Pretty Sure My Dog is Part Hyena

My dog looks like Ed from Lion King. You know the one? The crazy hyena, tongue wagging, eyes wide and uncomprehending, body twitching in perpetual energy? That one. I dubbed her Luna.

A typical day with Luna begins at the crack of dawn. Literally. The birds sing, the sky bleeds warmth, the dew of a chilly night begins to dissipate—and Luna, my rooster, my alarm clock, has both paws on the bed and her face pushed over mine. When my eyes begrudgingly open, it is all over. Luna leaps onto bed in victory. She always wins this game.

Working at home, I begin a roster of toys. At 9 am, as the coffee is settling, I give her a ball stuffed with treats which lasts about ten blissful minutes. Then, once the ball is empty and smashed somewhere under the bed, she is granted the supposably-indestructible Kong, which allows me a whole two hours of uninterrupted work. Then it is breakfast time.

Luna becomes a pioneer of obedience when food is involved. She listens keenly, obeys instantly. At the door of the laundry, as I empty the cup of dried food, she sits erect as a soldier, eyes hard and unwavering. I ask for her paw. She delivers unflinchingly. I ask her to wait. She does, even as I walk away. When I return, she hasn’t moved an inch. Finally, as the saliva begins to pool at her paws, I relent and she dives for the food. This is my favourite part of the morning.

At lunch, we sit at the window and stare at the birds who dare to trod in our yard. Sometimes, a cat will lurk nearby and Luna will valiantly defend the house by licking the window. The mailman delivers a package and Luna greets him a happy howl; the mailman laughs and wiggles his fingers at her, causing another plethora of happy barks.

During the afternoon, Luna will plop her toys in my lap for safe-keeping (sometimes they disappear and we find them in the strangest places, like behind the refrigerator!) and then curl up in a patch of sun. I can’t resist stealing looks at her from my desk. She is silky in the sunlight, her dark fur almost like oil when it shines. Her legs twitch as she dreams. My heart soars when she whines sleepily—I imagine her dreaming of chasing rabbits or birds, in a large paddock, the epitome of her happiness.

At five o clock, I press the shutdown button on my computer, which startles Luna into full awareness. She knows the sound well. It means walkies, ball, car, park. It means outside. She has a few triggers, like the sound of keys jiggling or the twist of the front door knob. She goes from sleeping beauty to hyena-Ed in milliseconds. I ask her to find her lead. She can’t hear me, too busy running excited circles around the obstacle course in the living room. Eventually, as I wrangle the harness over her head, she will walk herself to the car and launch into the opening. The drive will consist of spatters of saliva by my ear as she sticks her head out the backseat window, desperately grinning at passing motorists.

At the park, Luna will hunch in the bushes, find a tennis ball, and wait like a lion in tall grass for my throw. Then she will strike, attacking the ball in one swift kill, before presenting it to me for another round. We will do this a dozen times. Luna will never be so happy. She smiles as she pants in frantic exhaustion. She greets passing dogs with a full-body tremor. She drags herself to the car reluctantly, not wanting to go home. I remind its nearly dinner time. She finds it in herself to forgive me.

Night time is quiet. Luna chews tiredly on her teddy, a ragged old thing which continues to survive when no other toy does. Eventually, Luna will drift off with her teddy held protectively under her paw.

The morning comes, we do it again. A typical day with Luna is another day I’m thankful for. Even when she licks the windows.