by Amy Palumbo-LeClaire

We never bargained for a watch dog. We were happy to settle on the darker Golden nestled beside his brother. “That’s him. That’s Luke.” Sleepy drove his head further into the nook of a warm armpit. “Wake me when it’s over.” His breeder pulled him from brotherly love and handed him over. “Beautiful puppy.” I can still smell his odor—a faint trace of dog poop and puppy chow wafting between hands. “He looks like Mister, his father.” A regal pedigree flopped into my arms. He was, and still is, my calmest pup yet. Throughout his two years of life, Luke has studied the world with the curiosity of a professional Dog Watcher. There are Dog Walkers and there are Dog Watchers. Luke falls into the latter category and, incidentally, wears a few hats amid the job. 

Officer Luke

Officer Luke begins his shift with a survey of the front lawn, and a peek out at the street. “What’s happening on Wildflower Drive today?” I barely have time to open the door before he rushes onto the front steps to stiffen, puff his chest, and examine the scene. “Who goes there?” His position is both helpful and dramatic. Of course, we are touched to have our pup lead us to important information. The House Cleaners have arrived next door and they drive a suspicious white minivan. Less necessary have been the false alarms. “Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo!” 

“Luke!” I rip open the front door a second time. “What’s the matter?”

“There’s a twenty-foot giant bobbing like a drunkard up the road, that’s what!!”  Luke does not appreciate ghastly Halloween decorations, especially oversized blow-ups. “You don’t belong! Go away!” I’ve had to physically restrain him from front lawn blow-ups (unless the yard includes Santa, whom he adores). “Woo-woo-woo-woo.” He’ll crouch down gravely, suspiciously. “Freak of nature, that’s what you are. Woo.” I coax him forward. “Leave it, Luke.” Just when I think he’s forgotten, he’ll turn his head one last time before we take the corner, just to be safe. “Woo!” 

Nosy Luke

Nosy Luke, as one might expect, can’t seem to keep his nose out of other people’s business. One sunny day, we were working in the garden. “Woo-woo-woo-woo!” I dropped the hose. “What’s going on, Luke?” Apparently, Luke didn’t like what was going on. Arlene, a trusted neighbor whom Luke has known for years, stood at the sidewalk in front of her house up the road. She was having a conversation with another man, and it wasn’t her husband, John. “Luke, leave it. Arlene can talk with him.” His bark felt invasive. The woman’s choice to talk with another man was none of Luke’s business! “Woo-woo-woo-woo.” But Luke refused to accept Arlene’s new man. What was my dog trying to tell me? “I know phony when I smell it. Woo woo woo woo.” 

Fearless Luke

Motorcycle drivers, along with their motorcycles, have been difficult for Luke to process. They are kind of like a car, but not so much. Something does not add up. “MOM!! THERE’S A MARTIAN IN OUR DRIVEWAY!!!” I feel his concern and, honestly, can’t blame him. The roar of the engine is scary. Not to mention the driver’s helmet and mask. Who’s behind that mess? “You are not welcome!!!! Woo-woo-woo-woo!” His bark is low and aggressive, perhaps the most threatening of all his barks. “Woo woo woo woo.” He goes on and on protecting until, finally, we learn that a friend of mine, Gretchen, is the driver behind the mask. She parks and removes her helmet. “Ohhh, Gretchen, it’s you!” His personality flips. He breaks into a playful smile and wiggles towards her. “I was just messin’ with you. Come on over! I’ll grab my frisbee!” 

Bunny Watching Luke

I used to worry about the bunnies. Every spring we have them. Every year, as a dog owner, a new shenanigan awaits, and this year was no exception. Luke was fascinated by the quiet, harmonious nature of his backyard friends. “You appear so soft and gentle. I want to play with you! Hey, not so fast! Where’d you go?” His big head darted in and out of our bushy rhododendron, where he’d practice clever offensive moves to stay one step ahead of the bunnies. “The bunny is about to rush out of the opposite side now, I just know it.” He’d change directions, making fast 180 degree turns around the shrub before engaging in a terrific high-speed chase across the yard.” He hasn’t caught a bunny yet, but I’ve learned something about Luke. I don’t believe he wants to catch them, so much as he does play with them. Chase and Keep Away have always been Luke’s favorite games. He loves to grab stuffed animals and dash around the house, spooked yet exhilarated by Chase. The bunnies offer a genuine, “real-life” experience of his favorite game. 

His knowledge of bunny behaviors has changed the way he watches and interacts with them. The first sighting came with serious intrigue, as in, “I find it fascinating that, unlike a squirrel, you will sit still and munch clover all day long. Does it ever get old?” He’d sit twenty feet away from the bunny, stare for minutes equally as long, then lie down (paws parallel) to creep inch by inch ahead until – “YOWZA!”—the stalked bunny decides, “I probably should run now.” By the summer’s end, Luke has learned every hiding spot and revels in poking his nose in and out of shrubs to find one. I once caught him gazing down at a bunny from the top of the deck stairs. His gaze no longer held the fixed, almost perplexed stare of early spring. Rather, his attention was casual and light-hearted. He smiled casually as though to say, “You are welcome to stay and munch on our weeds, Bunny. My name is Luke by the way. Want to play a quick game of Hide and Seek?”  

I no longer worry about the bunnies. 

Bossy Luke

Luke’s protection for us, his beloved family, is admirable. However, there are times when my pup’s attention to detail becomes hyperbolic. “Grrrrrrr. Woo.” What now? One cool September night, I decided to open the French doors in our family room to let in some fresh air. Luke’s bark was more of a suspicious, even paranoid growl, the kind he uses when he senses that something may be “off” in the air. “Mmmmm…” That “something” happened to be the new and distinct sound of night peepers, a nostalgic September sound for New Englanders, yet one Luke didn’t care for. “Stop your chirping or I’ll give you something to chirp about.” 

Whether my dog watches a neighbor, a Martian, a bunny, or a night peeper, I suppose he is doing what is in his nature to do—that is to keep those he loves safe with unrivaled loyalty. A dog truly is a girl’s best friend.

Follow Luke on IG – livingwithlukevalentino 

Write to Amy – [email protected]