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Authors: Jill Abramson
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BOOK: The Puppy Diaries: Raising a Dog Named Scout
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Now Marian invited Henry and Scout to join her and Cyon at four o’clock every afternoon so Scout could get to know Cyon and begin to learn some social skills. Marian filled an eight-foot-long baby pool in her backyard for the dogs to splash in, and the afternoon pool party soon became the high point of the day. Although Scout was still too little to climb into the pool, Marian gently introduced her to the water and she took to it right away.
A longtime friend of Marian’s—an older gentleman named Clyde Campbell who spoke with a honeyed North Carolina drawl—would frequently join the pool party with his dog, Bunny. Another white golden with a rambunctious temperament, Bunny would sometimes splash too energetically in the pool
or stomp on Marian’s flower beds. “Bunny, no!” Clyde would shout in frustration. Gleefully, Henry called me at the office to tell me that he had new best friends, a couple named Bunny and Clyde.
or stomp on Marian’s flower beds. “Bunny, no!” Clyde would shout in frustration. Gleefully, Henry called me at the office to tell me that he had new best friends, a couple named Bunny and Clyde.
Dog play can be utterly fascinating, a dance of dominance and submission, engagement and disengagement. At first, the new puppy in their midst interested Cyon and Bunny, but they were accustomed to being a sisterhood of two, and for the most part Scout was happy to watch them from the sidelines while sitting near us. Scout found the two big goldens especially entertaining when they both clamped their teeth on the same tennis ball and held it between them as if in a trance, their bodies in perfect tension for as long as five minutes. Scout knew not to try to get into the middle of that game, but as time went by she began to chase the bigger dogs. When she’d catch their attention, she would quickly lie down on her back in submission, showing her adorable white belly.
Learning to play with other dogs is about much more than having fun; in fact, it’s probably the most crucial aspect of puppy development. In
Animals at Play
, Marc Bekoff, a biologist and animal behaviorist, describes the rituals of dog play, including the bow—front legs stretched forward, hips raised—that signals an invitation to play, and the subtle cues that warn another dog that the playing has turned too rough.
“Play is how dogs become card-carrying members of their species,” Bekoff told me when I called to consult him.
Animals at Play
, Marc Bekoff, a biologist and animal behaviorist, describes the rituals of dog play, including the bow—front legs stretched forward, hips raised—that signals an invitation to play, and the subtle cues that warn another dog that the playing has turned too rough.
“Play is how dogs become card-carrying members of their species,” Bekoff told me when I called to consult him.
Alexandra Horowitz’s
Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell and Know
includes a wonderful description of a Chihuahua and a wolfhound playing together with total ease, despite their enormous size difference. “These dogs are so incommensurable with each other that they may as well be from different species,” she writes. “The wolfhound bit, mouthed and charged at the Chihuahua; yet the little dog responded not with fright but in kind.”
Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell and Know
includes a wonderful description of a Chihuahua and a wolfhound playing together with total ease, despite their enormous size difference. “These dogs are so incommensurable with each other that they may as well be from different species,” she writes. “The wolfhound bit, mouthed and charged at the Chihuahua; yet the little dog responded not with fright but in kind.”
Next to full-grown Cyon and Bunny, Scout must have felt like a Chihuahua, but gradually she began to learn how to hold her own. When we walked down our street and let her off the leash in a nearby field, she would cower, tail between her legs, when Bacci, a huge Bernese mountain dog who belonged to a neighbor, approached her to play. Then, when he came up to her, Scout would run for the hills. But after a few minutes, she would return to Bacci and give him a few tentative sniffs. Soon they were playing like the Chihuahua and the wolfhound, just as Horowitz described it.
But it was Marian who remained the touchstone of Scout’s early socialization, and they quickly formed a mutual adoration society. Marian has piercing blue eyes and a wonderful laugh, and when Scout was
around we heard that laugh often, because Marian seemed to be amused by just about everything Scout did.
around we heard that laugh often, because Marian seemed to be amused by just about everything Scout did.
We had known Marian and her husband, Howard, casually for many years. Henry and their son, Chip, were roommates in college, and we would often run into Marian and Howard at the beach and around town. But we got to know them much better when I started teaching a course at Yale, where Howard is an emeritus professor of medicine. After a couple of chance meetings on the commuter train, Howard invited us to become associate fellows of one of Yale’s colleges, and later he inducted Henry into the Lawn Bowling Association. Marian and Howard have extensive professional networks and a hectic social schedule, but they never let you know it. As a friend of ours remarked upon meeting them over lunch, they possess “not a single drop of pretension between them.”
Everyone in the Spiro clan is an avid sailor, and the mix of dogs and the sea comes naturally. One granddaughter wrote for a grade-school class exercise, “I love my Grandma because she has a big dog and a big boat.” Howard, who has a deep voice and a penchant for aphorisms, often notes that “there’s nothing better for a cut than saltwater and dog saliva.”
