"Good God, You Smell Like Dog."

I often sit and try to recall, to reach back in time to my earliest memories. Most are vague yet vivid just the same; Strawberry Shortcake curtains, She-Ra, a fear of Santa and clowns.

I remember once pushing around one of those stupid things with the multiple colored balls that jumped around within a plastic dome as the wheels turned. I don't remember what it was called, but I do remember this.

We lived in a house off of Nordale road; a long narrow strip of pavement that seemed so middle of nowhere back in the 80's. My dad had built the house, and as was typical of the Alaskan patchwork home, we had a trap door in the floor which concealed the well house.

I vaguely remember looking up through that trap door; a square of light in a sea of darkness. I remember the smell of the dirt floor, and I remember the surprise on my dad's face when his head popped into my view. Apparently I had fallen into the open well house--that, I don't remember.

My mom didn't know about it until I told her almost twenty years later. "I'm surprised you survived your childhood." she said. "—what else don't I know about?"

I remember other things too.

There was this floppy under-stuffed plush dog, I loved that grungy thing and wish to this day that I still had it, or could find one like it--it was my favorite stuffed toy and the only one I really ever yearned for since it disappeared. I don't know what happened to it.

Dogs.

When I was born we had a Doberman Pinscher. She was my nanny. Every kid has a dog-nanny, right? The dog protected me as if I were her puppy. My grandmother couldn't do much with me if the dog was around.

The dog’s name was Balloo.

I remember once waking up from a nightmare. My parents weren't too hip on my coming to sleep with them every time I had a bad dream, so in a stroke of genius I crept out into the living room and curled up with the dog on her dog bed.

My mother seemed baffled the following morning. "Good God, you smell like dog."

I think I was about five at the time.

The Doberman was approaching thirteen. The following year she started to deteriorate. My dad had to help her up and outside to pee or she would just lay there and pee on herself.

One day I came home from school and my dad was sobbing uncontrollably, my mother's eyes red rimmed.

My dad just couldn't watch Balloo suffer any more. He took her outside to relieve herself one last time. He shot her in the head with a .22 while she pooped, her back to him. He didn't want her to know what he was going to do to her.

My dad loved his dogs. I have never seen him cry that hard over anyone but my mother.

Within the week my mom brought home the most beautiful Rottweiler puppy. She was black and mahogany, the sharpest mahogany markings. She was a beautiful dog; we named her Josephine. I seem to recall that we'd recently watched the life story of Josephine Baker on HBO. We called her Josie for short.

She was smart. Her big brown eyes seemed to beg for education.

My dad was working two jobs at the time, both janitorial, one at the Elk's Club and one at Club Alaska. I remember going in with him, early in the morning on weekends. I sat at the bar drinking Shirley Temples and watching cartoon network on the big screen they used to watch football during open hours. When I got bored Josie and I played, running and chasing each other through the bar. One Saturday morning at Club Alaska an infomercial came on, it was for a dog training video.

My dad ordered it immediately.

My dad informed me, however, that I--a young girl of about six--was going to be the one watching the video and training the dog.

I thought--but I'm just a kid, how am I supposed to train a dog?

In a week or so the video arrived. I must have watched it three times before gathering the confidence enough to tell myself that I could do it.

I remember taking the dog to a park or somewhere with an open field--I don't remember where exactly. I remember having a puppy on a long line, walking in large squares, turning ninety degree angles in the opposite direction the dog wished to go, letting the line wrap my hip and bring the dog to my side as I turned. I remember how quickly she picked up her training. I remember how easy it was, how eager Josie was. Before long I had her trained to heel, sit, stay, and lie down. Eventually it was as if she understood plain English.

My dad got me another dog; a lab mix. She looked like any other black lab.

She was high strung and intelligent, I named her Tara; Tara the Terror. Intelligent dogs are troublesome dogs...but they're the best dogs. I began to train her in the same way I had done with Josie.

Dogs.

I can count chapters of my life that opened and closed with dogs like Balloo, Josie, and Tara.

Dogs teach us things. They teach us about compassion, loss, friendship, love, selflessness, teamwork. If you listen close enough the lessons a dog can teach are boundless. Without dogs, humans would have never become a successful species.

We owe our entire existence to dogs.

Cat people can argue if they want.

But they're wrong.