Harley's World

On a misty morning, Harley and I ventured along trails in Palos Verdes, California. The routes wound behind homes with landscaped yards of rose bushes and ponds. Sometimes the trail’s vegetation grew so dense that the houses disappeared. Fences became walls of morning glories, disguising the moss-ridden wood. The sweet and sour smell of Eucalyptus trees rained down on us as we walked further up the path. Lizards rustled in the ivy beds but stayed hidden off the trail as did the crows and raccoons.

The environment turned Harley into a feral beast, sending him on a romp through newly shed tree bark and leaves. He rolled around, whiskers to the sky, until the dirt showed beneath the path. His coat of short, yellow hair would be slick with Eucalyptus oil by the time we returned home. On his feet again, Harley crisscrossed from one side of the path to the other without care for the dogs and people he nearly tangled or tripped with his leash. He paused on his wild quest for scents only when a horse appeared. Harley (fearless adventurer) froze and observed the equine’s passing as though it were a god emerging out of the mist.  

The further we walked, the more the trail became a forest. Here and there hints of civilization remained. Just below a long-forgotten tree house, I discovered a wooden swing hanging by rope from a lofty tree branch. I could not resist. I dropped Harley’s leash and hopped onto the swing. Soaring above the ground while Harley explored, I remembered my summers on a tire swing in my backyard. I had played on the tire swing every day until the rope broke, sending me flying (in a fit of giggles) into a bed of mint plants. The next time the rope gave out I bounced into the cold water of my wading pool. I remembered in high school, the stage crew guys hung a rope from the light bars in the auditorium ceiling. Like penguins diving into water, we had lined up to swing. I leapt from the stage and flew into the house barely clearing the seats.

As I swayed back and forth under the old tree house, I kept an eye on Harley who in turn, kept an eye on me. Although I didn’t know it, he had been plotting against me since I sat down on the swing. His thoughts were impossible to interpret; after all, his curled-up, mischievous grin was genetic and remained the same whether he was happy or otherwise.

When the moment was right, my loyal companion charged. No time to stop, I swung right into his out stretched paws. He anticipated the impact, paw punching me in the stomach and hopping away before the swing hit him. 

I fell flat on my back, my legs drooping over the wooden seat. As I remained with my head resting in soft trail mulch, I gazed up at the canopy of fog-drenched leaves. Harley licked my face with not so much as an apology. It was then that I realized my dog had an entirely different world going on his head. He lived a life where food was the proper reward for everything, horses were mythical creatures not of this earth, and humans were never meant to float above the ground…because obviously they could get hurt…

Training Days

Standing in a lineup at dog training class (human, diaper dog, me, Harley, human, etc.), I thought about what had brought us to this juncture. Ben was there as well, but since Harley seemed to respect my boyfriend more than me, I was participating in most of the training activities. Training took place in an empty corporate parking lot with a few grassy islands and trees for shade. Diaper dog and her owner were always nearby. Judging Harley’s intense stare and drooling, the training instructor assumed that Harley wanted to eat the Chihuahua in the diaper. I, however, knew the truth; Harley was more likely to eat the instructor and was just awestruck by diaper dog as we all were.

Leash in my hand, held a certain way (folded into two loops in one hand, a curve of slackness in the other), I worried if Harley could ever settle out of his wild animal phase. On the first afternoon Harley had spent with me, the newly-freed-from-certain-doom puppy had misunderstood my staring into his eyes in loving admiration as a challenge.  That was the one and only time he had growled at me because soon after his grr grr moment, he acknowledged me as his food-giver.  

Once he accepted Ben and me as part of his pack, Harley began lashing out at everyone else. Harley had escaped the backyard to attack garbage men who used trash bins as shields; growled at everyone we knew at least once; and when he went on walks, he was walking us. Harley had recovered from his kennel cough and had been neutered, which did nothing to change his personality (the latter not the former). Curing him of kennel cough returned his natural energy and unveiled more parts of his personality that we had failed to see at the shelter.  

                Most people would have tried to return such a creature as Harley because he was bold, stubborn, obviously had a bad start in life, and was 60 pounds and still growing. That choice was not an option for me. I had taken classes at the East Valley Animal Shelter in high school. I had seen the overcrowding at the shelter, new dogs every day. I witnessed one afternoon the euthanasia of a dog and cat, and saw the freezer where they kept the bodies. I had made friends with a big, auburn Malamute with one green eye and one blue. His name was Bear. He wasn’t up for adoption because his owner had been put in jail so Bear was in lock up to. One day he was gone.  I only made casual acquaintances at the shelter after that.               

In my eyes, and Ben’s as well, the solution for Harley was change, not a return trip to San Pedro. Harley needed to change, and I needed to change. His unpredictable nature and aggression did not mix well with someone who was shy and not used to asserting authority. Training was really for all of us, Harley how to understand commands, and for us (the humans) to learn how to communicate through commands and not let this yellow beast walk all over us. 

And so, our Saturday mornings, at least for a while, were spent in a quiet parking lot surrounded by people with normal dogs (diaper dog was of course not to blame for her diaper predicament) and us with Harley, pretending to be normal.