Meeting Puppy Mu
The puppy, about six months old, couldn’t lift his head because the chain he was tied out on had wrapped around the base of a shrub. He looked up at me with his big, sad puppy eyes, his head hung low. I had to help him if there was any possible way. A friend had told me about this puppy, chained in a yard. He was outside all the time, and only the office workers next door fed him and gave him water. I had come to investigate and see what I could do. His collar appeared too tight, scarring his neck. Looking at him between the boards of the fence, I tried to think of how to help. As I walked to the front door, I tried to come up with a plan, a plausible scenario. Mostly, I wanted to punch these people in the face, and I couldn’t think straight. I knocked on the door, and when the owner came to the door, I politely mentioned that I just happened to be at the office building next door and noticed that their puppy had wrapped his leash around a shrub and was stuck, whining and crying. Was there anything I could do to help? I was wearing a sweatshirt with the Missing Pet Partnership logo, so they probably didn’t believed my lie that I just happened to be in the neighborhood.
They said his name was Puppy, (they hadn’t even bothered to give him a real name), and they unhooked him and brought him to the front door. He was remarkably friendly, happy, and calm, under the circumstances. With no leash on, he didn’t try to get away. He seemed like the kind of puppy you would like to have in your house, flopped on the couch. They said they didn’t have time for him, with a new baby on the way, and they were looking to sell him. They never said anything specific to imply this, and I don’t necessarily have a valid reason for thinking so, but I got the impression they left him tied in the yard without attention because they wanted him to grow up mean and scary, for protection. He probably wasn’t mean enough for them. They wanted $100. I checked my pockets and I had $70, which I offered them. Had I been thinking clearly, I would have just gone to the ATM right then. Instead, they gave me their number and told me to call them the next day. When I called, they said he was sold. However, a friend noticed they had a craigslist ad posted for him, selling him for $100. Another friend called, offering to buy the dog, and she identified herself as being with a nonprofit that helps lost dogs, thinking that would be a good thing. They told her Puppy had been sold. A third person called to buy Puppy, not identifying herself as being with any group or agency, and they agreed to sell the puppy to her. Perhaps they didn’t want to deal with a nonprofit because they didn’t want to get into some sort of trouble for mistreating him, I don’t know. Anyway, I brought $100 and stayed out of sight as my friend completed the transaction. On May 25th, 2011, Puppy became my dog. She brought the puppy over to where I sat on the grass, and he draped himself across my legs. He was irresistibly cute, as you would imagine with a six month old puppy. It was so sad, how his family sold him like a sack of potatoes, but I felt relieved to know we could keep him safe.
On the other hand, I realized, as I sat on the grass in the park, in the sun, with the puppy flopping on my legs, that I really should not have a puppy. I already had three dogs and I often took care of a fourth. I was in the process of spending more than $9,000 for cancer treatments for my sweet dog, Tess, and I didn’t have any money. Although I would obviously take great care of a dog, and love him completely, I probably wasn’t the best choice for him for the long term, or so I thought at the time. A volunteer and I took him to the vet to get checked out. Then we went to the pet store to get him a proper collar and a name tag. When it came time to engrave his new name in metal, I suggested Ruggles, the name of a dog in a story I was working on at the time. She didn’t care for that name. I suggested Mocha, because he was dark brown like good coffee or chocolate, and she liked that better. Once you name a dog, it deepens your bond. Although she had two cats at home, I thought it made more sense for her to take him, temporarily, rather than me. She agreed to take him home and foster him.
She loved him, because how could you not, and he was very happy with her. We met Mocha a few times, with other dogs, to work on his training and socialization. Once freed from life on a chain, Mocha showed great enthusiasm for everything, and he started showing too much enthusiasm for the cats. When he was out in the yard, he jumped in through a window, knocking out the screen, to be with the cats. He earned the name Wakomu, a Chippewa phrase meaning “He is family.” They called him Komu for short. However, when he reached eight months of age, his foster said she couldn’t keep him any more. He had become too energetic, and her work schedule didn’t allow her to spend enough time with him. Komu came to live with us, as a last resort.
