Happy Birthday, Nut Bag

I can’t believe it.

I’ve had my dog for almost seven years and I haven’t written a column about him.

I had written several about my last dog, and she actually wrote a column for the Daily News one day. Had her picture logo, too. (She wasn’t the strangest columnist at the Daily News. Nor was I. We had a 12-year-old columnist who later killed a guy; a veteran sportswriter who left in a flash when accused of being a pedophile; and a guest Black female columnist who pulled a .38 on our white male real estate columnist.)

But back to my dog — he’s a rescue, as were all my dogs.

He is the first male, and the first toy breed I’ve had, his head about a foot off the floor, about 20 pounds.

My pet name for my pet is Nut Bag, because of his sometimes screwy behavior. I don’t use his real name — nor my other family members — because there are too many trolls out there.

Notice I said “other family members” because he is a family member, and you shouldn’t have a dog if you don’t feel that way. Adopting is a commitment for the lifetime of the pet, just like a child. The advantage of a pet is she won’t want to go to college, nor borrow the car.

I prefer the term guardian to owner, although Nut Bag knows me as Daddy and Half-Pint as Mommy. It just seems natural, because dogs reach the intellectual capacity of 2-year-olds, and are dependent on guardians for their care.

Nut Bag is cugly, combining cute and ugly, and a word I think I just coined. I didn’t see it in the two dictionaries I checked. (I am willing to bet one of you will comb all the smart books until you find a previous use.)

It’s a shame I can’t use his name, because it is unique and there is an interesting story behind it.

He is unique, too, as is every dog. People who don’t live with dogs don’t understand they all are individuals, with individual personalities. The same is true for cats, and most animals, I guess. I lived with a cat for a decade, a little kitty adopted by a previous wife who never returned for her cat when she departed, like a hurricane. 

That cat’s name was Ashes, because he was black and was adopted on Ash Wednesday. To say Ashes was the devil is to not give him the props he deserved. Just nasty. He actually bit the hand of a friend who came in to feed him while I was away. And he did it again with another friend.

One good thing came out of his residence with me — a book about cats titled “Cats Are Supermodels,” which is available through Amazon. It’s probably the best thing I ever wrote.

Like Nut Bag, Ashes had his own personality, but his was just nasty. 

Not just mammals have personality. My friend Jenny the chicken lady tells me her birds are different. Parrot owners say the same.  I know whales and dolphins are unique, but they are mammals.

Because we had money to spare, we did a DNA test on Nut Bag, who was described as a “Shih Tzu mix” by Saved Me, the rescue group that is now based in South Philly. He does look like a Shih Tzu, but he exhibited some herding traits that I associate with border collies. 

DNA said he was 75% Shih Tzu, 20% Pekingese, 5% Lhasa Apso — all toy breeds with pushed-in snouts.

They all have big, baby-like round eyes, and they all love being around humans. 

Toy breeds are not the smartest , and while they are adorable, playful, and funny, they can be stubborn. It’s called SDS — small dog syndrome.

They know they are small so they develop big personalities. They project.

Since Nut Bag was found on the streets of Philadelphia — cue Bruce Springsteen — by ACCT Philly, and pulled out of there by rescuers three weeks later, we have no way of knowing his age.

The vet we took him to estimated about 6, and since we adopted him in October, I gave him my mother’s birthday — Oct. 23. An animal lover, like almost all my family, I know she would be pleased.

How Nut Bag got to be a stray, I don’t know. He had no license, no tattoo, no microchip.

Who would throw away such a good boy? Did he run away from home?

Because he takes to all people, male and female, black and white, young and old, straight and gay, it’s clear he was never mistreated by humans. He loves all humans, other dogs, not at all. He enjoys being the center of attention.

He has free run of the house as should all good dogs. He is housebroken, doesn’t make a mess, doesn’t chew on furniture or rugs. He has a strange but not unusual habit of shredding any paper napkin or tissue left within his reach. There is not a day — not a single day — that he doesn’t make me laugh.

He can piss me off, too — like when he runs to Mommy first, always.

I’m the one who feeds him, but she’s the one who walks him, which I can’t do because of my bad leg.

With me, he is obedient. With her, not so much. Dogs are cunning, like their fierce ancestors, the wolves. They can read their humans. They can be manipulative.

With me, he can be stubborn, refusing to obey a gentle command, forcing me to use the “command voice.” That’s the one that is a little gruff, and a little loud. Nut Bag is always testing. 

He likes running in the hall, and running in the park for about 10 minutes. Short legs make for short exercise periods.

He hates the rain, but loves baths, and sometimes jumps into the bathtub even when we’re not planning one.

He’s a good patient at the doctor and is patient when waiting for his food. He doesn’t beg for food at the table, and we keep that going by not feeding him by hand. If we have something from our plate, we put it in his dish. 
He loves to travel, is quiet in the car, and loves staying in hotel rooms, as long as he is not alone. He has separation anxiety — mild now, but early in our relationship he would madly run around the apartment, stressed, and banging into doors. We helped him get over that.

He has a big bark for a little guy, and uses it a lot. I sometimes think that he thinks he is a Doberman, ready to protect his territory, our home.

He has a toy box full of toys, mostly stuffed, but he has his favorites, just like a child does. It is fun to watch him root through the box, seeking something in particular.

But he is a dog, not a child, and dogs are pack animals.

For him, his humans are his pack, and he always wants ro be around us.

Yes, even in bed.

Even there, he is well-behaved and sleeps at the foot of the bed, and not between us.

Thanks, little guy, and happy birthday.