I need to start slipping a notepad and a pen in my back pocket when my dogs and I go to Great Falls’ dog park: there are so many fun stories to be found there.

 

Yesterday Chachi, Jillie and I met Ed Plant and his dog, Tina. Ed is an Air Force reservist. Tina is the Anatolian shepherd mix he brought back from Afghanistan a year ago.

 

We’ve all read stories about the accidental dogs of war and the soldiers who bond with them and wind up taking on all sorts of logistical hassles to get them back to the states. From Baghdad with Love, the story of a marine, Jay Kopelman, and the dog he adopted in Iraq, is probably the best known example. Well, Tina was no different. She appeared at Ed’s FOB (Forward Operating Base) as a barely weaned pup. The guys there took her in, fed her and played with her, and in no time she was a fixture, a source of entertainment and an object of affection all in one. It’s easy to see why: Tina is tan, short-haired and one of those dogs that wears a perpetual grin. “Anatolian” is Turkish for black face, which she has.

 

Ed’s base was in the middle of nowhere (don’t ask me where. I wasn’t taking notes) and was lacking the usual amenities. Tina’s presence was a total morale booster, especially for Ed. He and Tina bonded the most — the last six months they were there she even slept in Ed’s bed.

 

When Ed’s tour of duty was up, he asked if he could bring Tina back to Montana with him. His superiors told him: absolutely. These things are never easy, however. Ed was able to fly home directly, but Tina’s route involved three or four stops and a six-week quarantine. How fearful she must have been! She no doubt assumed she would never see Ed again. When she finally arrived in Montana two months later, she landed at 11:30 p.m. in Billings, 220 miles from Great Falls. Ed was there to pick her up and Tina has been his loyal companion ever since. Ed was quick to add that his wife, Amber, who was a bit skeptical at the idea of introducing Tina to the couple’s three cats, has been won over too. “She spoils Tina more than I do,” he laughed.

 

The bond between dogs and humans never surprises me, because I know how deep it can go. Still, Ed and Tina’s story is special. I hope to cross paths with them again.

 

If you’re reading this, you’re no doubt a dog lover. But which kind: a dominionist, a humanist, or a protectionist?

 

In a fascinating New York Times story this week, Indiana University sociologist David Blouin groups dog owners into one of these three categories.

 

“Dominionists,” he says, view pets as beloved but ultimately replaceable. Families who live in the country tend to meet this definition.

 

“Humanists” see their dog as a primary companion, one to be pampered, allowed to sleep in the owner’s bed and “mourned like a dying child at the end.”

 

His third category is “protectionists” — people who have strong feeling about dogs, who are likely to rescue a dog tied to a tree and then lecture its owner. They tend to think in terms of what is best for the dog.

 

Blouin draws a distinct line between protectionists and pamperers, but I’m thinking I belong in both categories. I pamper our two pups — not with frilly outfits (on a border collie? You’d have to be kidding!) but with my time. Steve and I make sure our BC and husky mix get plenty of exercise, sometimes at the expense of our own priorities. When we’ve had to put a dog to sleep, we’ve made the decision based strictly on what was best for our dog; according to Blouin, that would make us protectionists. But that hasn’t eased our burden: I still mourn every dog we’ve lost. Bosco the sheltie has been gone nearly two years and I still can’t bring myself to throw out his worn-out fleecy bed.

 

I would add a fourth category to Blouin’s list. ”Exploiters.” It would include any breeder who cranks out puppies for profit, leaving their breeding dogs in cages, mired in misery. They claim to love dogs, but they don’t, really. And they need to be put out business.

 

Here’s a link to the NYT story:

Snow had fallen and the temperature had dropped, so it was early afternoon before I got the dogs out for their walk. We headed to Gibson Park, Great Falls’ largest, intending to circle the 1.3-mile loop twice. I was in a foul mood and anxious to get back home in hopes of catching up on some work.

 

We had nearly finished our first round when the saddest yowls I’ve ever heard stopped me cold. There at the base of a pine tree crouched a tiny black kitten, her face scrunched with desperation.

 

The dogs were keenly interested in this creature. Uh-huh.  I hustled them on to the car and returned to the scene. The kitten was still there. She looked about six weeks old. I glanced around but saw no signs of a mother cat. In below-freezing weather I doubted this kitty could survive without some help. But the minute I got close she scampered away, across the blanketed lawn and into a tangly bank. I followed, snow seeping down into my shoes. We played hide and seek for five or ten minutes until a jogger happened by who kindly offered to help. With amazing speed he plunged into the branches and snared the kitten. Together we walked her back to my car, opened the hatchback and nestled the kitten into first a blanket and then an empty box.

 

Even before Miss Kitty had been captured, I called my friend Pam Lemelin to ask if she was interested in a new pet. At the very least, she said, she would be willing to foster the kitten. She knew of a second friend who might be interested too. Back at home, I situated the kitten in a bathroom, the dogs whimpering excitedly on the other side of the door. Thus followed a series of phone calls and emails about the kitten’s fate (as much as I would have loved to keep her, my border collie had way too big of a gleam in her eye). In between fielding calls, I dug out an electric pad, Googled stray/cat/feed and held my new pal tightly in my lap.

 

By 4 p.m. we had a plan. I would take the kitten to my vet’s, where she would be tested for ringworm, distemper and anything else a feral kitten might have. Once the tests are done, Pam will take her home to see if her other cat, Cairo, can tolerate the newcomer.

 

I never did get any work done, but by suppertime my bad mood had vanished. Great Falls has an estimated 2,000 homeless cats. It felt good to have played a part in rescuing one.