What strikes me as far more interesting than owners who match their pets are owners who are wild mismatches for their pets, not only in appearance, but in temperament. It goes without saying that veterinarians see all kinds of combinations of animals and people, but the ones that get our attention are the ones that seem the most improbable. I'll share two short stories with you about such mismatches.
The first pair is Tim and Mindy. Tim is the owner and Mindy is the dog. I suppose that's obvious, but you'd be surprised. I can't count the number of times I have accidentally called the owner by their pet's name and vice versa. Consider yourself forewarned if you give your pet a conceivably human name. But I digress. Tim made a vivid first impression with his considerable size, his forceful handshake, his loud expletive laden style of talking and the impressive array of smudgy blue tattoos that looked suspiciously like they had been done in prison. But, as we all know, first impressions can be misleading. Two facts immediately emerged that ran counter to that impression. First of all, Tim turned out to be very friendly and very eager to learn everything he could about looking after his pet. And secondly, his pet was a small quiet female Shih Tzu named Mindy, who sported pink bows in her beautifully groomed fur. There were no pink bows anywhere on Tim. Nor was he especially beautifully groomed. They did not resemble each other in the slightest. In fact, they could be considered opposites.
Tim was a long distance truck driver and Mindy was his companion on the road. "Been with me to 43 states and 8 provinces!" It appeared that Mindy was his only family as well. To see Tim transform instantly from brash and boisterous with me to tender and calm with her was as astonishing as it was heart-warming. Utterly unselfconscious, he would gently and repeatedly kiss Mindy on the top her head while I explained something to him. Almost everybody loves their pets, but Tim's devotion to Mindy was in a category of its own. All of us adults know by now that love is a strange thing that cannot be predicted or judged. This was a prime example of that truth.
I typically saw Mindy once a year in the early spring for a check-up and to make sure that her shots and paperwork were in order for the frequent border crossings. Tim was also one of the few clients who insisted on regular bloodwork to follow baselines on her organ functions. He explained that he wanted the peace of mind and pressed me whether there was anything else we could do to ensure Mindy's health. He gave up smoking when he got Mindy because he was worried about second hand smoke, and he planned his rest stops around where it was best to walk her. I said he was devoted and I meant it.
You might be girding yourself for a heartbreaking ending to this story, but fortunately, to the best of my knowledge, Mindy remains healthy as I write this and I expect to see her again next year. One day there may be an anguished phone-call from Alabama or Arizona, but it hasn't happened yet and, I tell you, I don't even want to think about it.
The second mismatched pair is Mrs Abrams and Max. Max was a German Shepherd. Actually, "Max" is almost always a German Shepherd, unless he is a Boxer or a black cat. I picked this pair for the second story because it is in many ways the inverse of Tim and Mindy. Mrs Abrams was small, quiet, elderly and fragile looking. Max, on the other hand, was large and loud and rambunctious. He weighed as much as Mrs Abrams, if not even a little more. Her son had given him to her for protection. I suppose this was effective as Max would lunge and bark furiously whenever someone other than Mrs Abrams moved towards him. Actually, he would lunge and bark furiously whenever the wind blew a scrap of plastic towards him as well. Fortunately he was a classic example the bark being worse than the bite and there was no need to be afraid of him, but unfortunately all that lunging made walking him dangerous for Mrs Abrams.
One day she came in sporting a cast on her wrist. Max had pulled her down again. Apparently he had seen a particularly irritating squirrel. Mrs Abrams always excused his behaviour with a chuckle and a 'dogs will be dogs' remark. After I addressed the rash that he had been brought in for I talked to her about safer options for walking him. I had talked to her about this before, about halter types of collars and training methods, but the answer was always the same. In her soft voice she would say, "Oh no, he wouldn't like that." And that was the end of the discussion. What Max liked and did not like was always the decisive factor.
Eventually it came out that Max was also pooping in the house. Here too excuses were made and any type of training that would inconvenience Max in any way was dismissed out of hand. She would smile at Max like all the light in the world emanated from him. Like with Tim and Mindy, this was clearly also love and love that should not be judged, but my God, it was hard not to judge. Max was so manifestly the wrong pet for her. Wrong size, wrong temperament, wrong breed, wrong everything. But she felt safe with him and she loved him with all her heart and these two things obviously made broken wrists and poopy carpets seem like trifling inconveniences to her.
When Max eventually passed away I didn't think I'd see Mrs Abrams again. She seemed incalculably ancient and there sadly comes a time in many people's lives when looking after an animal is just too difficult. I was surprised then to hear that she had booked an appointment with a new pet. Perhaps a cat, I thought, or a little Yorkie? Nope. Another German Shepherd. Also named Max.