Roxy is a Real Dog

“You are a real dog. You are a real dog.”

I would say this to the black shepherd / lab next door from my perch on the ladder I had put on my side of the fence between our yards. It enabled me to give her daily treats and pats. I also tried to teach her to retrieve a ball. I am sure the neighbors were annoyed to find their yard littered with the bright green tennis balls I often found on my walk past the courts in a nearby park. They never complained.

I had a friend who owned a golden retriever mix and once found eleven tennis balls while trying to mow his yard. He had never bought the dog a single one.

My wolf /dog Democracy was still alive then, so there was no chance of inviting her over for a visit. He was not fond of other canines, though he had a soft spot for Roxy.  I caught glimpses of him showing her his toys and engaging with her, He was fiercely protective of me in most cases, but was not averse to my physical interactions with her.  She was well-fed and fairly well sheltered, but she was confined to the yard.  She would stand on her dog house with her feet on the fence and watch us play. She never quite caught on to fetch even as she had seen the wolf do it over and over again. Of course, he was not stellar on the subject either. He would chase down a ball and then run rings around, ever so pleased with himself for refusing to “ drop it.” She would go after it but lose interest, then jump back up on her house to hang out with the wolf and me.  Companionship was what she wanted and needed most. Her eyes broke my heart, following our every step as we went back into our home.  A home was a place where she was not allowed. 

Before you decide that these neighbors are bad actors, let me reassure you they are not. They are some of my favorite folks on the planet. It was a situation where the Mom, Vicki, has a well-earned fear of large dogs, having been brutally attacked as a child. The son brought Roxy into her the home and, while this was well intentioned, the dog’s boundless energy and lack of impulse control led her to hurling herself upon people, sometimes scratching and bruising them. If you are deathly afraid of dogs, having a 65-pound untrained black dog throw herself at your person is terrifying. This made it impossible to integrate her into the household, and it is difficult to train an outdoor dog.  The son planned to move out with Roxy, but injuries and setbacks happened and it was just a tough situation.

“You are a real dog.”  She was a bounder and a jumper to be sure, but she was also a sweet-natured gal with a huge enthusiasm for life.  She endured scorching heat and frigid winter weather with a relentless positivity.  I was obsessed with her being out there.  I actually lost sleep worrying over it, but it was a situation I could barely affect.  One particularly cold winter, I gave Roxy a blanket to keep warm at night and the neighbors awoke to find shreds of leopard-print fleece strewn all around the yard. That having failed, I bought her a new dog house, one that I hoped would offer more warmth than the hand-made box she slept in just over the fence.  My neighbors cleaned up the yard, accepted the house, and responded to my relentless interference in their lives with unending sweetness.

This situation endured long after the wolf had passed, until Hurricane Harvey blew Roxy into my life. I was on what must have been the last flight into Austin before the storm began in earnest. That was one of those landings where the plane was being whipped about by such severe weather that I was trying to remember if I told my sister Laura where to find my Trust documents.

In the car on the way home, my mind was whirring.  I texted my neighbors and implored them to let me shelter Roxy on my large screened-in porch. The son, her owner, had moved to an apartment where dogs were not allowed, so it was up to his family to make the call.  They made it.

The daughter, Shauna, brought her over in the pouring rain.  I dried Roxy off and sat with her on the porch while Shauna went back through the torrent to bring food and water bowls. Roxy would not let me stop petting her.  If my hand stilled she nudged it back into her fur.  She wasn’t sure what was going on but she knew me as the crazy lady who climbed a ladder daily to offer treats and affection and she was good with that.

Kat and Paul came over with a huge crate.  All of us worked to secure it with waterproof tarps and soften it with blankets and pillows.  The dog followed a handful of treats into the cage and settled in as the winds howled and the rain poured down in sheets.  I listened at the door for any sounds of distress, but she was quiet. It was not until five the next morning that she began to whimper. I went out to open the cage and took her into the yard to pee.  She followed me back onto the porch breathless with excitement and headed for the door to the house, the one the wolf had passed through time and again. She pawed at it, her eyes pleading.

“Okay then,”  I said.  “ Come on in.”

She was a hard train.  She scratched me raw with anxious jumping and yanked on the leash with such force that she pulled me into multiple chiropractic and acupuncture visits.  I was beginning to despair of ever getting her to cooperate until one day when we wandered over to an agility course during a routine training class.  I led her to the first trick. She studied it, then over we went, one, then the other paw perfectly placed in each circle.  Next we walked the balance beam, then climbed the slant board.  Applause.  The smart gal got through every obstacle with astonishing precision and was beaming from the praise.  A star was born. She aced every class after that.

She was eight by then and living proof that you can indeed teach an old dog new tricks.

We have lived together inside my home for 6 good years. In that time she had one pee accident, knocked over a table and bit one pillow. Pretty good stats for a yard dog but, she of course is not perfect. Her prey drive is still so strong that I have taken to leashing her even in her own open space to avoid the potential carnage of a  squirrel encounter.   She can and will eat anything. She will unearth a ten-year-old desiccated bird carcass and enjoy it as if it were paté. Go ahead and try prying that dead pigeon wing out of her jaws. It cannot be done.  I finally broke her of the  leash-pulling habit by screaming in mock agony every time she did it.  Not sure if she was responding to my pain or just couldn’t abide the bad acting, but she walks like a lady now.

During the pandemic she joined me for yoga daily, lining up her toys next to my mat. She got to know the timing of the classes and knew Shavasana was her cue to lay her head on my belly and breathe with me.  Lately, I have taken to putting on PBS and watching taped concerts from Austin City Limits. The moment I get up to dance to a good song, Roxy joins me. She retrieves her rainbow piggy, a toy which found its way here mysteriously and fast became her favorite.  She honks her piggy and we dance around the coffee table until we are both tuckered out.  She is fourteen and tires more easily now.  I am 63 and I tire more easily too.

Things are changing.  We are both getting older but she is doing it in dog years and they fly by at an almost unbearable pace.  Her eyesight is going and she has to go down the hallway and get a running start to get into the bed with me. Most nights she opts to sleep in her own bed on the floor.

For six years Shauna and the kids from next door have moved in to my house to live with her when I am on location.  It has been wonderful to have them here. I could travel with a light heart knowing that Roxy was with family. I have made a tradition of bringing home odd snacks from airplanes and craft services for Alex and Ashlyn to enjoy. Shauna is a terrific Mother and it has been a privilege to watch those two young kids blossom. They are gorgeous and big-hearted and oh, oh, oh so smart! The only time Roxy pulls now is if she sees one of them in the yard. She will beeline for them dragging me along, and no amount of theatrics can stop her. Moving away from that family will be one of the hardest things about leaving Austin. We can barely speak of it, because we know it will be wrenching when I take Roxy and go. She is a part of both families now and has become such a trusted friend that she has earned the ultimate reward: Vicki is no longer afraid of her. She is now welcomed into both of our homes. 

Good job, old girl.  You, Roxy, are a real dog.