Unlike many people with goldens, Marian came to the breed later in life. She grew up during the
Depression in Fall River, Massachusetts, and her family owned a succession of cocker spaniels. “They ran loose, as all dogs did back then,” she recalled. Even before she and Howard had children, they got a mutt. When she brought it back from the dog pound, the puppy was so small that it could fit in her pocket. Over the years, she had a series of pound puppies until one of them mated with a golden, at which point they became smitten with the breed.
Depression in Fall River, Massachusetts, and her family owned a succession of cocker spaniels. “They ran loose, as all dogs did back then,” she recalled. Even before she and Howard had children, they got a mutt. When she brought it back from the dog pound, the puppy was so small that it could fit in her pocket. Over the years, she had a series of pound puppies until one of them mated with a golden, at which point they became smitten with the breed.
The Spiros have owned three goldens, and all three were named after stars or constellations. First came Orion, then Sirius, and now there’s Procyon, or Cyon for short. Sirius became famous for accompanying Marian to the science class she taught at a private middle school in New Haven. The dog would rest quietly in his crate during class but then come out so that the kids could pat him while coming and going.
Despite the celestial monikers of her dogs, Marian’s dog-raising philosophy is down-to-earth. “Dare I say it’s just maternal instinct?” she said to me, reassuringly. Key to her approach is the element of patience, for both dogs and their owners. Very early on in Scout’s life, Marian would hold a piece of high-value treat, like a small piece of cheese, mere inches from her snout and say, “Wait … wait … wait, baby.” Only when Scout was calm and sitting still would Marian deliver the goody. Marian repeated this ritual several times a day.
Other puppies would practically bite off a finger while trying to get the snack, but Scout learned to hold back and resist temptation, which served us well in our later training work.
Other puppies would practically bite off a finger while trying to get the snack, but Scout learned to hold back and resist temptation, which served us well in our later training work.
At some point we learned that Marian, Clyde, and their dogs are charter members of a dog-walking group that meets at 7:30 a.m. most mornings, even in winter, at a town-owned farm near our house. In mid-July, after Scout received the puppy shots due when she turned thirteen weeks old, Marian and Clyde invited us to join the group. The point of this morning session is to give the dogs exercise by letting them gambol, without leashes, in the acres of lush meadowland owned by our town. The pristine white farmhouse, the ponds filled with flowering yellow water lilies in spring through fall, and the old covered wooden bridge on the property make it look a lot like one of those gorgeous Monet paintings.
On any given morning in July, we saw as many as a dozen dogs walking off-leash with their owners. Besides Cyon and Bunny, the regulars included Olive, a black pug whose smushed face made it hard for her to breathe in the summer heat; Sadie, an older Airedale; and Viggo, a huge, seven-month-old German
shepherd who was being trained by a woman named Lee Gibson to become a seeing-eye dog for the blind. Lee had agreed to give Viggo a loving home and his early puppy training, but when he turned a year old he would be leaving her to begin his formal training in a guide-dog program. Lee also had an extremely shy Japanese chin named Zen, who sometimes walked with us but usually preferred to wait by himself next to Lee’s car.
shepherd who was being trained by a woman named Lee Gibson to become a seeing-eye dog for the blind. Lee had agreed to give Viggo a loving home and his early puppy training, but when he turned a year old he would be leaving her to begin his formal training in a guide-dog program. Lee also had an extremely shy Japanese chin named Zen, who sometimes walked with us but usually preferred to wait by himself next to Lee’s car.
These daily outings taught us far more about how to raise Scout than the monks and our other books did. Lee, for one, knows an enormous amount about dogs and was a fount of training tips. The visits to the farm socialized us, too. Clyde instructed us to guard our knees when the dog pack came running our way. “You could blow out a knee and wind up in the hospital again, Jill,” he warned me. He also encouraged me to buy a pair of Muck Boots like his to keep my feet dry in the mornings, when the grass was still covered with dew.
Following the death of the film director John Hughes that summer, we dubbed our little group of early morning dog walkers the Breakfast Club. Especially if Scout had had one of those nights when she needed to be let out a lot, I was often exhausted, but I cherished those morning meetings. Soon I could match the cars to the pet owners, and I would be disappointed
if we drove up to the parking area and didn’t immediately see any of our friends.
if we drove up to the parking area and didn’t immediately see any of our friends.
