The McCollumn - 7/8/: Cliff and the 'dog days of summer'

He tries to eat leaves. I don't judge.

More than a month ago, almost-Dr. Adam Cooner, snake hunter extraordinaire, sent me a series of texts and picture messages telling me about a litter of puppies his mother had come across up in rural Walker County.

I was saddened by their plight, but more than a bit taken aback when Cooner asked if I wanted one of the puppies.

Some of you may not know me terribly well, but know I am not the sort of person who has ever been called an “animal person.”

At best, my relationship with pets has been a sort of peace born of a mutual recognition of each other’s right to exist, but little more than that.

While I often petsit for others, the thought of having to care for the well-being of another living thing was never really a point of interest for me.

I’m barely involved enough to take care of me; how could I handle a pet?

Cooner and others seemed to think otherwise and their arguments prevailed upon me.

Cooner dropped the puppy off upon his return from an externship in Ohio, and the dog and I began a roughly three week experiment, one where he familiarized himself with a strange new home and I tried to develop a name that a) fit the dog and b) I wouldn’t mind yelling for the next 3 to 9 years.

After much hand-wringing and consultations with various McCollum cohorts, a name was chosen: Fitz, short for Admiral Fitzwallace, the fictional Chairman of the Joint Chiefs played by John Amos on “The West Wing.”

“Obscure, but fitting,” the bipartisan, blue ribbon McCollum Pet Naming Commission said in its findings.

Now, Fitz is a fixture at McCollum Cottage, a roguish scamp of a mutt who may slowly be winning me over.

Note I said “slowly.”

I’ve not yet adjusted to the cries and yelps to be let out to go to the bathroom at 4 a.m. Those opportunities do allow me to try out some seldom used Middle English curse words, so maybe they aren’t a complete loss.

I have to remember that I, too, occasionally wake up that early for exactly such a purpose.

The yelping seems to be on exactly the right pitch to set my nerves on edge.

The repeated “You’re leaving me in this crate for several hours alone. I hate you” bark is annoying, but it often makes me feel bad for having to leave him there.

Shopping for the proper food can be more than daunting. The options available to pet owners is somewhat staggering.

I spent almost 20 minutes just wandering the pet food aisle at Kroger the other day, and I still feel like I didn’t really see half of what was there.

I put off going to Petco. If the Kroger aisle made me nervous, that place could make my brain explode.

I suppose, as a non-pet owner for almost all of my life, I’ve never had a reason to think about any of this stuff.

I’m learning now, besieged with advice from everyone I know, whether I ask for it or not.

“You and a dog?” one long-distance friend asked. “Odds are only one of you lasts out the summer.”

Could be, chum.

But, for now, Fitz and I are good.

We’ll watch a little Arrested Development, have a nice lie-down and go to sleep.