By Grace Acosta

Other Voices

Ananda: Sanskrit word meaning joy

I had never owned a pet until my family got our dog, Parker. At age 10, my daughter started begging for a dog. My husband wanted one, too. They both envisioned agreeable, romantic moments with their pooch: throwing it balls, patting its furry head, watching TV as it dozes contentedly at their feet.

I saw different scenes: dog hair, muddy paw prints, drool and dirt, mounds of poop and slobbery tennis balls. I smelled bad breath and wet, dirty fur. Recognizing the impasse, my 7-year-old son suggested that rather than a dog, we might consider buying a Sony Playstation for the family instead.

Anal as they come, I am also weak- easy pickings for my daughter whose mind wraps around an idea like a python. Python-girl offers up 7,000 promises to feed, walk, groom, and train (toilet and otherwise) a new pup. She points out every cute pooch within even remote viewing distance.

It was hopeless. I knew within months that I was destined to kowtow before the gods of canine relations. A deal to bring a dog into our home was struck. It read:

1) Dog must be of medium build and obedient mind.

2) Dog must sleep outdoors.

3) Dog must not be “slobbery” breed.

4) Dog must be friendly, but not hyper.

5) All family members must participate in care and nurturing of dog.

There were other requirements of mine that didn’t make it onto the list. Admittedly, they were difficult to accommodate. For example, “dog must not shed” meant that we either had to get a Mexican hairless dog, or we would have to train our pet to sweep up after itself A friend suggested to me that I find a breed with the shortest life expectancy so that it would be dead by the time my daughter was ready to go away to college. That way, she reasoned, everyone would get what he or she wanted, more or less.

My husband wanted a Labrador Retriever from the get-go, but I balked. However, my choices for our kids’ names never made it to the top of our supposedly joint list either, so surprise, surprise, we ended up getting the Lab.

The original dog deal now reads:

1) Dog is 91 pounds and does his best to please you.

2) Dog sleeps wherever he wants, except beds and leather couch. Dog usually picks living room sofa.

3) Dog only drools if you have something good to eat and won’t share.

4) Dog is shy. Remains calm with adequate affection, exercise, mental stimulation and treats.

5) Mom takes care of all dog’s needs.

Parker and I spend most of our day together. We take walks, run errands, and hunt down forgotten tennis balls in overgrown bushes. I don’t know where all this time has come from; it seems to have materialized with the dog.

Every evening, Parker and I melt into the living room sofa.

He falls asleep; I stroke his head. He sighs and flips over on his back, his legs suspended in the air like a bug in an insecticide commercial, only more relaxed. I stroke underneath his chin. His jaw goes agape, and he looks like he is grinning, upside down.

I call it dog ananda.

Acosta is a Los Altos resident.