Day by day, Scout became bolder—and bigger. “Scout, you’ve grown another six inches,” Clyde would exclaim nearly every morning, and it almost seemed true. She was eating like crazy, gulping down her kibble with a frosting of yogurt and gaining about half a pound a day. When she arrived in Connecticut in mid-June, Scout had weighed sixteen pounds; by late July she weighed almost thirty pounds. As she grew, Cyon, Bunny, and the rest of the pack sternly enforced what Scout could get away with (joining them in chasing rabbits) and what she couldn’t (dashing into the pile of discarded vegetables). Sometimes the other dogs were plainly annoyed by this overeager puppy who followed their every move and tried to steal their balls. Viggo could be particularly grouchy, and sometimes he would turn on Scout and give her a “stay away from me” growl. But though Scout clearly didn’t enjoy this sort of rejection, she needed to learn how to interpret social cues.
Marian continued to be amused by Scout’s wild and ungainly strides, but her demeanor around all the dogs was relaxed yet firm. If Cyon began to race off into the woods, Marian would immediately call her back. A sharp “Cyon, come!” would result in the prompt reappearance of her dog. If Bunny and Scout had
followed Cyon, they would dawdle behind her with mildly guilty expressions. Afterward, Marian would get all three dogs to sit and take out her bag of small treats. “Wait,” she’d tell them, wanting to encourage soft mouths and keep them sitting. Only then would she give them each a treat. The Breakfast Club ended each morning with Marian inviting all three white goldens into the back of her car, where she split her last treat three ways.
followed Cyon, they would dawdle behind her with mildly guilty expressions. Afterward, Marian would get all three dogs to sit and take out her bag of small treats. “Wait,” she’d tell them, wanting to encourage soft mouths and keep them sitting. Only then would she give them each a treat. The Breakfast Club ended each morning with Marian inviting all three white goldens into the back of her car, where she split her last treat three ways.
We copied the Marian technique at home, getting Scout to sit and be patient before bestowing a treat for good behavior. We faithfully spent part of each day training Scout, helping her to learn her name and a few basic commands. Henry also made a point of giving her a ride in the car as often as possible, which at first provoked a lot of howling and braying until Scout finally realized that getting in the car usually meant a trip to Marian’s or doing something else fun. And in preparation for Scout’s eventual arrival in New York, Henry would take her in the afternoon for rides up and down the elevator at the local commuter train station.
Scout usually spent her downtime in the giant stand of lilacs just beyond our kitchen door, which Henry had enclosed with chicken wire. Aside from providing shade all day, the fenced-in area around the lilacs gave Scout the opportunity to explore her own little forest, bury toys, and chase Henry as he ran around the perimeter. One fine morning Scout was napping in the lilacs and Henry was reading nearby when a UPS deliveryman arrived. “Must be nice,” the man remarked as he handed Henry the package. And, indeed, it was very nice.
Bunny (left), Cyon (center), and Scout (right) in the back of Marian Spiro’s car
Because my job as managing editor of the
Times
required that I spend most weekdays in my New York office that summer, I called Henry each afternoon to hear the latest news from his and Scout’s farm walk or Marian’s pool parties. Finally, in early August, I couldn’t stand missing so much of the fun and took a two-week vacation.
Times
required that I spend most weekdays in my New York office that summer, I called Henry each afternoon to hear the latest news from his and Scout’s farm walk or Marian’s pool parties. Finally, in early August, I couldn’t stand missing so much of the fun and took a two-week vacation.
I was elated by the prospect of spending an uninterrupted stretch of time with Scout. I was also eagerly awaiting the visit of my friend Mariane Pearl and her seven-year-old son Adam. Mariane was the widow of Danny Pearl, the
Wall Street Journal
reporter who had been my friend and colleague in the
Journal
’s Washington bureau. Adam was the son Danny had never met, since Danny had been kidnapped and murdered in Pakistan by al-Qaeda while Mariane was pregnant.
Wall Street Journal
reporter who had been my friend and colleague in the
Journal
’s Washington bureau. Adam was the son Danny had never met, since Danny had been kidnapped and murdered in Pakistan by al-Qaeda while Mariane was pregnant.
Adam loved the beach, superheroes, baseball, and
dogs. He was excited to meet our new puppy, and I was anxious for Scout to learn how to behave around a child, since Buddy had sometimes growled at visiting toddlers, which scared them and alarmed me. When the Pearls arrived in Connecticut from New York, Adam brought Scout a Yankees dog shirt as a gift and was determined to teach her how to play left field in Wiffle ball games.
dogs. He was excited to meet our new puppy, and I was anxious for Scout to learn how to behave around a child, since Buddy had sometimes growled at visiting toddlers, which scared them and alarmed me. When the Pearls arrived in Connecticut from New York, Adam brought Scout a Yankees dog shirt as a gift and was determined to teach her how to play left field in Wiffle ball games.
Under Adam’s tutelage, Scout became an extremely fast and adept outfielder, but she never got the hang of dropping the ball after she caught it. In my dual role as pitcher and mediator, I would usually have to negotiate a trade, giving her a treat in return for the ball.
BOOK: The Puppy Diaries: Raising a Dog Named Scout
8.33Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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