Unplanned.

When she wasn’t looking.

Leslie was a freshly minted college grad, living away from her home state for the first time. She had scored an excellent job–social media manager of a start-up fragrance maker. The work itself was actually fun and her co-workers became friends from day one. Living the dream, young adult-style.

After three months, Leslie had settled in to her tiny one-bedroom apartment and was learning her way around the city. One Thursday morning, on the drive in to work (running late; what’s new?) she spotted a puppy alone on the side of the street. She could tell by the way he was dipping his paw below the edge of the curb that he absolutely could not be trusted to stay out of traffic, and just like that, she put on her hazard lights, pulled over, and scooped up the little guy.

He had no collar and no fear. Rode shotgun like he’d done it all his life. He was a beautiful grey and white marled shorthair, no bigger than a shoebox, and Leslie took him with her to work.

As you might expect, he was an instant celebrity at the office. A little cardboard box was fixed up, and there was a quick run to the store for puppy food, treats, and toys. “Found Dog” signs were printed, and Leslie put them up near where the puppy had been rescued, but no one called. Leslie named him Ron, took him to her apartment, and took down all the signs on her way home the next day.

Exciting–if slightly scary–news at Ron’s first vet visit. Ron was probably, at least partly, Great Dane. You remember Leslie’s apartment was small, right? For a few months, he stayed home and Leslie walked him at every lunch hour. When work got busy, she called the dog walker–and that’s when I entered the picture. Ron was a joy, and it was so much fun to see him learn how to navigate with his legs that seemed to lengthen as I watched.

After a few months of walking the ever-expanding Ron, he began to feel his size. He was not so easily led anymore–especially when he knew we were turning back to end the walk. A prong collar was tried, then a gentle leader. Leslie was beginning to despair. Was he too big for her to control? Where was her easy-going puppy of days gone by?

One evening, she had a double dose of insight. As she prepared to meet a date from Match.com, she realized Ron was acting out noticeably on the evenings when she left. The second light bulb moment was about five minutes into that night’s meet and greet. Leslie knew she needed a break from the online dating exhaustion–at least for a while.

And thus was born Leslie’s brilliant idea. She and Ron started walking on nice evenings to a dog-friendly craft brewpub with a small playground to accommodate the canine customers’ socializing.

Ron’s behavior problems slowly melted almost completely away with this extra activity. I was thrilled, and Leslie was ecstatic! Ron remained large, but not quite so aggressively in charge. He was noticeably more mellow on the days after a night at the brewpub.

The dogpark/brewpub was a lifestyle change for Leslie that she made for her Great Dane’s benefit, but guess what? In the course of Leslie and Ron’s frequent visits, they got to know one of the founders of the little craft brewery. He didn’t have a dog, actually, but he does now. It is Ron. He and Leslie and Ron moved in together–to a bigger apartment!

I think there are two morals to this story. First, sometimes life really is like a movie. And secondly, sometimes you find great things (and Great Danes!) when you’re not even looking.

Adair Duke blog cats copywriter dogs

A tale of two kitties.

(and one dog.)

Miss Kitty and Dillon were two long-haired felines who had just sashayed into town with their owner, Randall, and their canine roommate, Smoky. Randall had landed a new job and relocated cross-country. He inked the lease on his two-bedroom apartment before he realized that the location was a full hour’s commute to work. He was going to be away from home for twelve hours a day, five days a week. Smoky needed to walk for an hour midday, and that’s when I entered the picture.

Smoky was everything you look for in a male–young, handsome, and well-trained. He was such a sweetie that the long black and white fur he shed (everywhere) was easily overlooked. Our routine was this: I stopped by around noon and was welcomed to the establishment by Miss Kitty. There was a little time to pet her long, lovely mane until Smoky jumped off the bed and let me know the trees were calling.

We’d walk, and when we returned–treat time! For everyone! This was when Dillon would sidle in and accept a tiny triangular treat; but only sometimes, when his schedule permitted.

A few months into this gig, Dillon didn’t show for two weeks. When he finally did come around, I was unpleasantly surprised. His normally sleek and full fur coat was patchy and dull. There were areas where I could actually see his skin. I texted Randall the moment I left. “Dillon’s fur!! 😱 Is he ok??!!”

Long story short, the stress of the move and the pain of some urine crystals had probably caused Dillon to begin overgrooming. The crystals were treated, and he started taking mild tranquilizers.

After a few weeks, the excessive grooming was still evident–Randall and I would both see D. licking, licking, licking. What else could we do? We decided to try playing music in the apartment all day long. Why not?

For the next month, every day was different. Some days I entered a country music dance hall, and some days the vibe was smooth jazz. Fridays were usually a dance/house mix. Smoky and I cha-cha’ed more than you might think, and Miss Kitty seemed to chase the elusive laser dot more aggressively. For his part, Dillon bellied up to the treat bar with more regularity until he was available most days.

Thank goodness, Dillon’s overgrooming faded away and his fur grew back. Did the music help? Or did time just tick its healing power? We’ll never really know. The price was right, though!