the reasons behind it, but I like dogs too; maybe because I find them to be more interesting animals. Dorothy says it's because dogs like me preemptively, and cats look inside me; I don't know what cats see inside me ( maybe nothing? ), but they don't like it… Dorothy Bouchard runs the TLAS. She saw through my initial efforts at friendliness instantly and dealt with it in the only way she knows, honestly and straightforward, like tearing off a Band-Aid. “You're using us, you don't want a dog.” were the first words that she ever said to me, which might have scared me off if she hadn't followed that up with, “That's OK, they know it and they're using you for walks.” I nodded, smiled ( #2, friendly/gentle/clueless-ish ), handed her the leash of the dog I'd been exercising, and walked out; but I came back later that week, and every few days since then.
I mostly walk the big dogs that live in the back ( isolation ) room; the ones too big or aggressive or jumpy or crazy from long-term internment to be likely adoptees. Entropy is the tendency of systems to move towards homogeneity; in the TLAS entropy is illustrated by the various species of dogs present in the outside world homogenizing in the shelter toward a dark brown pit bull/lab/shepherd mix that weighs 125 pounds and is trained to digest babies whole by the drug dealers that breed, and then quickly get bored with them ( we call them Saranac Lake Specials ). I've yet to meet a dog incapable of being ( much ) better at loving other dogs and humans than I am, once they get a chance to run around a bit and get to know you. I come here to think and walk and watch and try to learn from the dogs; Dorothy was right, I'm using them and they're using me... it's an honest and straightforward arrangement that benefits everyone involved.
“Hi Tyler! Long time, no see... since last week some time. Did you come to drop off leashes, walk dogs, or solve crime?” Dorothy's plainspoken, one of thirteen things that I like about her.
“A bit of each, if that's OK... who needs a walk?” I ask handing her the box of leashes I'd finished along with the donuts hidden inside the box... they brought a happy squeal form behind the desk ten seconds later. Dorothy teases that I consult with her dogs about the cases/jobs that I work on, which is at least partially true. I sometimes come by to walk a dog or two when I've input a metric crap-ton of data into my brain, and I need to give the forebrain a break, while the ancient lizard bits at the top of my spine figure things out; there's nothing like a walk in the woods at the other end of a chain from a Saranac Lake Special that hasn't seen sky or smelled squirrels in two weeks to clear complex thoughts from your head. I hadn't had time to digest the stuff I grabbed from Cynthia's desk and computer at the library, so this was just a walk, no crime-fighting. Dorothy ran through her mental list of the dogs in the back, and came up with Peggy, a pit bull mix with black and white coloring that somebody had, in a dim or hopeful moment, described as a Dalmatian on the website. Peggy and I got along quite well after the first few minutes of excitement and jumping and “kisses with teeth”. After a few well-timed treats, she calmed down and walked ( almost ) at heel along the trails behind the shelter for a while; we sat on the steps outside the shelter talking about Cynthia ( and my worries about her ), neither of us wanting to go back in.
I brought Peggy inside, with a promise to her ( and any people in the hall that assumed that I might be talking to them ) to take her out again soon. Dorothy trundled Peggy back into her dungeon in “isolation”. The fact that the isolation room is so much better than the alternative says a lot about the world we live in; Dorothy was back behind her counter and at the computer a minute later. She gestured me back behind the counter, but as always, I leaned across the counter to talk with her; I'm a guy very
I mostly walk the big dogs that live in the back ( isolation ) room; the ones too big or aggressive or jumpy or crazy from long-term internment to be likely adoptees. Entropy is the tendency of systems to move towards homogeneity; in the TLAS entropy is illustrated by the various species of dogs present in the outside world homogenizing in the shelter toward a dark brown pit bull/lab/shepherd mix that weighs 125 pounds and is trained to digest babies whole by the drug dealers that breed, and then quickly get bored with them ( we call them Saranac Lake Specials ). I've yet to meet a dog incapable of being ( much ) better at loving other dogs and humans than I am, once they get a chance to run around a bit and get to know you. I come here to think and walk and watch and try to learn from the dogs; Dorothy was right, I'm using them and they're using me... it's an honest and straightforward arrangement that benefits everyone involved.
“Hi Tyler! Long time, no see... since last week some time. Did you come to drop off leashes, walk dogs, or solve crime?” Dorothy's plainspoken, one of thirteen things that I like about her.
“A bit of each, if that's OK... who needs a walk?” I ask handing her the box of leashes I'd finished along with the donuts hidden inside the box... they brought a happy squeal form behind the desk ten seconds later. Dorothy teases that I consult with her dogs about the cases/jobs that I work on, which is at least partially true. I sometimes come by to walk a dog or two when I've input a metric crap-ton of data into my brain, and I need to give the forebrain a break, while the ancient lizard bits at the top of my spine figure things out; there's nothing like a walk in the woods at the other end of a chain from a Saranac Lake Special that hasn't seen sky or smelled squirrels in two weeks to clear complex thoughts from your head. I hadn't had time to digest the stuff I grabbed from Cynthia's desk and computer at the library, so this was just a walk, no crime-fighting. Dorothy ran through her mental list of the dogs in the back, and came up with Peggy, a pit bull mix with black and white coloring that somebody had, in a dim or hopeful moment, described as a Dalmatian on the website. Peggy and I got along quite well after the first few minutes of excitement and jumping and “kisses with teeth”. After a few well-timed treats, she calmed down and walked ( almost ) at heel along the trails behind the shelter for a while; we sat on the steps outside the shelter talking about Cynthia ( and my worries about her ), neither of us wanting to go back in.
I brought Peggy inside, with a promise to her ( and any people in the hall that assumed that I might be talking to them ) to take her out again soon. Dorothy trundled Peggy back into her dungeon in “isolation”. The fact that the isolation room is so much better than the alternative says a lot about the world we live in; Dorothy was back behind her counter and at the computer a minute later. She gestured me back behind the counter, but as always, I leaned across the counter to talk with her; I'm a guy very
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