Between Us
I DON’T THINK THE dogs saw any reason to move. They liked Wonderland Park Avenue, they liked the neighbors, they liked the whole Laurel Canyon vibe. Back when they were just pups I told them that Jim Morrison’s and Joni Mitchell’s dogs once lived nearby, and I think they savored the faint scent of the ‘60s.
Both my dogs are rescued mutts, mixes of border collie and Lab and probably a handful of other breeds. I got them shortly after moving to L.A. from New York nine years ago, and to me their lifestyle has always been a better reason for staying here than mine has. Now I was about to change it. We had to move, despite the comforts. The house went on the market before I had found a new place, and when it did I tried to put myself in their paws. I hoped it wouldn’t be too difficult for them.
Cassie, my younger, had the run of the old neighborhood. Almost daily one or another of our neighbors would tell me that she’d spent the entire day with them -- always on days I knew she had spent with me. She had a way of seeming present everywhere, coming and going as she pleased. Every attempt to raise the fence or close the escape routes left her unfazed. She could leap 6 or 7 feet from a standstill, and she could negotiate traffic with a mystifying ease. Mabel, her older sister, stayed much closer to home -- to my feet, actually -- but this satisfied her as much as the constant excursions satisfied Cassie.
The Wonderland Park lot was set back far from the street, and the yard was huge. Though my girls took less advantage of it than I’d envisioned, they found it great for entertaining guests. Often, uninvited dogs -- uninvited by me, in any case -- stopped by and they would all run riot across the lawn and through the gardens. There was a pool, and while neither Mabel nor Cassie were swimmers, they seemed to take a certain pride in their friends coming by to use it. On many a hot afternoon they would lounge poolside, Mabel barking in encouragement as other dogs swam laps and fetched toys.
We lived less than five minutes from the Laurel Canyon dog park, which had been such a big part of Mabel’s childhood. By the time Cassie came into my life, however, I had developed a preference for hiking rather than sitting around watching dogs play. This was great for everybody’s cardiac conditioning, but Cassie’s socialization suffers to this day. (Does there exist a parent unburdened by guilt? I tried to do the right thing, I swear.)
There were wonderful places to hike nearby. There was Runyon Canyon, Fryman Canyon, Franklin Canyon, the very top of Wonderland, and the entrance to Fryman off Mulholland. The dogs went off-leash everywhere, even on the street. There were other creature comforts. The floors of the house were concrete with radiant heat, which was lovely on the paws. With the concrete, they never had to be overly concerned about mud or dirt since clean-up was simple and minor messes never caused humans to yell. Also, because I entertained more there, they had more opportunities to be fed from the table.
One other thing they took for granted there -- it wouldn’t be until after the move that they could even conceive of losing this -- was that there was always a sliding door left open for them. Indoors and outdoors were undifferentiated, as was my property and that of others. The world was their oyster.
Perhaps I should have consulted with them more about the move, but because I was paying the bulk of the mortgage I didn’t feel too great an obligation. It wasn’t as if I was going to move them into a 400-square-foot condo with no yard. “Trust me,” I’d tell them, and they’d look at me like they’d heard it a million times before. But I really did have their best interests at heart. I wouldn’t even look at a place unless it met what I considered the girls’ minimum requirements: It had to have a yard, it had to be near great hiking trails and it had to be in a doggy neighborhood. I, of course, had a few requirements of my own, but these were often secondary. For some reason, I had no wife, no children, no partner. In L.A. the dogs were my family, and their needs were respected accordingly.
The new place was up in Beachwood Canyon. Via a wormhole in the real-estate universe, I ended up buying the home of the person who bought my home. Though this created some obvious confusion on moving day, there were also some advantages. We had similar tastes, and the new house was in many ways a scaled-down version of the old one: still mid-century, still glass walls, still wood ceilings. It was an easy move aesthetically. I doubt style and taste were crucial for the dogs, yet they too took to their new home.
There are walks galore here. I told them we could run near the Hollywood sign, or by the observatory, or by the tennis courts in Griffith Park, or at the cave by Bronson. I told them we’d see horses on our walks, sometimes dozens of them at a time. They were unimpressed, as it turned out, though they loved the horse manure. Really loved it.
The Beachwood house is on a very winding canyon street, not set back at all. The houses are much closer together here. Although it’s not a corner property, the place fronts on more than 180 degrees of curve. What this does is give the dogs an especially long perimeter to defend, primarily by barking. Neighboring dogs not only pass my driveway, they walk all the way around the side of the house, Mabel and Cassie threatening them every step of the way. It’s hard for me to know whether they think this adds value to the property, but it does keep them occupied. It also makes me more sensitive to neighbors than I used to be.
Because of all the barking, I don’t allow the dogs out except during daylight hours when I’m there. At night, or when I’m out, the dogs are locked in the house -- no more sliding door left open. At first I worried that this would be unsatisfactory to them, and I tried to explain that I hadn’t anticipated it. I was full of regret and felt almost as if I was the one locked in the house. But their behavior betrayed no frustration at all; I was making a problem where none existed. Sure, it might have been better before, but Mabel and Cassie weren’t keeping score.
I work at home, and more often than not I spend my days with the dogs. The new place has a gate across the driveway and is completely fenced in. Though I don’t think it’s really Cassie-proof, the first day here a strange and fortuitous thing happened. Cassie got out immediately and proceeded to get stuck in a neighbor’s latticework. She wasn’t hurt, but it was unpleasant enough to act as a deterrent to future wandering. Cassie sulked a bit at first, but she and Mabel arebetter friends now that she’s home more. One of these days Mabel may even drop the grudge that so many firstborns bear against an intruding sibling.
The gardens are lovely and offer at least as many places to bury and forget bones. While the Wonderland Park home was built on a slab, this place is up on short piers, and there is a wonderful spot underneath the kitchen that stays cool no matter how hot the day gets.
The new place has hardwood floors everywhere, and the dogs do a lot of sliding, especially in the initial transition from sleep to scamper. There is one particular turn between the bedroom and the front door that Cassie, in her enthusiasm, can never quite navigate. She skids into the wall every time she tries, like an aggressive hockey player hitting the boards.
The views are nice here, as the house has large windows looking into the canyon and a feeling of being perched in the trees. Mabel can sit for hours just taking it in. There’s less socializing now, and no pool, but as the dogs enter their middle years, I think they welcome the peace and quiet.
There are always trade-offs. All things considered, Mabel and Cassie have handled the move as well as can be expected. After all, as we know, moving is one of the most stressful events in a dog’s life, right up there with divorce and job loss.
Charlie Levi is a writer and filmmaker.