It's in the Genes

By Gerard Meister

Quirky behavior runs in my family much like blue eyes or male pattern baldness run in others. The only difference is that our kith and kin mysteriously manage to rub this trait off on our friends and neighbors. Even family pets, dogs in particular, can't escape. We get to them, too.

Clyde, a lovable, but confused Gordon Setter, was our last pet. He greeted all visitors (and apparently intruders) with wagging tail and a lick-lick tongue. It was when our guests went to leave that Clyde barked ferociously, sometimes baring his teeth. This unexpected action must have so discomfited one of our burglars - we had three break-ins during Clyde's tenure - that the gentleman dropped my wife's mink jacket at the front door and must have been too frightened to stop and pick it up.

In truth, not all the thefts should go against Clyde's record. On one occasion he was at the kennel being treated for a nervous stomach, which is why, we suspect, he would eat only kosher meat. From time to time my wife would bring home a chop or some kosher style cold cuts from the A&P that looked kosher, but really weren't, and hide the telltale packaging from Clyde. She never fooled him once, not a morsel ever passed his lips.

My first pooch was Duchess, a spirited Boston Bulldog with an uncanny ear for language. During Duchess's reign my parents were friendly with the Gershunys and had them over often. Mr. Gershuny, a learned, Old World gentleman, often quoted pages of scripture (as people of that stripe are wont to do) in the original Hebrew. The animal, normally accustomed to terse English words such as fetch and sit, would scramble under the day bed in the living room as soon as the first Hebrew phrase fell trippingly from Gershuny's lips. Mama, who thought that bringing attention to the dog's behavior might insult her friend, pretended not to notice.

The first dog we brought home for our children was Roger, a frisky Cocker Spaniel with a guilt complex. He was so paranoid that whenever the guilt-ridden animal caught you glancing in his direction, he peed. This necessitated walking around the house looking up at the ceiling or out the window. We asked our vet if he had any ideas and he suggested that we restrict Roger to a small area in the kitchen and shout no, every time he lifted his leg. When we told the vet we had been shouting no, to no avail, for the past six weeks the doctor indicated a series of x-rays might be in order. Eventually we gave Roger away to a truck farmer in New Jersey, where, we hoped, he might find himself.

The most interesting dog to grace our household was Rusty, a huge and complicated mutt. She was a great watchdog, the best we ever had. She did have one small failing though, and I'll be the first to admit that it took a while to figure out what was going on in that dog's mind. Whenever there was a knock at the door, Rusty gave the obligatory bark and stood at the threshold to check out the visitors. Some she let pass with no fuss, but others elicited snarls and once she snapped at a couple of cousins of mine.

We kept a careful list of who she admitted and who she didn't (at first, I thought the animal was only after my family, which turned out not to be the case). It took a while (the kids loved Rusty and did not want to let her go), but we worked out what was rubbing her the wrong way. This episode took place in the late 50's when people were wearing those grotesque harlequin-framed glasses. Apparently that horrid style got to the animal, which is understandable. (Just take a look at any old photo album from that era and see if you can keep from barking.) In time the style changed and we no longer had to ask our guests to remove their glasses when they visited.

Over the years I've spoken to a couple of shrinks about the problems with my canine friends. One advised me to give up smoking and the other to try yoga. I gave up smoking, but never could get any of the dogs to sit cross-legged and meditate.