The Year of the Puppy by Alexandra Horowitz

Author:Alexandra Horowitz [Horowitz, Alexandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2022-09-20T00:00:00+00:00

The troubles

She is running in a distant field, ears levitating with each step. She is already a more mature dog, longer of limb and firmer of body. Five months old, she has lived longer with us than she did with her litter. O. has become tall and gangly, too, right before my eyes. While Quid’s white whiskers are turning black—reverse aging—Finn’s black muzzle is streaked with white hairs, the backs of his legs now woven with gray.

Time has folded onto itself: the isolation induced by the pandemic colors each day similarly, and, without clear markers for the days, we have lost our sense of the date. Every now and then we realize that another month has passed, as though we have been in a deep sleep. And so we wake up each day surprised to see a slightly different puppy. Early photos of her are already unrecognizable—she was supremely tiny, a puddle of warmth and light, in contrast to the leggy, swaggering dog in front of us now, her hips rotating extra much to pull her long legs forward. She is replacing herself continually.

Her development feels as if it is defying time: it is out of time. Living with her is one of the few things that gives texture to the day. Each day is punctuated only by how long it has been since the puppy was out; when she last ate; the last time we threw a ball for her or hid some treats for a treasure hunt. While we all swim in this new reality, her daily needs and weekly development give us our bearings. Still, the protracted feel of the ten weeks of early puppyhood, when so much was happening, contrast with the ten weeks she has been with us: every day an eerie variation of the previous.

The variations are concerning. Quid’s days are not taxed with worrying about the future. But I have begun to worry. Her behavior is mercurial—it is as if she could become a new puppy each morning. One day she is brave and confident, charging through a fence to greet a dog on the other side; another she is shy and unsure, hiding between my legs when a woman comes to say hello. She alerts, hackles up, at a man in the far distance walking along but then also wags and licks at the face of another who holds out a finger for her to sniff. It is as though her sense of categories is in flux: Is this friend or foe? Something alarming or ordinary? Should I bark or should I hide?

Recently, she has elected to bark. At three months she began barking at unknown dogs and people—and at anything notable at all. I remember back to her youngest days: the house where she was born was filled with barking. All the puppies learned to bark before they were scattered into different families, different homes. But with us Quid’s bark had been quiescent; she was choosing her voice carefully. Now it’s out.

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