Just as people say that you don't know what you got till it's gone (or maybe they sing that…), so you don't know what you have if it is the only one of its kind you've experienced. That was the case with me and Oz. At first, I just didn't know that people were paying special attention to her because she was special.
Let me make it clear: Oz was not a genius dog. I've met some pretty smart dogs. I met one dog down in Arizona whose owners couldn't say "Walk" around him, because he figured out what that meant. So they spelled it out. He figured that out.
They switched to Spanish. He figured that out.
They switched to spelling in Spanish. He figured that out.
At that point, the humans just accepted that their dog was always going to know what was going on, and moved forward from there. Oz's talents lay in other area, specifically joy and friendship.
When the little girls down the street started stopping their games to run up and pet Oz, I thought it was because they were so happy to see a dog. It took me months to realize they had a dog of their own in the back yard. They were running for Oz.
It should have been a clue, though, when the folks were standing up on their second story balcony having a beer and the wife said, "There's that wonderful dog. She's got such a charming face." And Oz pranced a little.
It was brought home, though, when Kathy and I went couch shopping. We were looking for something nice, but also something that would clean up pretty well. One of the saleswomen helping us said, "Aren't you the guy who walks Oz?" I blinked. She lived just a mile or so away, at a corner we always turned on some of the long W's. We chatted, and she pointed us to a couch that she noted would match Oz. That's confirmation: when the salespeople who don't know your name can match the color of your dog's fur, your dog is the celebrity, not you.
Greg
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