Obviously, he was great fun, very friendly, a gorgeous puppy. He was also a force of nature in terms of destructive capacity. He loved to chase and harass the other dogs, constantly, and he would chew on anything possible. Although he had been house trained at the foster’s home, he forgot his training in our house, which is not unusual for a dog coming to a new home. To keep him safe, to keep him from electrocuting himself by chewing through a power cord, to keep him from harassing poor Tess too much, I had to keep him on a leash inside the house. This meant he was with me constantly. He was charming and exasperating.
When he reached one year of age, in December of 2011, I took him to our weekly training session. Kelsy, my black Labrador, who was trained to find lost dogs since 2008, was still attending training sessions weekly, to sharpen her skills and also as a reward for her hard work. At this training session, we tested Komu for aptitude and ability, both for finding dogs and for finding cats. He showed great desire and a capacity to learn quickly. At home, he had never learned to stop annoying the other dogs, but at training, he was very adaptable and he seemed to understand the concepts of training. Because Kelsy was already finding lost dogs with me, I decided to start training Komu to find lost cats, even though he would have done well at either job. He loved training, and he always found the hidden cat. At home, after we began his training sessions, Mu became much easier to deal with. Part of that was probably due to outgrowing his puppy phase, but I think most of his behavioral improvement was due to having a job. Dogs need jobs. The other dogs and I could finally relax at home without being terrorized 24/7 by the crazy puppy.
In May of 2012, Mu and I took the certification test for him to officially become a cat detection dog. There was a cat hidden in a carrier somewhere within the park, within a five acre area, and we had one hour to find the hidden cat. I felt confident that Mu would find the cat because he had in every other training exercise up to that point. We methodically cleared areas of the park, and Mu performed just as he should, following my direction to check specific areas for hidden cats. When we came past a certain hedge row, I had a feeling that the cat was around because the trainer was watching Mu closely for any sign that he caught the scent of a cat. We walked by a dense juniper several times, and Mu never signaled the presence of a cat. After six months of training, Mu and I failed the test. I knew he had the ability because he had demonstrated it clearly during dozens of training exercises. I don’t know why he failed that day, but my suspicion is that the warm sun shining on the exterior of the dense juniper was creating a chimney effect, drawing cool air in from below, with the air rising inside the juniper and releasing at the top. We took the test again the following week, and Mu had no trouble at all finding the hidden cat. Since June of 2012, Mu has found at least 300 missing cats.
I often think about how our lives would be different if I hadn’t met Mu. What if I was busy that day and I couldn’t answer the call about a puppy in need? What if a friend hadn’t persisted and called a third time to see if the puppy was for sale? Would Mu have survived? If he did survive, would he have lived his whole life on a chain? Would he have become mean? Just today, Mu was sprawled across the king size bed with his feet up in the air, snoring gently. We have a gas fireplace and the dog bed on the hearth is known as Mu’s spot. Hundreds of cats were found by Mu, but would I have trained some other dog to find lost cats? I’m quite certain that I’ve told Mu that I love him at least once a day for the past eight years, but many times more than that I have just looked over at him and thought how much I love him, without saying a word. The dog that was unwanted, sold for $100, he is as an extension of my soul. On searches, I have said many times, somewhat jokingly, “In my next life, I’m going to be the dog and Mu will be my human.” Perhaps I would have loved another dog just as much, I don’t know. I do know that I am very glad I happened to meet him, and that I got stuck with him even when I tried not to. I’m lucky he didn’t work out at the first foster home. He is beautiful and smart and funny. He is also annoying and difficult sometimes, just like human children can be. Every day, I am grateful to have him in my life. Even if he had failed at finding cats, he would still be the best dog in the world.
Mu will turn 11 on the 21st.
Love Mu stories. Really enjoyed this one! I now realize out of all your kids Mu is my favorite! You have the ability to make a stranger feel love for a dog they most likely will never meet. Maybe it's his story from the beginning all the way thru his anxieties, his chair by the fire and I can even hear him snore. Maybe it's a familiar feeling of closeness and love I share with my girl. Out of all I've never had a relationship like I have with Teyla. This is a good feeling read. Thank you.
Such a handsome boy and lucky to have you as his Dad.