My Dog Is Not Polite, And That's Ok
What I learned from Denali sled dogs.
👋🏽 Hey, I’m Cris and welcome to my newsletter. I’m a recovering journalist turned tech operator. I am ambitious. I’m also an exhausted new mom. Every other week I tackle what it means to live at the intersection of these and other paradoxes.
Two of my neighbors are brilliant, cuddly and terrifying.
To be fair, they are dogs. But they’re not just any old canines. They are retired sled dogs from Denali National Park. These wild-eyed Alaskan huskies were raised in the park by rangers who fed them raw meat and traveled thousands of miles during the 40-below winters, patrolling 2 million acres of astonishing wilderness that most of us will never see with our own eyes.
My pup is not one of these creatures.
Rio is a 30-pound ball of muscle that looks like a cross between a mini black lab and a german shorthaired pointer. The take-home DNA test I purchased to better understand my rescue tells me he is, in fact, 50% Australian Cattle Dog and an embarrassing 14% Cocker Spaniel.
It fits. He has the agility and speed of a herding dog perfectly wrapped with a merry neediness that can only be attributed to the royal provenance of a Spaniel. Which is to say, he does well living in the luxury-destination of North Lake Tahoe nestled in California’s Sierra Nevada mountains, arguably the most gentle of the snowy ranges in the lower-48.
A few weeks ago, I was talking with my neighbor Jen. She’s the former Denali ranger who ran her two giant furballs an impressive 24,000 combined miles during their tenure as sled dogs. Jen jokingly mentioned that she occasionally fears for Rio’s life around her majestic beasts as he doesn’t follow what is considered “polite” body language when greeting them on the street. “Most dogs will approach from the side,” she signaled with her hand, “curving their bodies and avoiding direct eye contact to show respect. Rio does the exact opposite.”
The moment Rio spots another human or animal approaching he’ll lower his shoulders and raise his hips playfully. With his caramel eyes fixed on the target, he’ll slowly amble a few steps forward before breaking into a full-blown gallop towards his target. Then, like a Pamplona bullfighter in the ring waving his muleta, right before colliding with the other creature he will veer off course and either roll over on his back in submission or start aggressively begging for attention with licks.
I know the effect of an animal coming in hot can be quite jarring. I’ve seen parents, faced with Rio’s no-holds barred approach, sprint towards their toddler and scoop the child to safety, terror in their eyes as my derpy pup spins off-target, tongue out, belly up begging for a scratch.
There’s something hilariously tragic about the whole thing. He’s trying so hard to be friendly and tough. But he’s actually just kinda clueless.
In his defense, we have not spent enough time teaching Rio the language of appropriate sidewalk etiquette. We have, greedily, leaned into the joy of watching him race across open fields of violet lupine with reckless abandon. We have embraced his playful curiosity as he awkwardly laps water from the creek one moment and jumps into action chasing a squirrel the next. There’s something special about watching someone lean into their nature.
There’s something special about watching someone lean into their nature.
To observe as they follow their nose towards the juiciest scents. To be a bystander as they surrender to the tensions of their character, no apologies attached. I think that’s why we’ve conveniently forgotten to rein in Rio’s street manners. Because he is friendly and tough, curious and indifferent, clueless and intuitive.
Funnily enough, our furry Denali neighbors haven’t learned how to behave suitably in this environment either. That’s why Jen was concerned. Her violent and loving creatures understand their role in the pack, with a job to be done. Beyond that, they are as disoriented as Rio on the manicured streets of our mountain town. When unleashed upon a frozen reservoir covered in snow, however, they are positively breathtaking.
We’re all a bit lost in our changing contexts.
I quite like the image of leaning into ourselves a bit more in these moments. It’s a helpful reminder from these beloved pups of ours.
Four things that caught my attention this week—
🎥 How Dolly Parton Led Me To An Epiphany
If you haven’t heard Radiolab’s series on Dolly Parton’s America, start there. Then watch this 12-minute take on storytelling by one of the best storytellers out there. “Don’t bring your stupid way of seeing the world into my story.“
The tragedy of the last week is not lost on me. This beautiful essay in the Atlantic suggests our shared problem is a lack of human contact in a post-covid, app-driven world. It’s a lovely read.
🔬 What’s Really Holding Women Back
It’s not what you think. This 2020 research report shows that for a company to address its gender problem, it would have to address its crushing culture of overwork 🤯
This is pretty inside baseball but damn does it make you think. Everyone is focused on the science problem with this technology, but what is the product problem? How do you present and package uncertainty?
This is my second essay while participating in Write of Passage Cohort 11. Special thanks to everyone who helped me edit and refine! Charlie Bleecker Haley BrengartnerLatham Turner