The Ballad of Chris, the Dog

“Almost everybody in the county reads our paper” and “we’ve got the county covered,” were two of the most famous slogans for the small-town newspaper where I worked during the summer of 1986.

Thanks to Chris, our family’s amorous dog, I found out that both those slogans were all too true and I felt like the one being covered.

It started when Chris ran away. He was a good dog, but when a female dog in the neighborhood went into heat, his wanderlust kicked in. Keep in mind, Chris had been neutered for years. I thought I was one step ahead of this Romeo dog. I couldn’t have been more mistaken.

Sure enough, a romantic week in June came along and my pooch was long gone. Along with being fixed, Chris, who stood less than two feet off the ground, had set his passions on a large, leggy German Shepherd. To paraphrase a lyric from a Little Feat song, sometimes the mind makes promises the body just can’t keep.

I searched surrounding neighborhoods and farms, but the next time I saw my furry friend, he was behind bars at the county pound. Romeo captured. Juliet got away. Another heartbreak story.

I posted his bail. After bread and water, stern lectures, and a brief timeout in the garage, he was our “good boy” again. Little did I know the Ballad of Chris was just beginning.

First, my name showed up on the newspaper’s weekly public record report:

Mike Barzacchini, dog at large, $39, and court costs.

Then came the comments. “Hey,” I would hear, “I saw your name in the paper.”

“I hope so," I replied. "After all, I’m the editor. If you don't see my name, it means I'd be unemployed.”

“No, it was in the court report. Something about a dog.”

Yes, my dog. This scene played itself out many times over the next week. Even an officer of our publishing company asked, I hope with tongue in cheek, why I couldn’t “keep my mutt under control?”

My favorite comment though came from a reader who said she read all about my speeding ticket. She urged me to be more careful when I drove. “Sorry,” I responded, “It was my dog, not me, who went for a joy ride."

Though Chris couldn’t drive, I had no doubt that given his attitude and determination, if his paws could reach the gas pedal he would have been down the street in a cloud of dust, headed to the nearest canine singles’ bar.

Background: A version of this story originally appeared in the small-town Ohio newspaper where I worked in the mid-1980s. Chris was a “lost” dog who found my family on a stormy late winter day. He wandered down the country road in front of our home, up our driveway, and parked himself on our front porch where he refused to leave. After searching and failing to find his previous owner, Chris became a part of our family. It was clear he’d been mistreated in the past and though he didn’t have much use for most people, he bonded with our family. For a small dog, he was a brawler with a wild heart. Chris once picked a fight with a raccoon (and lost). He preferred to sleep outdoors. In the winter, he’d compromise by sleeping in the garage in a box full of blankets under a heat lamp my father fixed up for him. My mom would often treat him, especially on cold nights, to a stew made of leftovers and warmed on the stovetop. I remember walking into the kitchen one night and asking, “what smells so good?” Before I could lift the lid, she informed me with a stern tone, “that’s for the dog.” Chris was an unplanned companion who shared many unexpected and delightful gifts, like most all dogs. They carry such vibrant, beautiful energy into our lives.