No, not that Pete. But yes, the love interest in my novels is named Pete. I was half-way through writing the first book before it struck me that my character and my dog shared a name, so it was completely unconscious. Pete, the dog, however, is not quite as suave or subtle as the novel’s Pete, and he rarely quotes poetry. But he’s every bit as good at getting his own way. We’re not quite sure what breeds went into his creation, but we call him an Indiana Spotted Dog because he’s from a kill shelter in Indiana, and because he’s, well, spotted.
So, sometimes the quieter members of the family get a bit lost in the shuffle. Moses is big, and young, and boisterous, and he can easily put himself between Pete and a hug from one of us. We have to make an extra effort to make sure he gets his share of attention. Pete, himself, makes sure he gets his share of food. Nothing gets between Pete and food.
Pete is eleven-ish, and he has been with us since he was about ten months old. We’re not sure what happened to him before we met, but it was something that has scarred him forever. When we first brought him home, he would flinch if you moved your hand suddenly, and roll over fearfully and subserviently if you tried to reach for him. Occasionally, under stress or commotion, he still will. Oddly enough, he is not shy with other dogs. On the contrary, his injured leg came when he attacked Moses, and in the scuffle, Moses landed on him. In our house, even though he is only 70 pounds, Pete is the Alpha Dog. Moses is the follower.
I started out obedience training with him, as I do with all our dogs, but once he had learned to sit, and lie down, and stay, and come, I left him alone. The whistles, the shouted commands to drop, the wheelchairs, and the sudden noises that are part of the training left him shaking and slinking away. It wasn’t worth it.
So Pete isn’t a Canine Good Citizen. He is afraid of children, and of people with hats. He will not go outside in the rain, and does not delight in our new dog shower, no matter how necessary. He used to be afraid of cameras, and for that reason, until the advent of the I-Phone, we had very few pictures of him. The camera would come out, and Pete would disappear. My husband says that someone must have once taken an unflattering picture of him, but I think it might have been the high-pitched whine of the electronic flash. A friend has commented that the expression on Pete’s face often looks as if he’s in a hostage situation. Unless he’s around food. He smiles around food.
We didn’t teach him to sit up and beg, or to respect the plastic flags of an invisible fence. He came pre-programmed. But we never hit him, either, and he came pre-programmed to expect that, too. For the first few months after we got him, I would wake up in the night worrying about what had happened to his reported ten brothers and sisters. But Pete, no matter what had happened to him before, had won the dog lottery.
On the other hand, Pete is a survivor, and he has learned the survivor’s skill of how to quickly ingratiate himself once he knows you are not dangerous. He has a sort of Eddie Haskel quality that he uses to great advantage, even–or perhaps, especially–on us. He also has the survivor’s knack of knowing exactly what he wants: yes, it’s usually food–he must have a lot of hound in him–but often just his own space.
We got a new big bed last year for our new bedroom, and it’s pretty high. Even 120 pound Moses contemplates the leap before attempting it, but for Pete, who is about half that size, it’s a bit of a reach. Now, Pete is a snuggler. Lying in bed is what he does. Many times in the past, I have awoken to Pete’s face lying against my face, cheek to cheek. But with the new bed, he simply wouldn’t come up. Maybe it hurt the leg he once injured. Maybe it was better to be away from that nuisance, Moses. But he wouldn’t come.
We felt bad about it, and called him, and tried to lure him with treats. Pete is always lured by treats. But it wouldn’t work.
One day, our friends and general contractors were over. They were at our house every day during our almost two years of remodeling, and our dogs love them like family. Pete was pressing earnestly against their legs, begging for love and attention.
I watched him, and shook my head sadly. “Poor Pete,” I said. “He thinks no one loves him. He can’t get up on the bed anymore, and he’s sleeping all by himself.”
My friends exchanged glances while rubbing Pete’s ears. They were silent for a moment, and then Patti said: “You know, as soon as you leave every morning, he’s on that bed. He stays there all day.”
She sent me the photo later to prove it. There he was, comfortably ensconced on the pillows of my cream colored bedding.
He is mostly trained, and pretty well-mannered, but not perfect, and I don’t demand of him the same things I demand of Moses. There’s no margin of error for Big Scary Dogs, but for Pete, well, we let some of the details slide. Pete does things pretty much the way he wants. And in the end, that’s ok, because we love him, and after everything he’s been through, he deserves it.
But I do wish he wouldn’t leave quite so much black hair on my pillows.
Pete, above, snuggling. Pete, in a hostage situation.
6 thoughts on “For the Love of Pete”
I use to say you can’t project human emotions or characteristics to dogs. You prove me wrong. I see a lot of our dog Hashtag in what you say about Pete. When Hashtag arrived at his forever home he was damaged. He has quirks we have come to love.
Remember when there used to be scientific reports saying things like “new experiments prove dogs bark for a reason”? We dog owners would wonder whether these scientists had ever spent five minutes in a room with a dog . Its interesting now, because increasingly, science is beginning to show that our arrogance about human emotional life has been misplaced. Animals feel love, act out of altruism, grieve, and feel joy.
P.S. Lucky Hashtag!
Pete did indeed hit the dog lottery with you.
And so did we.
I love Pete. I had a dog earlier in my life that was named “Petunia”. She was a small lab offshoot that was black and weighed about 40 poinds. Her tail was cut off and my uncle who gave her to me was special. “Tuny” as I called her, got bit by a rattlesnake under our front porch, which explained where we were, and later on Dad accidently cut off her lower left leg cutting johnson grass in the pasture. We lived out in the country with about a 1/4 mile driveway and more than once my Dad or I would hear people out there coming up to the house and Tuny growling and keeping them at bay away from the house. Tuny left home somewhere in the night when she was about 10-11 and I think it was because she was going to die. I will never forget her because I am now going on 75 and that was about 65 years ago. Take care Tuny.