Learning life’s lessons from dogs—just ask
Martin Fisher
ometimes. I'll lie awake at
night and ponder the mean
ing of life, thn universe and
everything. Douglas Adams actu
ally answered the question in his
(.lassie philosophic work. The
Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.
He said it was 42.
Lying awake at night without
a calculator. 1 (an neither confirm
nor deny his solution, so I must
make do with what limited func
tions 1 can muster in my own
noggin Math is not among them.
After years of dialing life's
information line and getting a
busy signal, I believe I got
through twice during a two-week
period in August. On both occur
rences I was wide awake. And
both times, the messages were
delivered by dogs.
I spent the first two weeks of
August doing my two weeks of
summer active-duty work for the
Navy in Portland.
It was there I had my first meet
ing with Triceradog (pronounced
like tri( erntops, the dinosaur, but
smaller). Triceradog appeared
about the fourth day of my patri
otic landscaping adventure and
proceeded with its lesson.
Triceradog was a fat. brown
bull terrier-looking creature that,
through some unknown twist of
fate, had broken its left front leg
It appeared that the injury was
old and was of little concern to
Triceradog.
I. along with two other com
patriots, did what probably any
dog-loving people would do We
felt sorry for it and tried to catch
it lait the lesson begin
Triceradog looked pathetic:,
standing there with its leg hang
ing like a broken twig We looked
pathetic as Triceradog not only
ran away from our approac lies,
but actually outran us On three
legs.
Perhaps being outrun by a
three-legged dog is not that big of
a deal After all. 1 only have two
legs, so it had one up on toe
Somehow, that line of reasoning
offers little comfort.
Triceradog, far from . being
pathetic, even refused our offets
of cold water (it was 90-some
thing that day) and sought only
to lie in some shade
We considered c alling animal
control but quic kIv disc arded the
idea. All they would do is kill
Triceradog. which is certainly an
endangered species if there ever
was one. Triceradog seemed to
be getting along just fine and. as
long as there was shade to lie* in.
needed no assistance from us or
anybody else
Toward the end of the second
week. Triceradog made another
appearance. Evidently, it decid
ed it had taught its lesson well
enough because, as I passed with
in a couple feet of it while riding
a noisy la winnower, Triceradog
simply looked at me.
A week before, 1 couldn't get
within 10 feet of Triceradog on
foot Now, with a flic k of a steer
ing wheel I could turn it into so
much mulch. But it knew 1 had
learned my lesson, and it told mo
so with its gaze.
"Have a nice day, hut leave me
alone, thank vou very much.
Trit eredog seemed to say with its
nat-at-all sorrv-looking brown
eyes
About a week later I had
returned home and went < amp
mg with my wife Mv wife drove
on the wav home from camping
ami decided on a route that led
us through some west Eugene res
idential streets
As we meandered down one of
these streets, we note ed a brow n
lump ahead in the road I fie do*
er we got the more the brown
lump took on the form of a dog
It turned out to he a part bea
gle. part something I'll |ust call
tl Beagle-thing
Mv wife stopped the car per
haps 10 feet from Beagle-thing
We were driving our big. blue
1<)7<) Monte Carlo A great big
plot e of made in-America steel
that any creature with a shred of
common sense, or simple self
preservation. would scurry to
avoid lieing i rushed by.
Except Beagle-thing Beagle
thing had decided to plop its
brown lumpy laxly square in the
middle of street. It didn't move
It didn't even blink It just stared
at us. as if to say. ''What the hell
are you doing on my street?"
So mv wife did what any dri
ver in a similar situation would
do She honked A real. Ameri
can ( ar honk Not like one of
those wimpy foreign i ar horns
that meekly say. "Ex< use me
Please Pardon me Sorry to dis
turb you ."
Our horn sounds like it was
transplanted from a ocean liner,
a deep, low honk that simply
says. 'Move or die.”
So. my wife tut the horn, and
the car told Beagle-thing lo
"move or die Beagle-thing
The more I thought about it, the more I
realized the lesson being taught by
Beagle-thing was simply: Hold your
ground, but know when you’ve pressed
your luck tar enough.
would have none of it and begun
biting at fleas So mv wife honked
again Heagle-thing glam ed at her
for a moment, then went ba< k to
biting fleas
Mavbe he has a broken leg
Maybe he was hit bv a ear and
can't move." my wife said,
sounding i unearned
lust to make sure. I suggested
we drive around Heagle-thing for
a closer look So my wife maneu
vered around Heagle-thing. who
just looked at us. as if to say
Hah
How humiliating. I thought, to
be stared down bv a Heagle-thing
and lose As 11 ontemplated this
embarrassment, i looked out of
the rear window at Heagle-thing
Another car. I think a Honda,
had begun an encounter with
Heagle-thing Hut this time. Hea
gle-thing got up and trotted ownv
Just like that The Hnndu didn’t
even honk its wimpy horn
The more I thought about it.
the more 1 realized liie lesson
being taught l>\ Beagle thing was
simply Hold vour ground, but
know whim y ou've pressed vour
lui k far enough
Kennv Rogers sang about it ill
I he ((ambler." when he said to
"Know yy lien to hold 'em. know
when to fold 'em " I saw it in an
old syvashhut kler movie once,
where the hero said. "He who
fights and runs away may live to
fight another day." Indore lump
ing out of the yvmdoyy
And now, here was Heagle
thing personifying the notion of
"stir k to vour guns ' beagle tiling
yvas sunning itself in its street,
and the rest of the world be
damned
Someone, somewhere, some
time ago wrote about truth com
ing from the mouths of habes
(meaning children) I think they
yvere yvrong Just ask anv dog
Martin h'lshcr is a columnist far
tin* Emerald.
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