The Upstory

(Editor’s note: Beau doesn’t agree with everything written here and has inserted his own corrections and opinions.)

Beau was supposed to be a chocolate Lab but it turns out he’s a GSP (not a navigational system, not GPS).

Indeed, there is no question that Beau is a German Shorthaired Pointer. He is chocolatey brown and he does look Lab-ish. But I’m here to tell you, he is not a Lab.

(Hi, I’m Beau. She doesn’t know much except what she Googles. All she did was call on an ad. And the furless two-legged who advertised me didn’t have Google or a clue.)

For one thing a Lab doesn’t leap five feet (true story) into the air to catch bugs buzzing around the porch light. A chocolate Lab doesn’t come with a big white patch under his chin and on his chest. A Lab doesn’t talk incessantly.

Also, Labs shed. In fact, Boomer, who didn’t lie to us on his admission form into Camp Orgeron, is indeed a Labrador Retriever. Boomer sheds like a boss. On any given day he can shed a vacuum cannister of fur. Boomer hair ends up in places you’d never expect. On the top shelf of the closet, inside my handbag, among the pages of a book.

(Boomer Schmoomer, you’re getting off topic. This is supposed to be about me-me-me.)

As his breed’s name suggests, Beau has short hair. So, he can go all day without shedding. All week. All month. We’ve never had a dog that didn’t shed. We didn’t even know they came that way.

Also, Labs like water. Beau doesn’t, which makes it hard at bath-time.

(Excuse me. I don’t like the hose or that stupid little play pool. I like irrigation water and I’d like to go tubing with you.)

Another thing about Beau, he is shaped differently than a Lab. He’s leaner, more muscular, has a longer tail, longer ears, and a slightly rounder muzzle.

(People say I’m handsome but I don’t make a big deal of it.)

I noticed none of these things when I met him for the first time. He came bouncing over to me and what I noticed was that I could see every rib on his body. He was skinny and scrawny. And right from the start he looked me in the eye. Dogs don’t always have good eye contact. But Beau can maintain sustained eye contact and he has expressive, compelling eyes.

When he looks at you, you can almost read his thoughts.

(I was thinking “I need a new home.”)

His owner had gotten him, at four months old, to be her therapy dog to help her with her issues. She didn’t realize that a puppy is not there to meet your needs. In fact, a puppy will make you need more therapy.

Puppies have shrill, earsplitting barks. And they bark at everything. That’s just for starters. They piddle continuously, like they’ve sprung a leak. They have needle teeth that they use to chew, rip, shred, destroy, ruin. They dig in the yard and then make a muddy mess on the floor you just mopped.

The owner wanted a dog who would sit with her and cuddle with her. Beau was not that dog. For sure, Beau likes to climb up in people’s laps and he’s an expert at it. One minute you’re watching the NBA Finals on your big screen and the next minute your view is blocked because Beau has miraculously appeared on your lap. Where he Does. Not. Cuddle. No indeed. Instead, he slaps a paw on your face, or rolls over on his back, trapping your arm underneath him. Then he wiggles around and grabs your free hand in his mouth and tugs.

He is not restful. He is not relaxing. He is constantly in motion.

(It’s all part of my charm.)

Boomer and Beau are both Craigslist dogs. Boomer was a year old and had briefly lived with two families. Beau was seven months old and had three families under his belt by the time we came along.

(Boomer is now five years old and assuming an elder statesman role. Beau is 18 months old and a millennial, whereby he is in the early phase of his career, likes avocado toast, and is learning about the world around him.)

So anyway, I met Beau, who was introduced to me as a younger-than-he-was chocolate Lab, and said “yes” to this weird, wiry teenager.

(Actually, I said “yes” to you.)

We thought Beau was a Lab mix but we started realizing Beau wasn’t even that when he wouldn’t shut up. Even when he’d been fed. Even after he’d been let out to do his business. Even after he’d played ball for an hour.

And get this: Beau would even talk and complain when he was in the car with the windows down going for a ride. Boomer would have his head out the window, eyes closed in bliss, ears flapping in the wind like Lab’s are hard-wired to do. Not Beau. Nothing made him quiet down except putting him to bed, like a little kid.

I Googled “Dogs Who Whine the Most” and sure enough up popped a picture of a Beau-dog. Evidently German Shorthaired Pointers are known for their whine-muttering, bark-howls, and yap-chat. YouTube is crammed with videos of garrulous GSPs.

