Marilyn Monroe, Don Juan, and Romeo were lounging in front of a fan on the ceramic tile floor in the downstairs bathroom of a very swank, upscale home in Missoula where I was attending a party. The dogs looked more like reclining horses with their giant bodies covering almost every inch of available walking space. I hesitated before entering, hoping they would see that I needed to use the facilities and politely move. They didn’t budge or even lift their heads when I called their names. I stepped over and around the maze of dogs, petting the two male Saint Bernards on the head and stroking the silky coat of Marilyn, the elegant Bernese Mountain Dog.
They say that most household accidents happen in the bathroom.
If I would have flipped on the light, the toilet seat, wet and glistening from a fresh slathering of dog drool, would have shined like a crystal ball, warning me not to take a seat. But because Don Juan was sleeping in the entryway, I couldn’t close the bathroom door. I didn’t want to light up the bathroom for the whole party to see so I decided to quickly proceed in the dark. A big mistake.
Sitting on a toilet seat drenched with dog drool is like gliding across a Slip N’ Slide soaked with a garden hose. The slavered seat shot me into the air and I landed a few feet away when my forehead met the corner of a marble sink. Dazed and confused with my jeans around my ankles and three driveling dogs staring at me, I waited until the stars cleared from my vision before rising. An apple-size red knot instantly formed above my left eye. I searched the medicine cabinet for some aspirin and forgot all about the original urge that sent me to the bathroom in the first place.
“What happened to you?” people asked when I returned to the party.
It was embarrassing but I felt I should share my story to warn the other visitors of the impending danger. Eventually, they too would feel the call of nature.
“You used the dogs’ bathroom?” the host asked me, horrified by the thought. “That’s their water bowl. The people bathroom is upstairs.”
At that exact moment, I promised myself I would never let my house turn into a “dog house.”
“Who would let their dogs take over their bathroom?” I thought to myself.
Many times, when people visit the sled dog kennel, they look at the 60-some dogs in the lot and ask, “Do you ever let them inside?”
When it comes to “real life” and animals, children and adults have seen one too many Disney movies. If I let the sled dogs in the house, it wouldn’t be a 101 Dalmatians flick. Dogs must be trained to be indoor dogs.
Pepper would immediately lift his leg on everything standing. Many people have found out the hard way that this includes them.
Sage would destroy anything electronic. She has spent days in the back yard disassembling the satellite dish. If only she were smart enough to put it back together.
Alaskan Huskies are very curious dogs. Most of them would poke, examine, and pick up everything in the house not bolted to the floor.
Many people don’t understand the idea of working dogs. They see dogs purely as pets for their enjoyment and companionship. These are two of the main reasons I work with sled dogs. But they are also dogs with a job, a mission, and an almost uncontrollable desire to pull and work.
With proper food, water, and shelter, raising dogs outside in the elements prepares them for their future jobs. They develop thicker coats, tougher feet, and stronger “heads.” After a short time inside a warm house, most sled dogs are begging to be let outside. When it it starts to snow, they don’t whine at the back door to be let inside. They don't want to come inside. They curl up in a tight ball and fall sound asleep in the snow. They take care of themselves.
I’m a big sucker though. I love bringing puppies inside to play. I take advantage of every time Terry Adkins leaves the house to bring a few into my room. And of course my sidekick, Jigs, the German Jagd Terrier, sleeps with me, hogging my bed all night.
I have been called “crazy” for devoting my life to so many dogs. I might dedicate my time and love to my dogs, but I refuse to dedicate my toliet. To me, that is truly “crazy.”
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