From my front-room window I could see the old black dog as it stopped to lap water from the bowls at the edge of my lawn. Kobe was at the end of a short leash, which was controlled by his owner. I was glad to see the two of them.
A casual conversation with my good friend Paula Nicewanger had resulted in a purchasing mission to Audrey’s Place, on East 10th street. I told Paula, one of the co-owners of this publication, that I wanted to buy some bowls to fill with water to give to the 9,377 dogs that pass my door each day. She immediately organized a run to Audrey’s, and we both made purchases. I bought two metal bowls for four dollars, and once I had them at home, I energized another person’s creativity. My youngest daughter Lauren, who enjoys hammering, sawing and the construction of . . . stuff, heard my intentions for the dogs that her daughter adores, and constructed a watering station for the bowls. She crafted a wooden base which is shaped like a large dog bone and cut holes for the bowls; a wooden stand with a screen forms a protective enclosure. I painted a graphic on the stand: “Water For My Dawgs.”
At the corner of Audubon Street and University avenue, there used to be a small bowl. When I would take my youngest granddaughter to the Irving Circle, I would check to see if there was water in it, knowing that it was intended to cool the passing dogs of the neighborhood. The Irving Circle was probably where Myah discovered her desire to pet all the doggies in the world. When she is visiting with me and sees dogs passing, she always asks of the owners, “Can I pet your doggie?” I’ve taught her the correct and careful way to approach dogs, and she is often rewarded with enthusiastic licks.
Now, my morning routine is to empty the bowls of the water from the previous day and refill them with fresh water. I go back inside and sit near my front window, practicing my craft and watching for visitors to the watering station. I started a notebook chronicling the names of the dogs that I meet so that I could personalize them for Myah. There are many more than those I will list here, for I am not always outside when they “lap by.” All dogs are on leashes, though not all the dogs that pass will stop at the bowls; the three Corgis prance by, ignoring our offering. But all dogs make Myah and me happy.
A recent visitor was Beau, who sat quietly at the base of my steps, looking intently at me. He is a muscular dog, a mix of pit bull and John Cena. The smallest of the dogs that prance past my steps is Audrey, a miniature Dachshund. But there is also Charlie, the Cavalier King Charles (I just got it!) spaniel, and Cheyenne, the Siberian husky, and the young black Lab, Rexa. There is Drifter (or “Bluey” as my granddaughter calls him,) an Australian cattle dog. Continuing in the “Outback” vein, there is the Australian shepherd, Zola, (short for gorgonzola). And Henry, the black dog with heterochromia (two differently colored eyes) and Milo. Kobe visits at least twice a day. A fluffy black Husky/Chow mix named Ellie has also become a frequent lapper, but the OGs — Calvin, the white Maltese and his new, Norwegian Elkhound brother, Oskar — have yet to sample the water at the station; I hope to see the two of them, soon.
It feels good to give, like water for dogs.
cjon3acd@att.net
