Keaton's Discoveries aka Shoes

Plus, a look at Forever Dog

Keaton’s Discoveries is our new column written by three year old rescue boxer, Keaton (named after Diane Keaton), who is navigating life now as an indoor dog. Before she arrived to us, her foster mom mentioned that Keaton liked to carry stuff around in her mouth. She has taken it next level now and not only carries things (the Intern’s stuffies and shoes most notably) but she hoards them in her little ‘den’ she made in my walk in closet. But what girl doesn’t like shoes, right? Anyways, I’ll let her talk about it…

I’ve developed what Mom calls a “SITUATION” with shoes. But let me explain before everyone jumps to conclusions. I don’t chew them…I’m not a MONSTER. I don’t destroy them or bury them or do whatever it is other dogs apparently do with shoes. I simply... collect them. Relocate them. Curate them, if you will. It started innocently enough. Mom kicked off her sneakers by the door one day, and I walked past them and thought, “those smell like Mom.” Which is, frankly, the best smell in the entire world, second only to ice cream and maybe Pete after he’s been in the sun. So I picked one up, very gently, very respectfully, and I carried it to my room.

My room, by the way, is right next to Mom’s room and has a big bed, pillows and plenty of good smells. PLUS, I can see everything. Very strategic placement. And now my room has become what I consider to be a carefully organized collection of family artifacts. There’s Mom’s left sneaker. Brother’s sock…just one, the matching set seemed excessive. A slipper that I’m pretty sure belongs to someone but I forget who. They’re arranged around the perimeter of my bed like a protective barrier, or maybe like a nest, or honestly I haven’t fully worked out the logistics. I just know that when I’m lying there, surrounded by shoes that smell like my people, I feel... safe? Complete? Like I’m sleeping in a hug made of footwear?

Mom keeps finding me curled up in my bed with a shoe tucked under my chin like a stuffed animal, and she does this thing where she tries not to laugh but totally laughs anyway. She’ll say “Keaton, that’s my good running shoe,” but her voice is soft, so I know I’m not in trouble. Sometimes she tries to retrieve them. Very politely, she’ll come over and say “can I have that back, baby?”—and I’ll look at her like, “I mean, you CAN, but why would you want to? It’s perfect here.” Usually I let her take it because I’m generous like that, and also because I know where she keeps her shoes and I can just get another one later.

Brother thinks it’s hilarious. He started leaving his socks near my bed on purpose, like offerings to a deity. And I ACCEPT them! Graciously! I’ll take his sock right from his hand, carry it ceremoniously to my bed, arrange it just so and then I’ll look at Brother like “thank you for your contribution to the collection.” The thing is, each item represents a person I love. A person who comes home. A person who takes them off because they’re staying. They’re not leaving. They live here. With ME.

In the backyard, I had nothing. No toys, no bed, no family, and definitely no shoes. Now I have a bed full of slightly aromatic footwear and stinky boy socks that proves, every single day, that I belong to people and people belong to me. Mom says I’m “hoarding,” but I prefer to think of it as “aggressive affection.” And honestly? If loving shoes is wrong, I don’t want to be right. Now if you’ll excuse me, I just spotted what appears to be a sandal by the back door, and it’s not going to collect itself.

Love you already,

Keaton

Thank you for tuning in to the latest edition of Keaton’s Discoveries. Tune in next week as Management has a lot to say about ‘walks”. In the meantime, I am currently working on our next project which will debut March 1st. It is called Forever Dog, and you can see a snippet from inside below. Enjoy!

When I try to remember the exact moment that I wanted a dog, it feels like one of my very first memories. Like I was just born loving dogs and wanting one of my own. I remember constantly drawing my future first dog. It was black and white. I named him Max. And he pretty much looked exactly like Snoopy. I asked my parents for a dog regularly. And of course I asked Santa every year. But my Dad always said no. Not the, “when you’re older routine”, but a flat out NO.

Then there came this random week when my dad had to go out of town for work. My mom told me we were going to get a puppy. She took me to this ranch outside of town and all I remember was my 6^th grade self, sitting in grass and having what felt like a million golden retriever puppies climbing all over me. Just fluff balls everywhere. I can still remember that smell of puppy if I try to think about it. I took home a female that sat in my lap like she chose me. Just curled in perfectly against my legs.

She rode home in my lap the whole drive home and I loved her with every fiber of my being from that moment on. I had that beautiful golden girl all the way through middle school, high school, college and into “adulthood”. Even after everything I had experienced in life to that point, losing her was the something I thought I would never get over.

You’re probably wondering how my dad reacted when he got home and found out we got a dog….

Yeah, he wasn’t happy. So it seems only right to dedicate this book to my Mom. For not caring about pissing off Dad. Teaching me the fundamental lesson of a healthy marriage: asking for forgiveness and not permission. And letting me experience the joy of having my heart owned by a dog. A gift I passed down to my son. Thank you, Mom.