He likes to swim after rocks that we throw in the river instead of sticks, and he will not lie down on any of his three orthopedic beds unless a fan is running.

Yes, the dog is strange in many ways. But just yesterday we took him to the vet for his annual exam and imagine my surprise when the vet called to tell me the results of his blood tests.

"Normal," he said confidently.

First time I've heard that word in 82 dog years.