The Citification of My Dog

To many of my friends, our house in Michigan is out in the sticks. It is, to say the least, considered rural. Our neighborhood is quiet, and living on a cul-de-sac, we're pretty sheltered at the end of our street.

Zebra the dog, who is 3, has never known anything beyond his expansive yard (he's just a little 19-pounder)and the electric boarder than keeps him there. Occasionally he has a ride into town in the car, but usually, we just let him out the door and he's on his own to explore, bark and do his thing as he chooses.

All of that changed, obviously, when we came to Shanghai (much to my neighbors delight on the barking thing, I'm sure). Instead, he lives his life on the end of a 16-foot retractable leash.

Every morning, I grab some sweats and shoes, and we travel down the elevator to the front door of the building for him to do his thing. We do this about six times a day, including one last trip before going to bed. Some mornings, the elevator is right there waiting, exactly where I left it when I rode up the night before. After we have walked the kids to the bus stop, we have a 30-minute stroll through the park with other walkers and the occasional furry acquaintances.

I have to remark on how quickly he has taken to being a city dog. He knows the elevator. When he walks in, he turns around, just like people do, and patiently waits for the doors to part and set him free. It's made of glass, so sometimes he puts his paws up to look out at the growing or shrinking scenery. One of my fears is that he'll suddenly bolt out the elevator door before it closes, and we'll be stuck as I go up or down without him, but attached by the leash, nonetheless. He's even learned to wait on the rug just inside the front door of the building so I can wipe his paws (because it always seems to be raining here).

When he needs to go outside, he comes to find me rather than scratching on the door, and his barking is mostly down to a rumble rather than the full-on assault of notication that something is amiss. He still greets company with his usual annoying exuberance, though, so visitors beware...

But he pays little attention to passers by on the street. No full body wiggle begging people to give him attention. He must know that most people here just don't care how cute he is...or maybe he knows that they know that I can't talk to anyone we meet.

Oddest thing, however, is that he's learned to lift his leg. My eternal squatter of 3 years now acts like a real boy dog! I'm not sure if I have a good/bad opinion on it. I just think it's funny to watch because he looks like he'll tip over with a good breeze. He marks the places he's been, and, by the end of a walk, he's dry...but he still tries! Because that's what dogs do.