Opinion | Stories from Doggie Drive Time in St. Louis Park

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I had a serious bout of cancer a decade ago and spent the better part of a year in the hospital. I was fortunate to survive and decided, upon finally going back home, to get a new dog. The woman who had graciously taken in my golden retriever while I was hospitalized had a 6-year-old daughter who bonded with my golden and wept when her mom told her they had to return Carpenter now that I was well.

Who am I to traumatize a 6-year-old girl?

The first thing I did when I got back home was tell the little girl she could keep Carpenter. The second thing I did was retire from work. The third thing I did was get a dog from a local shelter.

I’ve been retired now for more than 10 years. I don’t miss work, and I certainly don’t miss drive time commuting back and forth to the office. Life has been considerably calmer now that I’m off the road. In fact, I don’t even own a car any more.

But I have gone from one kind of drive time to another. I have joined the legions of bleary-eyed people who are outside at dawn waiting restlessly for our dogs to sniff and source the perfect spot in the grass coated by early morning dew and dog urine.

While others are speeding along Hwy. 100, we dog owners are collectively gathering as our dogs do their “business.”

I live in a condominium building with 124 units, more than 180 occupants and many dogs. These are people with whom I don’t always interact. In fact, we may not know each others’ names, but we know the names of each others’ dogs. Sometimes it seems that the dogs are running the building.

Dog owners give courtesy nods to each other, and occasionally comment on the weather. But no other topics come up. Doggie drive time is decidedly apolitical.

Take Tom, who rarely talks to me but loves to make silly talk with my dog Mookie. When we get back inside and the elevator doors open, Tom yells “All aboard!” He laughs as the dogs push their way to the front and immediately drip saliva on the polished elevator floor. As Tom and his dog Sawdust get off, they hustle down the hallway and Tom calls out “See ya, Mookie!”

Early one Fourth of July, loud music was playing at the local basketball court. Should I call the cops, I wondered? I also debated whether I should complain to the police about the clouds floating overhead. But then I was distracted by my dog doing his business, so I bent over to collect it in a plastic bag and headed back up the hill.

This worked like a charm for my first two dogs who, upon hearing my trigger word (“attorney”) lifted up their legs or went into a squat nearly as soon as I said it. It was very effective and sped up my mornings quite a bit.

Mookie is taking longer to catch on, so I have to repeat the trigger word many times. Once, a balding, bespectacled man overheard me and asked what I was doing. I explained the trigger word to him, and he looked at me with a mixture of confusion and exasperation.

“I’m a lawyer. I’m not so sure I like your little game.”

“So, sue me,” I said.

“I just might,” he replied with a snort and a smile.

One morning, a French bulldog threw a fit around Mookie.

“Sorry,” the dog’s owner said. “He doesn’t like people — just me.”

She sighed and pulled her dog away and off into the darkness.

I end by sharing the story of Mookie and Agave. Agave is a 15-year-old dachshund described by her owner as “old, deaf and crabby.” She barks when she sees Mookie, but since she’s deaf, all we have to do is keep Mookie out of her sight. One morning Agave was entering the building and started barking incessantly at Mookie. Hannah, Agave’s owner, backed away, but I motioned for her to stand her ground.

“Mookie and I will hide out in the package room,” I said, as an oblivious Mookie disappeared with me into the bundles and packages. Peace restored.

“Nice move,” she said.

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Woof!” she said with an appreciative smile.