His name is Munster, like the cheese. He came to us with that name, aged five. He’s a big boy, a mutt with the blood of Labradors, Huskies, and Shepherds coursing through his veins. When I saw his silly grin on the shelter website, I knew he was the one for us: his cheerful countenance shone through; he was simply irresistible. The hubs agreed. We brought him home five years ago, and he completed our pack nicely.
He charms everyone he comes in contact with. I’ve often joked that he would wag a robber to death with his tail, rather than actually bite him. Indeed, it took me several years just to get him to bark when someone knocked at the door. It’s not the bark of alarm that you would think it is, though, it’s the bark of a dog who can’t wait to meet whoever is out there. I asked his trainer, a while back, whether she could teach him protection work – that is, teach him to protect me by not being quite so friendly with the local criminal element.
“He’ll protect you,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Are we talking about the same dog?” I asked. Suffice to say that we never did the protection work, though I would’ve liked to.
He’s a snow dog through and through. Any amount of snowfall is cause for great excitement, the sort that sees him rolling in the stuff. Once he’s had a good roll, he takes off like a madman, slowing only to scoop up a mouthful before he dashes off in a different direction. He’s like a child in a candy shop, and snow is his candy!
I hadn’t wanted a dog, initially. Dogs are a lot more work than cats, after all. Cats don’t need a long walk every day, nor do they need to be outside in order to do their business. With cats, you can be extremely lazy, sleeping until the afternoon, if you so choose, without repercussions. Try that with a dog, and ultimately, you’ll find a big pile of poo on your carpet. But the hubs had fond reminisces of dogs of years past, and he mentioned them so frequently that I decided to go looking on the shelter website. As I said before, once I saw Munster’s face, that was it; search over.
Now, aged ten, he’s every bit as enthusiastic about life as he was when we first brought him home. His customary speed is a trot. He rarely walks when he can move at a faster pace. He’s interested in anything and everything. Last spring, as we stood at the edge of a local pond, a toad leapt right in front of his face, landing in the one thing Munster doesn’t care for: the water. I can’t be sure, but I think the toad did it on purpose, knowing that Munster dislikes water enough that he wouldn’t follow the toad into it. Munster, deeply unhappy about having missed the opportunity to catch the frog, came back to that spot every day for several months, hoping for a second chance. Eventually, he got that chance: the toad leapt just in front of his nose before ending in the water. Munster didn’t catch him that time, either.
Looking at the world through Munster’s eyes never fails to amuse me. While he’s happy to fetch a stick, he’s even happier to lie down and make a meal of it. That can’t taste good! I think to myself, but what do I know? Perhaps sticks impart some interesting flavor that only dogs know about. Munster also likes to sniff things. Lots of things. When we’re outside, he’ll go looking for things to sniff. Sometimes, he gets lucky and finds a good smell. Sometimes, he appears disappointed when a sniff doesn’t pay off. At those times, he seems to be thinking, I thought it was going to smell better than that!
Whatever he’s doing, be it walking round the neighborhood with me, running free in the back garden, rolling in the snow, or waiting for that pesky toad to try his hopping game again, Munster does it with such a huge measure of enthusiasm that I often feel as though I’m missing out on some great adventure. Perhaps I am. Perhaps we humans are so busy dealing with our lives that we forget the basic lessons our dogs can teach us: Stop and smell things! Wait long enough and a toad might show up! Snow!
If you see me rolling in the stuff this winter, you’ll know why!