The Great Who-Nami

Posted by Terri Elders in PawPrints On My Heart | 2 comments

© Terri Elders

“My idea of a decent dog is simple,” I’d told Ken, my new spouse, “Only three requirements. It should curl up on my lap, readily master commands and never shed. Not much to ask of a canine companion.”

“We’re going to get an Akita,” Ken responded.

I’d never parented a purebred but I’d known since the onset of our courtship that Ken adored this particular breed. Though I’d never seen one, I knew from the covers of Ken’s books that Akitas’ plush tails curled up over their backs, and they had intelligent eyes. So if one would make him happy, so be it.

“They’re intensely loyal and protective,” he elaborated. “Helen Keller brought the first one here from Japan, where they act as babysitters. They’re working dogs, too, trained to track and tree bear.”

I nodded approvingly, picturing Nana from Peter Pan protecting the Darling children from grizzlies. Then reality hit.

“Uh, Ken, remember? We’re in our sixties. No kids to babysit. And little need for us to rear a big game hunter. Few bears roam the streets of Silver Spring, Maryland.”

He just grinned. “We’ll get an Akita.”

For months he poured through the classifieds, making a few forays to nearby kennels. He’d return empty-handed. “I didn’t see any that seemed smart enough,” he’d explain.

I, too, craved a smart dog, one that quickly grasped “come” and “stay.” I didn’t intend to chase a spry puppy all over the neighborhood.

Then Ken found an ad featuring pups that sprang from a long line of champion show dogs. He decided to drive to the West Virginia kennel right away.

“I’ll try to bring home a surprise,” he said, heading out the door, whistling the opening bars of “Take Me Home, Country Roads.”

While I waited I browsed through his Akita books. I felt almost as excited as when I’d expected my son and studied Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care. Excitement quickly turned to dismay though as I read that full-grown Akitas often weighed in at well over a hundred pounds. Not lap dogs! Moreover, most weren’t pushovers to train, tending to be aloof, willful and stubborn. Good luck with “come” and “stay!” I flipped to the section on grooming. Akitas molt in fat fluffy clumps twice a year…about six months each time!

I gulped. Nonetheless, I promised myself I’d greet the puppy with an open-mind.

Nami-at-10 weeks

When Ken returned I was ready. “Meet Tsunami,” he said, thrusting twelve pounds of tri-color white-booted puppy into my outstretched arms.

Tsunami snarled, and then flung out all four limbs, struggling to escape. In following weeks she’d never let me near enough to pet her, scrambling under tables or chairs whenever I’d approach.

Ken was right about a surprise. Tsunami surprised us by ignoring her puddle pads, by transforming our freshly planted patio garden into a lunar landscape, and by gnawing the legs of my rocking chair as well as Ken’s remote control.

So Ken decided she needed a crate, her own private den where she could relax, chew her Kong and join him in watching Animal Planet. He chose a sturdy wire box that she clearly regarded as home, sweet home. She’d crawl in all by herself, and never fuss to get out, even if Ken fell asleep in his nearby lounge chair. Sometimes I’d return from work to find the pair snoozing peacefully side by side.

The first time we locked her in her crate, though, while we went to a matinee, she was waiting for us at the front door upon our return. We rushed to the den and examined the crate. It showed no damage…and still was locked.

Ken prodded and pushed the walls and doors. Nothing showed any sign of give. We gaped in disbelief.

“She’s like Houdini,” Ken said. “We should rename her Who-Nami.”

We tried crating her one more afternoon when we left to shop. As before, our furry escapologist greeted us at the door. We gave up. We left her crate open, and she came and went as she pleased. She never curled up at my feet, but she’d let me leash her to take her for a walk or a ride to the dog park, where she romped with children and other pups.

Soon she learned how to slip outside if Ken got distracted at the front door. She’d race around the woods surrounding our town house, then slink back to our patio. One day I returned from work to learn she’d sneaked out while Ken talked to a delivery man, and this time she hadn’t returned. I hardly slept that night, envisioning her alone somewhere, hurt and scared.

The next morning the phone rang, and Ken picked up the call. It was the pound.

“We’ve got your Akita here, a brindle. We picked her up a block from the Silver Spring dog park.”

Ken bristled. “Tsunami isn’t a brindle. She’s a tri-color.”

“Whatever. Her dog tag has your phone number on it.”

“I’ll go get her,” I said. Ken’s recent knee surgery would make it hard for him to hike from the parking lot to the kennel where stray dogs were housed.

When I walked up to her cage Tsunami leaped against the bars, eyes sparkling. When the guard unlocked her cage she nearly knocked me over, hurling herself against my ankles.

“I guess you like your Mommy better after a night in the hoosegow,” I muttered, fastening a leash to her collar, as she slobbered over my hands and face.

A staring contest

“She found her way to the dog park on her own,” I reminded him, “Over two miles away.”

Tsunami’s nine now, a stately and dignified senior. In a sentimental mood, I recently had a mouse pad made from a photo when she was only four months. She’s perched in our old barren garden, stuffed bear dangling from her maw. She’s about a fifth of her current size of 117 pounds, her ears not yet erect. When I glance down at it I remember the sweet scent of her puppy breath.

We now live on the other side of the country, in a little valley surrounded by woods. A few times Tsunami’s managed to escape. I figure she’s tracking deer, although I know there are bears and cougars in those woods, as well. I don’t worry. She’s still a big game hunter.

She’s never stays away for long, though. Since Ken died last year she sticks pretty close to my side. We’re old ladies together today, Tsunami and me.

And though she still ignores “come” and “stay,” she sleeps by the side of my bed, within patting distance. She’s intensely loyal and protective, as Ken promised. Like a decent dog.