My daughter Emily and her family recently traveled to Italy for 16 days, leaving my wife and me to watch their oversize miniature schnauzer Biscotti, again. It’s not like I didn’t leave hints that dog-sitting isn’t my dream assignment. “So, what are your plans for Scotti while you’re away?” I asked Emily more than once, which she passive-aggressively seemed not to hear.
Scotti is a sweetheart and a regular house guest, but am I really my daughter’s dog keeper? In fact, we already have a mini schnauzer named Zeno. Emily knows I coddle him with extended walks, regular baths and frequent treats, so why wouldn’t I want another one to look after? So many dog owners swear by having two for double companionship and twice the fun. I am not one of them.
Scotti and Zeno couldn’t be more opposite — they are the Goofus and Gallant of schnauzers. Whereas Zeno trots briskly by my side, letting me lightly guide his lead like Roy Rogers with Trigger, Scotti lurches from curb to stoop, sometimes stopping abruptly like a barnyard mule in need of a yank. Zeno pauses to thoroughly sniff a lamp post or garbage bag for marking, as if composing a thoughtful email; Scotti is more the mad tweeter, dribbling haphazardly while hopping on three legs past a wall or scaffolding net. Zeno is utterly indifferent to other dogs; Scotti wants to greet them all, leaving me to disentangle from his excited encounters and occasional skirmishes. Merely walking two blocks with both dogs is an exercise in twirls and pirouettes, as well as arm-socket pulls when they head in different directions.
Indoors, Zeno contentedly digs into his bed, then curls into a doughnut for a nap. Scotti follows me or my wife everywhere, often tripping us. When someone enters the apartment, Zeno dutifully barks at the newcomer, while Scotti thinks his job is to bark at Zeno, with a screechy yelp suited for a dying wild boar. At feeding time, Zeno patiently sits by his bowl; Scotti yaps and spins frenetically in circles, then sprays kibble across the floor once his motor mouth hits the dish.
Whether from dominance or a terrier’s fear of missing out, Scotti must be out in front of the pack on every walk and perched at the highest point of a room. He goes white-fang ballistic if Zeno dares to mount a chair or ottoman ahead of him, never mind if they were playfully brushing whiskers moments earlier.
But just when I’m at the end of my own leash — say, after getting soaked by one of his post-shampoo shakeouts — he shows me another side. Let him loose in the park, and he bolts exuberantly like Seabiscuit at full gallop, while Zeno looks up at me with beady-eyed disbelief. When I return from taking out the garbage, he welcomes me with leaping kisses as if I’d been to the Aleutian Islands. At the dinner table, he’ll take a morsel ever so gently from my hand and be satisfied — Zeno snaps his canines and always looks for seconds and thirds.
And it’s true — when my two charges finally settle into some sort of rhythm together outside, I’m free to read my phone or hold an umbrella without snapping my wrist. We also seem to get more compliments as a threesome, Zeno for his platinum elegance and jaunty steps and Scotti for his scampiness and sheer friendliness. Scotti will freely accept a hand for petting; Zeno is looking only for a handout.
At night, while Zeno retires alone to his fluffy bed in the dining room, Scotti jumps onto the living room couch where my wife and I are watching a British crime show or documentary. He plops himself on my lap, stretching his limbs to cover as much human as he can, and rests his scruffy beard on my thigh. A deep sigh of fulfillment follows, and I know what he’s thinking: “Come on, admit it. You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”
The thing is, he’s usually right.
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Allan Ripp runs a press relations firm in New York.
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