(Blah-blah-blah. Says the woman who continually talks baby-talk and nonsense to me. Remember what Richard Burton said about Elizabeth Taylor? He said she never had an unexpressed thought. Draw your own conclusion.)

I’ve learned a lot about GSPs since Beau came to live with us.

Backyard Escape Artist. I found out that Jumpy-Jumper can get out of his yard. Even when there’s an electric fence (don’t look shocked).

We live on secure horse property, fenced with chain-link (to contain dogs) attached to pole fencing (to contain horses, mules, llamas, cattle). It’s nothing for a woofie to hook his back paws into the chain link and boost himself over the fence. But we’ve never had a dog who could, from a standing position, clear a fence like Beau. Mind you, he doesn’t anymore because he finally figured out that he was a) getting fed regularly, b) that Boomer was his best friend, c) that he was the center of attention even if it was negative (No! Stop! Quit!), and d) that his new humans were kindly people who would play ball with him and didn’t expect him to be something he wasn’t.

Although Beau was an escape artist, he was not a runner. Once he got out, he would beeline over to our neighbor, Bob. I think he rang the doorbell because Bob would come from where ever he was on his property to escort Beau back to us. Bob was growing fond of Beau and jokingly (?) told us that one day we might not get him back because “people” find him so lovable.

Other dogs we’ve rescued, fostered, adopted have kept running after they got loose. So, Beau got points on the board for not making us get into the car and drive around worrying and looking for him. (See “Many, Mucho, Mondo, ‘Mo Dogs https://wordpress.com/post/theupstory.com/104).

Car Escape Artist. One cool day the woofies were in the car running a couple of errands with me. I had the back windows about half-way down and had stopped to let another car go by before I pulled into a parking space when something brown flashed by my line of vision. It was a dog. And now it was on the sidewalk approaching the automatic-entry doors. And it looked like Beau. And by golly it was Beau. And if he gets past those doors, Beau will bolt past customers and race all over the store. And he’ll be in trouble! And I’ll be in trouble! Somehow, I didn’t freak out, I didn’t shout or yell, I got out of the car, hunkered down, sweet-talked him, and managed to coax him back to me.

(Are you kidding me?  Windows are made to be jumped through. Plus, I could smell food in that store and I’m an eating machine.)

Pillows of Mass Destruction. Beau absolutely loves pillows. He’s never met a pillow he didn’t like. Throw pillow. Accent pillow. Bed pillow. They’re all wonderfully filled with incredible amounts of stuffing that can be pulled out and used to cover an entire floor with. There are two ways to know another pillow has died. One is when Beau comes to welcome you home and you notice his mouth working like he’s chewing gum and you pry open his mouth to find a wad of stuffing. The other is to walk into a room ankle-deep in white stuff and discovered what’s left of a shredded rag of pillow.

(Don’t judge. If you’ve never ripped up a pillow or chewed stuffing you don’t know what you’re missing.)

Poor Table Manners. I’ve never seen a dog gobble food like Beau. He would vacuum up his serving of kibble in about 0.9 seconds. And then spend the next minute coughing and swallowing. I do know that his previous family included two Great Danes so maybe Beau had to eat fast if he was to get a complete meal. Anyway, now he eats out of a slow-feeder puzzle bowl and he doesn’t do freak-out jumping when he sees his food coming.

Rude Dog Behavior. We are trying to teach Beau manners and believe me it’s a full-time job. He’s pushy, shove-y and very me-me-me. Just like a rude little kid. Boomer will go to the door and ask to be let out. We will open the door for Boomer and like greased lightning Beau will rocket out of nowhere and shove Boomer to one side so he, Beau, can be the first one out the door. Boomer will be playing with a ball. Beau will run up to Boomer and clip his teeth onto the ball and yank it out of Boomer’s mouth. At bedtime Beau will run ahead of Boomer and jump onto Boomer’s bed before Boomer can lay down.

(I don’t mean to be rude. I didn’t see Boomer standing there. I’m just kidding around. Boomer’s bed is better than mine.)

Anyway, we love our little GSP. And one of the ways we show our love is with a multitude of nicknames. Beau is Beau-ee. Bocephus. Beauregard. Bosey-Bear. Beau-No. Bo-dee-dough.

He’s our boy so long as we all shall live.

(Amen!)