Some long stories begin as short stories. When architect intern Ben Lochridge left our office for graduate school in 2008, he took his dog Buster with him. I missed having a dog around the office to walk during breaks (not that I didn't miss Ben) and decided that while I was still too busy with work to adopt a dog, a substitute plan could be volunteering to walk dogs on Saturdays for the local Humane Society. After I walked dogs awhile, someone on the staff suggested I take special training and work in the recovery section of the vet clinic. There I would take care of dogs and cats emerging from anesthesia after surgery. I'd take their temperatures, clean out their ears, see if nails need clipping, and calm them as they awaken.
Six months into my six years there, the staff plopped a pup into my lap named Monday because that was the day he'd transferred from Denver's Dumb Friends League. The vet said he was a Treeing Walker Coonhound / Lab mix. I looked up Walker Coonhounds and they just looked like tall beagles to me. He wasn't available for adoption because of a skin rash and food-guarding issues. Naturally, I had to have him. Nine months after adopting the pup I named Watson Sherman he felt so much like family we made a Christmas card to send friends. Watson's first name came from a beagle a pal had long ago named after Doc Watson, the musician. Watson's middle name was a character from an old TV cartoon series about Rocky (a flying squirrel) and Bulwinkle (a moose). Dogs need middle names so you can say, "Watson Sherman, get off that school bus!" More on that later...
After this 2010 Christmas card, we face a year of misadventures. Near Christmas, Watson hits a metal display at the hardware store, injuring his right eye, but a trip to the emergency vet at illegal speeds saves his vision with medicated goo. In the summer of 2011, we encounter a mountain lion when walking after dark on our block. Watson stops and looks up into a tree maybe 25 feet away. Seeing the green glint of the eyes and the tail curling down, and realizing we don't have wild monkeys in Colorado, I pull him back and we walk home, while I turn around frequently to see if the big cat follows. The next morning, we see what looks like a stuffed toy on the lawn across the street from the tree where we'd seen the lion. Approaching it, I realize it's the remains of one of two fawns that had sheltered in our yard, and then call the Division of Wildlife. Not long after, they catch a cougar near University Hill. Just before Thanksgiving, Watson barks and barks until this writer (who sleeps like a hibernating bear) finally rolls out of bed and runs downstairs to discover someone trying to break open the front door. When the fast-arriving police open the door, the latch falls out. Score two saves for Watson (you count that lion, right?) and one for Papa (well, I did adopt him).
By this time Watson has acquired a best puppy friend in Lovie the lab pup (background above) and we spend lots of time with Lovie's best human friend Isaac in the corner park. Also, later in 2011 Ben gets out of grad school and brings Buster to the office. He's seated and looking angelic below, while Watson stands near a tennis ball he's demolished in record time. One day we have all three dogs at the office, running up and down the stairs, chasing the ball and making noise, and eventually Ben looks a little flustered. I need to go meet an engineer, though, so I just tell him to call Animal Control if it gets too hectic around here...
California work continues, so Watson and I take road trips out to Monterey County, Santa Cruz and Silicon Valley. When in Monterey, WS stays at Casa de Amigos while I visit construction sites. He doesn't even look back at me as he goes through the front door, because Casa de Amigos apparently gives him a chance to be a leader of a pack...
One day I'm walking WS on our block and he decides to get on the school bus. The kids start yelling, "Let's take him to school; we'll bring him back" and the bus driver just laughs. I pull Watson off and he gives me a look of injured dignity. He's pretending that he was there to cheer up the kids on their way to school, but I know he was just there to sniff the lunch boxes. When we get home, he pouts for a long while...
Somewhere along the line I figure that humans must have been kind to Watson in the 2.5 months before I adopted him, because he rolls over on his back and patiently waits for belly rubs even when he meets a total stranger. Sometimes in a completely inappropriate place, like the middle of a driveway, for example...
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Things are serene and peaceful on our California trips; maybe too serene. Then in 2018 we need to rescue Watson when he jumps onto a roof. In Los Gatos after checking out Big Sur, we visit a friend to discuss a remodel, and WS dashes to the end of the driveway before I realize there's no guardrail to protect anyone from the 8-foot drop (a code violation, actually). WS somehow sees the danger (or is lucky) and leaps across the 3-foot space onto the roof of a garden shed. I yell at him to stay (unlike in obedience class, he does) and we get a ladder to carry him down. Later, at Lulu's Café in Santa Cruz, he celebrates his luck by conning some school kids into thinking he's a puppy and giving him belly rubs...
One of Watson's favorite places in Boulder was Trident Booksellers and Café, where he could collect loving attention, including belly rubs and treats, from college students. I could bring him to the Trident and get lots of work done on my computer, because he'd barely notice I was there...
WS had a kind of agelessness about him, and so much energy we nicknamed him the Permapup. We'd play Special Ball in a usually-abandoned tennis court with a Kong toy (think of stacked doughnut shapes of decreasing size) and he liked guessing which way it would bounce. Catching the ball on the first bounce yielded an extra treat; Watson learned that fast.When he got the ball, he'd huff and chuff and toss his head like a prancing pony. The photo below shows a sleepy nap on a California road trip when Watson was 11 years old. I'd still get requests from total strangers "to pet the puppy." I'd tell them that Watson was scamming them, and puppyhood was a decade behind him, but of course they could pet him. Before I'd get the words out, though, he'd be on his back, waiting and wagging.
The photo below was taken in summer of the same year, 2020, after the Pandemic arrived. Watson managed to stay in fine shape because longer walks (a relatively safe outdoor activity) four times a day led to extra food, and I'd started cooking for him, which turned out to be cheaper than buying "premium" dog food...
Watson was ready to take a ride in the old Jag to celebrate his 16th birthday back in December, on a day with oddly springlike conditions. When springtime actually arrived, he kept on doing his job of making new friends. One day, an RTD bus driver got off at our stop on Broadway, and I thought he was going to help a passenger with the lift. But the driver introduced himself as Mike and said, "I see you walking all the time, and I just wanted to pet your dog." In the summer Watson slowed down and we took shorter and shorter walks in the shady gardens, he got some intestinal bug we fought with our vet's help for weeks, and last Friday night he heaved up his dinner and made some loud groans that I'd never heard from him. I took him to the Humane Society vets the next day, and a vet who'd known us both from the beginning said, "If this were my dog I'd let him go today, because he's in real discomfort." He ate some cheese treats with his usual enthusiasm, and I held him while he went to sleep. Watson, it was a gift to know you. I'll always be grateful to you for our 66 seasons of walks in all kinds of weather and landscapes, for improving my pitching arm, and for making me new friends in all those seasons. For the rest of my days, whenever I hear your name it will be like getting a letter from home.
Note to Readers:
This post, #402, marks the 10th year from the start of this blog, which has so far received 344,379 visits. Though it is mostly concerned with subjects like car design, architecture, movies, painting and photography, a subject like adopting a dog (and not just a dog, but the world's best dog) seemed to fit under the Art of Living category, so here it is.
Photo Credits:
All photos are by the author except for the following:
Top: Helen Andrews
3rd from top: Humane Society of Boulder Valley
6th from top: Casa de Amigos, Monterey, CA
2nd from bottom: Veronika Sprinkel
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