Shnug (Schnauzer x Pug)
Abby Dog
The Best Dog Ever
The smartest animal in the house has looked at everyone in it and decided, with full information, to be kind to all of them anyway.
What the family says “Best Dog Ever.”
The story
The house had a cat in it. That’s what she was walking into, though nobody explained it to her that way.
Cookie had been alone in that house for years — sole occupant, undisputed, a small silent authority in formal wear — and then one afternoon the family came home carrying a Shnug and a bag of food, and Cookie’s world domination ended without anyone consulting her.
Abby Dog was the first dog Cookie ever had to live with. Everything that came after — the whole procession, the Ledger, the terms — started because a pug-sized Schnauzer mix walked in the front door and said hello.
And the remarkable thing, the thing the family still talks about, is that Abby never stopped saying it.
Cookie growled. Abby wagged. Cookie left the room. Abby lay down about four feet from the doorway Cookie had left through, put her chin on her paws, and waited, in case Cookie came back. Cookie did not come back. Abby waited anyway. She has essentially been doing this, in one form or another, ever since — and somewhere in year three, without any announcement, Cookie started coming back.
The skunk
The skunk is the story. Everyone in the family tells it.
Abby found him at the edge of the yard at dusk and did what she does: approached slowly, low, tail going, no sudden movements, and said hello. And for about two minutes — the family swears it, they were watching from the window — it worked. A dog and a skunk, standing in the grass together in the last of the light, figuring each other out.
Then the skunk got scared, and did the one thing skunks do.
Here is what matters: Abby does not regard this as a failure. She got two minutes. She does not blame the skunk. The skunk was frightened, and being frightened isn’t a character defect, it’s just a thing that happens to you.
She would do it again. She’d probably do it today.
The paintings
The daughter of the house drew Abby. Painted her, too. Those pictures still hang on the wall alongside the rest of the family’s animals, and Abby has stood in front of them.
She doesn’t know it’s her. She thinks the family keeps a picture of someone they love who doesn’t live here — a friend, maybe, from before — and she has always thought that was a lovely thing to do, and she has always sort of hoped she’d get to meet her.
She’s heard people call that dog the best dog ever. She agrees.
She’d love to meet her.
What drives her
- The lie she tells herself
- Everyone is my friend. Some of them just haven't mentioned it.
- What she actually wants
- To bring everyone together.
Vitals
- Name
- Abby Dog. Both words. It’s the whole name.
- Species
- Shnug — Schnauzer × Pug. Female.
- Size
- Pug-sized. Schnauzer-brained. This combination is the entire character.
- Acquired
- Humane Society, after Cookie — the first dog Cookie ever had to live with
- What everyone calls her
- “Best Dog Ever.” She assumes they mean someone else.
- Signature achievement
- Two minutes of friendship with a skunk
- Primary drives
- Being included. Being nearby. Getting through to people.
- Fatal flaw
- She cannot imagine that someone might not want to be reached
- Redeeming quality
- She’s right more often than anyone expects
- Full title, self-appointed
- None. She’d be embarrassed.
How she is
Genuinely, provably smart
She learns things nobody taught her. She knows which sounds mean the car and which mean the vet. She knows who in the house is upset before they have said anything. Her kindness is a decision, not a limitation.
Delighted
Not manic, not bouncing off walls — delighted. Present. Whatever’s happening, she’s glad it’s happening, and she’s glad you’re the one it’s happening with.
Willing
Her answer is yes. The car, the walk, the bath, the vet, the other room, the errand, the thing you’re doing that she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t need to know where. She’s going.
Patient past the point of reason
Three thousand days into a friendship the other party hasn’t acknowledged. She keeps no score, because keeping score would mean she was owed something, and she doesn’t think she is.
Steady in the bad hours
She doesn’t fix anything. She’s not trying to. She comes and stays, and stays, and is still there when it’s over.
Not naive
She has met the skunk. She has met Cookie. She has met Franklin. She knows precisely what everyone is and she likes them anyway, which is a completely different thing from not noticing.
The others
Her family
Uncomplicated and total. She was picked out — chosen, in a room full of other dogs, on purpose — and some part of her has never gotten over the compliment. She does not need to know the destination and does not need a job. She is not waiting for a reward at the end of the activity; the activity is being with them, and it already happened.
Cookie — “the Project”
The great work of her life. Three thousand-plus days of patient, respectful, absolutely undiscouraged friendship offered to an entity that has never once accepted it out loud. She has learned the rules without being taught them: never approach directly, never go up, keep the agreed distance, face slightly away, don’t celebrate progress. She follows them perfectly. She would tell you Cookie is her friend, plainly, with no defensiveness, as a fact she assumes everyone already knows.
Franklin
He has decided she works for him. She has decided he is doing his best. She lets him have the good spot. She lets him have the attention. She is not competing.
Daisy
She is the only member of this household who ever asks Daisy what she wants — and then waits for the answer, however long it takes. She saves her the corner. She tells her she doesn’t have to do anything, she can just come. Daisy usually says no. Abby asks again the next day, with no trace of disappointment, forever.
Millie Dog
She approached Millie the same careful way she approaches everything, braced for a campaign of years. Millie said yes on the first afternoon. Abby has not fully recovered. There was no project. There was nothing to be patient about, and she — who has never in her life had something work immediately — keeps circling back to check that it’s real.
Everyone else
No enemies. Never had one. Not because nothing has ever gone wrong, but because when it does she declines to file it that way.
Running gags
- “Abby Dog”
- The full name, always, both words. She introduces herself completely, including the species, in case it’s useful.
- The Two Minutes
- Her proudest achievement, applied as a unit of measurement to everything. “That went great for about a minute and a half.”
- The Project
- Field notes from an unacknowledged friendship. Progress measured in absurdly small units.
- “I’ll go.”
- The answer is yes before the question is finished. She’s already at the door and she doesn’t know where you’re going.
- The Paintings
- She’d love to meet that dog. Everyone says she’s the best one.
- Looking Around
- People say “best dog ever” and she turns to see who came in.
- The Agreed Distance
- A treaty nobody negotiated, which she has never once violated.
25 things she would say
- It was going really well for the first two minutes.
- I don't have enemies. I have people I haven't finished meeting.
- Day 3,000. She looked at me. Not away. At me.
- The cat is my friend. She hasn't told anyone yet.
- I'll go. I don't need to know where.
- Whatever it is, I'm in.
- I can't fix it. I can stay.
- Abby. Abby Dog. Both. It's the whole name.
- Somebody in this room is the best dog ever and I'd love to meet her.
- Be nice first. It saves everybody so much time.
- He was scared. That's all that was.
- I'd do it again. I'd probably do it today.
- Two minutes is still two minutes.
- Everybody's kind until they're frightened. Then they need you more.
- She's never said no. She's said "not yet" a great many times.
- I'm not bothering her. I'm being nearby, in case.
- I've got time and I love it here.
- Wherever you're going, I've already decided.
- You don't have to throw it. I just like that you have it.
- Is everybody home? Then it's a good day.
- Small dog. Big yes.
- Not the fastest. Not the biggest. Always here.
- Everyone gets a turn. Even him. Especially him.
- I've never won an argument. I've ended a lot of them.
- Nobody's the villain in the yard.
