2008-03-15 Shelby's Story

Dateline, Mt. Sterling, KY
Longitude: -83.94502
Latitude: 38.06882

While I am ensconced in the country and not technically traveling, I plan to fill in some background information. There's no better place to begin than telling the story of how Shelby came to be with me.

It was around the end of April of 1996, while I was living in Newport Beach, CA.

While I have told this story a thousand times, in this permanent version I will clarify an important point: I was not actually present when the crisis began, but the details to follow emerged over the next few days and have ridden for the past thirteen years in my memory.

Those who were there relayed to me that someone apparently threw Shelby out of a car or truck, then ran over her, severing her right foreleg. My neighbor Jim, a commercial airline pilot, was the who found her in the street bleeding and in shock.

He bundled her up in a clean towel and took her to the same Vet we used for Milo just a few blocks from the house.

I had been out of town when this all happened but I returned later that night and heard the tragic story.

The next day I went over to the Vet to meet this little puppy, who had instantly become the darling of the pet hospital. When she was brought out, it was love at first site. She squirmed from Vet assistant's arms and made for mine. I practically heard her say "Can I come home with you, Mister?"

The next thing you know, I am the proud owner of one and 3/4 dogs.

My main dog Milo, who was about a year old at the time, immediately took her in and made her welcome. He never stopped that in his whole life. Milo will get his own background story here later.

Shelby was probably about six weeks old when she came to us. The photos in this post were taken with a Canon digital camera I had just bought (and later returned) and are the first images captured of Shelby, but far from the last.

Right from the onset, Shelby was a good puppy. She quickly learned her lessons, and soon after pretty much had us wrapped around her paw.

Milo shared everything: toys, food, water, cookies and especially nap time, never once in his whole life ever snapping at her. He loved his job of being big brother, protector and doggy mentor, and did it with his gentle stoicism and patience.

Within a year or so I made the decision to send them both out to a 6-week training camp. It was rough. I desperately missed them and could not visit.

When they were returned, the trainer demonstrated how well they had learned their lessons. They stayed. They sat on command. They healed. They came when called. And they forgot just about everything the instant the trainer drove off.

Milo continued to remember his lessons but Shelby, not so much. To this day she still doesn't come when called and she will only sit or lay down if bacon is involved. Some have said I never broke her spirit. I never even dented it.

Neither dog was ever struck in anger or for discipline. Shelby has zero flinching instinct. She is as unaware of being hit as she is driving a car. And while I gave her the opportunity to forget her formal lessons, I never stopped doing the thinking for her. This accounts for why she is on-leash in nearly every photo in her collection. I think she actually likes it. Even when she stops suddenly and the collar slips off her neck, she comes to a dead stop and waits for me to put it back on.

I think we both feel more comfortable leashed together and I try to let her have some dog time every day.

Mr. Steinbeck wrote in Travels With Charley that Charley was the only dog he ever knew who could talk. Due to a slight misalignment of his teeth, Charley could say "Ftt". Mr. Steinbeck took that to mean that Charley was ready to do his business.

Well, Shelby can't talk, but she sure talks back. The nearest she gets to talking is this pattern that sort of sounds like she is saying "no, you". Shelby, sit. No, you.

I have worked with her on this in hopes of getting on the Stupid Pet Tricks segment of the David Letterman show but she doesn't want to go to New York City, even on a TV network's expense account. Can't blame her for that.

Shelby tends to come to life around 11pm local time pretty much every day. This is the time she likes to play, and she will bark at me until I relent. This usually doesn't take long, as there is no shutting her up. She may be part Labrador but she may have not inherited the Retriever bit. She will fetch what is thrown and only gives it up if it looks to her like play time is over.

Shelby's missing leg has been the source of thousands of comments and questions throughout the years as she has traveled all across the country, coming into contact with people of all shapes, sizes and ages.

Depending on my mood, the person asking, and various other circumstances, my response to "what happened to her leg?" comes from the following repertoire:

• "It was part of a bitter divorce settlement." I only use this on adults and older kids when I think they can appreciate the humor. Saying this with a completely straight face really throws people off, and only about 2 out of 5 laugh right off the bat.


• "She didn't eat her vegetables." Reserved exclusively for the under 5 year old set. This always cracks up the parent units and leaves Grandparents laughing and thanking me.


• "Beach/River/Creek Shark bit her." Used when near a body of water and gullible people.

More often than not, however, I just give the condensed version of the story told above. Everyone always says how sad it is and I usually point out that "their bad Karma is my good Dogma", and we all agree that she gets along just fine. I almost always observe that she does everything any other dog can do, just does not corner well at high speeds.

And she really does. Digs. Climbs. Jumps. Runs. She's not fond of swimming and I don't force the issue, but she loves getting wet like most Labs.

As to her actual heritage, well we don't know. There are black spots on her tongue which I am told is characteristic of Labs. She is clearly a mix, but the other ingredients are debatable.

But the best part of Shelby is her heart. She is simply the most gentle, loving, friendly dog I have ever known. I warn people she is a trained kisser when they put their face within striking distance and she rarely disappoints. Like a Cobra she strikes, tongue-first. Anyone within a 24 inch radius is going to get licked.

She loves babies. Old people. People of every color and income bracket. And she treats them all the same, expecting that everyone likes her as much as she immediately likes them. This is only problematic with people who are deathly afraid of dogs in general and Shelby gets it in her mind that she wants to meet them. So I am forced to restrain her in respect of their fears.

As near as we can figure, and not without irony, she was born on this day in 1996. I didn't realize that it was her birthday until just now. She's Thirteen today.

Since every day she is treated like it's her birthday, this will likely go unmarked. But I am very happy to have had her this long and to report that she is in excellent health and even better spirits.

Reaching the end of our shared attention span, if I still have you at all, the final point I will make here is that Shelby was named by my daughter Brynne. I'm pretty sure she's named (Shelby, not Brynne) after some character in a schmaltzy chick-flick from that time, possibly even Julia Roberts, who will help this blog show up in more Google searches now.