Biology Reference
In-Depth Information
his exploits via e-mails and photos. He had everything a puppy could desire and beyond.
Everything, that is, except other puppies to interact with. His young mother, Vita, an intense
West German import, wasn't a mentor. Her idea of mothering Solo was to nurse him fren-
etically and then race away like Road Runner from Wile E. Coyote, leaving him “in a cloud
of dust.” So Solo's great-aunt Cora, with her fawn-colored coat and sweet face, her impish
sense of humor and tolerance for unusual puppies (because she had been one herself ), took
over the task of raising him. It is always thus in extended families, and some are the better for
it. Solo interested and amused Cora. She taught him her love of toys and games, and he got
away with everything. In one picture, Solo is walking across Cora's reclined body, carrying
his favorite stuffed duck, leaving dents in her plush coat.
Solo was no longer a squashy mole; I could now see that his head was going to be glorious.
Part of that big block of gorgeous was dedicated to his olfactory system. Even at a fast run
toward Joan, he often screeched to a halt, nostrils flaring at some wayward scent. “His nose
rules,” Joan said. That wasn't welcome news. Megan, because of her hunting lineage, froze at
the sight of a bird, cat, or squirrel, every synapse alight and devoted to that one task. I had
planned for a dog who would focus only on me. I knew it was going to take a year or so to
get him up to speed, but I'd always watched with a touch of scorn as obedience handlers with
flop-jowled bassets and beagles had to plead with their dogs to raise their snorkeling, scent-
mesmerized noses off the ground and pay attention to them.
It was mid-May 2004 and already hitting the eighties in Ohio, a preview of ever hotter
summers to come, when we drove the 450 miles from North Carolina to meet and pick up
Solo. He was lying alone in an open cage on the front lawn when we arrived, a still life in red
and black, one paw tucked under his chest, relaxed, surveying his domain. He was already
past the brief cute phase that shepherd pups have when their ears are soft and floppy and their
noses don't yet look like shark snouts. Solo greeted us briefly, sniffed us, ignored us. He ran
around grabbing at toys, pushing them at various adult shepherds. He had nerves of steel. He
was full of himself. He made me slightly nervous. Joan had arranged a lovely dog-and-people
party to launch us back down the road to North Carolina. Solo ran, growled, and leaped
during the entire event. He said farewell to his dignified father, Quando, by grabbing and
holding on to his bright gold scruff. He finally had to drop off when Quando looked down
his considerable Roman nose and backed up slightly.
We gathered up Solo and his precious toys and drove down the country road, back to
North Carolina. In the rear seat, locked in a travel crate for his safety and ours, lay our furry
future. I don't remember much about that long drive except that it was hot and Solo was a
perfectly equitable traveler, happy to hop out of the car, wag, do his business, and clamber
back into the crate like a miniature adult shepherd. I started feeling better about him.
