America loves its conspiracy theories.
But I’m not here to fix the unfixable. I’m here, less than two weeks before Halloween, to dispel the myth that black dogs are scarier, meaner or in any way less lovable than their white, brown, gray, spotted or striped counterparts.
Dogwash!
Much the way black cats are often labeled as spooky or messengers of bad luck, black dogs have suffered an image problem over the centuries, mostly thanks to myths and lore that began in the British Isles.
Black dogs have been called guardians of the dead, harbingers of death and omens of disaster, according to mythology.net.
Negative portrayals of dark-coated dogs in literature, including Sherlock Holmes’ “The Hound of Baskervilles” and the Harry Potter series, may reinforce the fear.
The image, of course, is false but it has haunted shelter dogs for years.
In 2011, Colleen Paige founded National Black Dog Day to remind dog lovers that coat color is not a determinant for behavior. Nor is it an indicator of mojo, jinx or hex.
I can happily back up that notion.
When I was growing up, we had Muffin, a white dog that was cute as a button — and nuts. As an adult, my first dog was Handsome Ted. He was brown, photogenic and also nuts. Now, we have Josie — sweet, black, expressive and completely certifiable at times.
I first learned of the black dog typecast in 2016, when we adopted Josie. Our beloved terrier had died in January and the hole was gaping. I found myself returning again and again to a local shelter, “just to look.”
When we decided to commit later that spring, Josie wasn’t our first choice but we apparently were hers.
We had visited with a few puppies that were sweet and cuddly, but each time they brought Josie out, she came at us like a torpedo.
Finally, I said, “Looks like this black one wants to come home with us.”
Within a few days, the paperwork was gathered, the medical check approved and we were cleared to check out.
That’s when we hit a snag. “Looks like a black shepherd mix with white socks,” the cashier said reading the generic description on Josie’s card and ringing up the total.
“What?” I nearly choked. “We can’t take this dog.”
The cashier looked at us like we had lost our minds. “Why, because she’s black?” she asked.
“No. Because she has white socks,” I explained. “We are lifelong South Side Cubs fans. Life is hard enough.”
Besides, I added, “The Cubs are a good contender to win the World Series this year. We can’t jinx that.”
My husband and I took a moment to discuss while puppy dog eyes pleaded.
We ultimately decided to not cave to superstition or fan rivalry and threw a Cubs kerchief onto the purchase. She promptly removed the fanwear and began chewing it, providing insight into her ambivalence for baseball and her enormous appetite.
We realized quickly that she was perpetually hungry. And that anything that hit the ground could be considered food: dried pasta, popcorn, candy corn, napkins, a slice of boiling hot pizza, a dryer sheet, an apple core and, once, a newborn bunny.
Over the years, we’ve been able to pare her list of edibles, mostly by screaming in horror for her to “STOP!”
Though loyal beyond measure, she is also wacky and a bit of an enigma.
She steals shoes but ignores her own toys. She races us up the stairs when the doorbell rings and then hides. She thinks day-old rainwater from the curb is a delicacy. And while we shovel a potty path through the back yard each winter, she licks the snow from the patio.
She’ll chase down a coyote but run, tail tucked, from an inflatable Halloween pumpkin.
She hates hawks and robins but lives in harmony with doves, hummingbirds and butterflies.
Above all else, I know she loves us. Once, while we were on a walk, a large, snarling unleashed dog charged. I gasped and braced for the attack. Josie quickly positioned herself sideways in front of us. She stared straight ahead, her hair on end, but didn’t flinch as the other canine snapped at the air around her neck. Luckily, its owner heard the commotion.
Her coat color only became an issue this past summer. Tornado sirens were blaring. I quickly put her on the leash and began the arduous job of getting her to the basement. She’s terrified of that staircase and wiggled out of her collar just as the lights went out. Good luck trying to find a scared black dog in the dark while you’re under duress.
Josie also tries to pull her weight. One afternoon, she was rolling in the grass when I spied something in her mouth. I called her.
It was half of a $20 bill. I took it from her jaws, threw it in the trash and jokingly ordered her to go find the other half.
A few minutes later, she was back. The other half in her teeth.
Is she a perfect dog? Are we perfect owners? We make it work.
By the way, the Cubs did win the World Series that year. As we jumped for joy at Game 7’s glorious reversal of fortune, Josie barked up a storm because we were out of our minds and because it was past her bedtime and she wanted us to hit the hay so she could call it a night.
Considering that we’d waited a lifetime to see the Cubs take the title, I guess you could make the leap that maybe black dogs are good luck charms.
Donna Vickroy is an award-winning reporter, editor and columnist who worked for the Daily Southtown for 38 years. She can be reached at donnavickroy4@gmail.com.
