Gratitude for the Wild and Not-so-Wild Animals

I have a dog that is a little bit crazy. Rescued from the Golden Gate Labrador Retriever Rescue at one year old, I thought when I first met her: "this is the perfect dog!" A chocolate lab, she had all the Labrador energy with tons of affection and character. "She loves kids, and doesn't have any problems with other dogs," the temporary caregiver assured me. I had wanted to get another dog for 20 years, but first school, then work, then grad school and sailing expeditions and more work deterred me.

Finally, the timing was right. I had a stable relationship, a house on 3/4 acres of open land in Marin, and while running a non profit working in shark and ocean conservation and documentary work, she could work alongside me. Running with her on the first day, I discovered she charged other dogs, and barked at little kids. For someone who dreamed of having a beach dog running leashless and free to frolic in the surf, this did not bode well. We almost renamed her Cujo after Stephen King's rabid hound, but we decided on Pele, named after the Hawaiian goddess of the Volcano. Over time we overcame the history of her abuse and leash aggression, and she became the near perfect dog- a great companion, road tripping in the VW Van, running along the trails of Mt Tam, swimming in the Bay, and even running free on the beach while I surfed.

Ever present and intrusive, Pele has appeared in at least three documentaries and even screened on the Giant's Jumbotron in a piece we did for the San Francisco Baykeeper. Pele even sailed to Santa Barbara and back and went around the Farallon Islands during shark season- while I restrained her from jumping in for a swim with the more adapted marine mammals.

Time passes. Divorce left us together, back aboard a boat and then in a city apartment, but our bind tightened through all the sadness and change. Years later, Pele is near her end of life, but in the not too distant past the wild animal surfaced with bared fangs and angry growls if approaching her bed at night. At times the dog would live up to her namesake with flaming eyes and inexhaustible energy.

It reminds me that domesticated animals are not as domesticated as we think and the wildness still lurks within.

I work in wildlife protection, saving sharks, marine mammals and sea turtles and I dive with them as frequently as I can. I love wildness and wild animals. Being around animals and nature is part of being human. When it is missing we seek substitutes: extreme risk taking, alternative reality, or spending time around our pets. Living beings and Nature connect us to each other, and as I am often reminded by my dog, we are not so far from being wild ourselves.

I have cherished the time spent with Pele. She has made me laugh, and now more often to cry as she fades away. But I am grateful for having spent thirteen years in close connection to a domesticated animal that is still a little wild, and among wild animals that are not yet domesticated. Her volcanic eyes have crusted beneath cataracts, her ACL tear gained in her athletic days causes her to limp, and a lifetime of ocean swimming gives her chronic ear weeps. Yet she still has the volcanism of the Goddess. She reminds me to laugh and get salty, and seek and protect the wildness within and without, and for that I am forever grateful.

Based in San Francisco, David McGuire is the Director of the ocean non-profit Shark Stewards, dedicated to protecting ocean wildlife and health. Read his ocean blogs and learn more at sharkstewards.org