Chapter 34. Monkey

Today I’m writing about Monkey, who is our only dog after nearly 50 years of multiple dogs, cats, and other critters.  Right now, she is at the front gate barking.  At nothing.  In a few minutes, she’ll join me in the office and curl up in her bed that sits in front of the heater and take a morning snooze.  

Unlike all our other dogs, Monkey has never heard a command worthy of obedience.  That’s because she is a grifter.  A street-dog. A nomad.  A free spirit.

I didn’t choose Monkey to come live with us.  I was given no choice in the matter.  I’ll tell you why.  One day, GB and I were in Evergreen to meet up with a couple that owned two Newfies.  We went to a mountain park that was open to unleashed dogs and the four Newfs (our two , I think Doc and Nisha, and the friends’ two) had a rip-roaring time that included water and mud.  When we returned to town, there was a rescue group, the Evergreen Animal Protection League, that had some dogs ready for adoption.  I spotted a little Shih Tzu mix from across the parking lot and immediately thought about Ghengis, the wonderful, perfect, adorable, sweet, obedient, smart Shih Tzu who spent 15 years of his life with us. I looked at GB.  He said “Go over there”.  So, I did.

I looked at the Shih Tzu mix and she was an adorable mixture of God knows what.  She immediately ran to me, wagging her tail and looking at me with giant eyes that were crossed and a little smile that featured crooked teeth.  At the same time, another little, brown scruffy dog trotted over, gave me a dirty look and, I believe, said “Fuck you”.  It didn’t matter because I was interested in the sweet one.  So, I asked the volunteer, “Tell me about this little dog”.  

“Well,” she said.  “She’s bonded with the other little one that just came up.  We must adopt them together.”

“But,” I protested, “the other one is rude.”

“We know,” she answered. “No one has wanted both of them.”

I took the rescue’s information and thought that if no one adopted those two by the end of the day, I would.

We decided to take the river route from Evergreen back to Denver and while we were maybe five minutes out of town, I said to GB “Do you think anyone’s adopted them yet?”  He rolled his eyes.  I then said, “We should probably hurry up and adopt those two because I think someone else would just jump at the chance.”  Now, the backstory on those two street mongrels is that they had been transferred from a local municipal shelter after about three months of incarceration.  And, they had been with Evergreen an additional three months.  No one wanted these two.  But, at that point, I was positive there would be a run on two grifters.

They arrived at our house a few days later.  We named them Mimi and Monkey.  Mimi was the sweet one.  Monkey not.

Monkey spent the first six months figuring out how to escape.  And when she did, Mimi would beharwired to join her.  Mimi would always look back sadly as if to say, “I want to stay but Monkey says I have to go with her”.  At some point, Monkey decided to stay, and I thought she would be easier.

She wasn’t.

You see, Monkey was a street-dog through and through.  She was the boss of the compliant Mimi. She and Mimi did all things in concert. When Monkey took after a coyote who had jumped our fence in search of a chicken dinner, Mimi followed.  When Monkey looked to the left, Mimi did the same.  When one ran out the gate, there went the other.  Mimi remained cordial.  Easy to walk.  Obedient.  So sweet.  Monkey, the opposite. The anti-Mimi.

I adored Mimi.   I tried to love Monkey but it was just hard.  One day, I backed out of the driveway unaware that Mimi had run out.  I killed her.  I can’t even describe that feeling.  It never goes away.

So, there was just Monkey and two Newfs, I think Boomer and Nisha.  

I had to learn how to interpret Monkey.  And this wasn’t an easy job since Monkey was not particularly interested in my thoughts.

Here’s what I’ve learned.

Monkey is a dog’s dog.  Maybe more like a hyena’s hyena. She found the remains of a baby squirrel yesterday.  It was a tail.  She brought it to me. Last night, she found the body. She brought it in.

She’ll spend hours hunting and each prize is brought to me for the trophy of my response which is generally a series of profanities. 

It was when she began bringing me her prizes that I realized she had become willing to meet me on her own terms.  We became friends.  Sort of.  She sits with me, sleeps with me, follows me to and from places.  And she misses me terribly when I’m gone.  Since Boomer died, she’s become a little more agitated and worries that when I leave, I won’t return.  She’s also become deaf but because she is so smart, she’s learned to read my lips or my hand signals.  She had surgery a few years ago for a herniated disc, so she doesn’t really walk well although she bounds up the stairs and charges out the gate whenever she gets a chance.

As she ages, and at 17, her face has whitened and her rear legs weakened from the spine surgery. Her walk is wobbly. But she remains steadfast on hunting, scavenging, and grifting.

She’s had a good life, although I’m not sure she appreciates it.  But I’d say she brought more to my life than I to hers.  I learned a little patience.  Not much, but a little.  I learned how to wait while she sniffed a particularly pungent odor before we could continue walking.  I learned to give up on the leash and let her wander freely while I waited, yes, for her to finish with that particular scent.  I waited.  And eventually, my patience would be rewarded.  She’d look up at me as if to say, “Oh, you!  There you are!”. 

Here I am. Realizing that I learned to love the fearless little dog I didn’t want. Waiting for her to bring me a disgusting piece of carcass, old Kleenex, or a rag she chews up and then regurgitates on the floor.  Here I am.  Hoping she lives another day to do what she loves to do while she defies age. Here I am understanding that this Monkey, this naturally feral creature, has willingly agreed to live with me.  

And it will be Monkey, should she still be with us, who will move to an apartment next Autumn. I’ll have to find hunting grounds for her to explore.  Sand Creek isn’t far from where we’ll live.  I guess we can wander there and see what’s rotting, disgusting, or dead. 

She’ll like that.