http://www.usatoday.com/life/columnist/pettalk/2008-12-30-gabriel-retriever_N.htm?csp=34I am laughing out loud in the hotel room!
(I think I can relate to this story somehow)...
And have never wanted to see a film as much as I want to see "Marley". Has anyone seen it yet?
XOXO
Me
_________________
"There's something about a Marley-like Lab"
by Sharon L. Peters
Just before Christmas, Ed and Teri Capparucci got a call that was troubling, but not, truth be told, all that surprising.
Their sweet-natured young Gabriel had slipped out and, in some strange fit of passion, had ripped down a neighbor woman's outdoor Christmas lights and scattered them about the yard.
And then, in a second act of apparent bah-humbug-ism, he ravaged her two (very expensive) electric penguins. Obviously quite proud of his renovations, he stood waiting for said homeowner, hoping to engage her in his next project.
Gabriel — it will come as no great shock to those who have shared their homes, and hearts, with one — is a Labrador retriever.
For decades, one of Dogdom's best-kept secrets was that sweet-natured Labradors have the capacity to lapse into moments (or hours) of staggering craziness. Indeed, until John Grogan spilled the beans in Marley & Me — the book and then the movie — about the exasperating energy and exuberance that simmers in many Labs, much of the world (mostly those who had never had a Lab) remained blissfully ignorant of the breed's yin (unparalleled lovability) and yang (stunning ability to upend all routine and plunder all things).
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Even now, there are most certainly people who believe the tale was exaggerated to sell books and tickets.
The Capparuccis would be happy to introduce those skeptics to Gabriel.
"He's like an out-of-control teenager," Ed says, laughing.
"He's a menace," says Teri of the yellow Lab she describes in the next breath as "unbelievably sweet, lovable and affectionate."
The Marietta, Ga., couple and their son adopted Gabriel — one of two young pups that had been left tethered to a tree — just before Christmas 2007. The now-70-pounder knocks over or slams into all in his path when the energy demons overtake him. He consumes or destroys $50 worth of items a week, Ed reckons, including shoes, socks, the welcome mat, pillows and, recently, a box of CDs and books the UPS guy left at the door. "We're in lockdown mode now," says Teri. "Anything he can grab and chew isn't left at his level."
They've gone through one round of training with him, they make sure he gets the massive doses of exercise he requires, and they're counting the months until maturity overtakes him (in some Labs, that occurs at 3 or 4 years old).
In fairness, it must be said that some Labs are born placid and stay that way. I've met some. But my own life with a Lab was more Marley-like. My late, great Buck was a chocolate Lab of the most potent and irrepressible sort. His puppyhood was excruciating (for me; he thought it was quite wonderful). He hurled himself at anything he saw and gnawed on whatever fell during the inevitable takedown, and he invented hundreds of torturous (to humans) habits, pursuits and games.
One morning I was on the phone, not monitoring Buck's activities. The cleaning woman let herself in, glanced into the living room, gasped and raced out onto the sidewalk shrieking about a break-in. Police arrived. I had to explain to doubting officers that criminal mayhem had not occurred in our home, that in just five unsupervised minutes, 1-year-old Buck had hauled all the pillows (including seat cushions) off the sofa, shoved everything from the coffee table onto the floor, yanked books from the shelves, grabbed three corners of the carpet and pulled them inward, and even, apparently, leapt against the wall, knocking the prints akimbo. That was the moment when I finally understood he needed far more stimulation and exercise than any dog I'd ever known.
Buck eventually — by age 4 — became very well-behaved (three trainers; several hundred dollars helped), but his essence remained rock-solidly Buckful. He merrily launched himself at any high-fly ball or impossible mountain trail even in his dotage; he demanded that dinner (his) be served promptly at 6; and he had an intractable sense of right and wrong (when we rode around in the Jeep he'd erupt into frantic barking upon spotting any dog trotting down the road off leash, but a leashed dog elicited no reaction at all)).
"A character," "very enthusiastic" is how veterinarians described him on their new-patient sheets whenever we moved and introduced a new care provider to the Buckness of Buck. Until the day he died — an old dog — he could still make anyone, dog lover or not, laugh out loud. And even now, five years later, his picture makes me cry.
Every dog is special in some unique way. Some people become attached to a particular breed — poodle or Airedale or Maltese — and stick with it forever. And yet, at the risk of offending the millions of dog lovers who are besotted by their Aussies or bloodhounds, there may be truth to what my friend Deb has said more than once: There's just something about a Lab. Her yellow Lab, Waldo, died three years ago, and she now loves a beagle. But each time she sees a Lab or hears a story about a Lab, her heart melts.
The Capparuccis can relate. Gabriel is more trouble and expense than they ever expected, and they're seasoned dog owners. But they inevitably add at the end of any telling of his most recent outrageous act: "He is sooooo worth it."
BARK AT US
Sharon L. Peters is an award-winning pet journalist who lives in Colorado. She has two dogs, Rufus and Jasper, and a cat named Gus.
E-mail her at pets@usatoday.com.
