02 Street dog: wild, skittish and angry

Last updated on January 31, 2024

When our children were small, we bought Walker from the local animal shelter. The officer who helped us told us she thought he would be a great family dog and that he was full size at his current 40 pounds. Ultimately, she was right that he became a dearly loved family member, but she was wrong about the 40 pounds–he was only half grown.

Having just met Walker he kept jumping up on us, biting at our wrists and acting very unruly. She explained that he was acting like the 6 month old puppy that he was, and that he had lived on the street until now. We sort of understood the puppy part, but we had no idea what being a street dog meant for a whole slew of behaviors he had learned while roaming. We later realized that was a very important piece of information, to say the least.

We took him home and discovered he would continually jump all over us, nip at our sleeves, bolt all of a sudden bark loudly enough to hurt our ears and was quite a lot to handle on a leash. It was very clear he considered a leash an affront to his being and he would chew through them if we left it within reach. If we let him off the leash, goodbye Walker! Wow could he cover ground, and he’d be gone in a moment.

The worst for him the thunder that was a daily occurrence in Florida. If we left him outside and it thundered, he would find a way over or under our fence every time. One time we came home from our daughter Julia’s graduation and found him in the front, leather seat of a Porsche a half mile from our home. The driver pulled up to get out, and Walker jumped in, across his lap and into the passenger seat. Oh yes, he was wet, muddy and stinky. That proud Porsche owner didn’t have the same warm feelings about Walker we did, to say the least. It took several hours for him to calm down once we got him home.

Walker was wild, skittish and sometimes angry. We never really knew what his first 6 months were like, but we could read between the lines. Loud noises must have confused and terrified and traumatized him. He was in a continual tussle for primacy of position: on top of everything else, he was an alpha male–and he was always trying to climb up the pecking order (usually at our youngest daughter Kirstie’s expense). The wildness mellowed and love began to fill the hole, but he was truly an affection pit for whom there was never enough petting or belly scratching or hugging. He needed 5 mile walks every day to burn off his immense energy.

If Walker had jumped muddy into your car, or jumped all over you, or nearly killed your cat, no one would think badly of your for disliking him, and maybe even calling him a “bad dog,” or “no good,” or perhaps “what a permissive owner.” We do the same thing to people. We see them acting badly and take a mental picture of them as bad or wild or to be avoided, when in reality the trail goes a long way back behind them. Behavior really makes sense, once you walk a mile in someone else’s moccasins. Don’t be so quick to judge by what your eyes see. It is a long movie with a lot of sequels this life, not a snapshot frozen in time. Behavior makes sense. If we take the time and patience to understand.

Besides, the trail goes a long way in front of us, too. We don’t have to be where we are. Walker became a champion walking and jogging companion. I trained him to “come” and he would have been a class A hunting dog, if I hadn’t given up hunting. Smart, fun, loving, affectionate, and well-behaved mostly. Things could and did still trigger him, but that didn’t make him bad, just traumatized and triggered.

A copper etching of Walker lives on my wall (snapshot of it above), and he holds a special place in my heart. We always thought Walker was a mutt, maybe half lab because he was black and half Irish setter because of his shape and long hair. A few years after he died I was walking along the Riverwalk by my house, and I had to blink hard and shake my head. It looked like someone was walking my deceased Walker on a leash right toward me. I told her, “We used to have a mutt that looked just like yours.” She was offended. Hers was a pure bred dog of high standing: a flat coat retriever. I had no idea, and went home and began learning about all the nobility of this magnificent breed we never really fully recognized because we labeled him a mutt and a street dog.

There are pure bred, high quality, deeply faithful friends all around who are sometimes skittish, angry, wild or worse. They are judged to be street dogs and mongrels, who should be avoided. I have sometimes felt I was treated that way. Have you? Walker taught me more than “you really can’t judge a book by its cover.” His life’s message is much stronger: you really can’t even judge a book by its first several chapters. The trail goes a long way ahead, and there is kindness, mercy and tender care ahead. The famous musical’s line is not a cliché: love changes everything.

“Walker” and “hope” are synonyms for me.