Professor Henry Jones: We named the dog ’Indiana!’
Sallah: The dog? You are named after the dog?!
Indiana Jones: I’ve got a lot of fond memories of that dog.
My ex-wife and I adopted our pit bull from the New York City Humane Society in December of 1994. He was just slightly less than a year old and we named him Indiana. On Jan. 13, 2005, he died quickly and painlessly when an internal tumor burst.
While he was still alive, I dedicated my first novel to him. After his death, I dedicated my first non-fiction book to him. And my latest book, another novel, features a character based on him quite prominently.
I say, "a character," and most readers probably jump to the conclusion that I anthropomorphized him, that there is a human being in the book based on my own impressions of Indiana. But that is not the case. Such a change was unnecessary. Indiana was a big enough character, a big enough part of my life, that he makes quite enough of an impression as a dog.
And I don’t say, "just a dog." Because in comparison to Indiana, a better way of putting it would be to say the other characters in the book are "just people."
In my lifetime, I have been fortunate enough to travel widely, to be educated in different countries, to come into contact with an extremely broad range of people and animals. And I can safely say I have never known another creature, bipedal or otherwise, capable of the kind of purity of love and loyalty as my Pit Bull Indiana. The way he would pick up his bed and drag it through the house to place it as close as possible to wherever I had decided to sit. The way he would occasionally check on me in the night as I slept, coming over to the bed and sniffing gently at my face to be certain I was OK. The way he would leap up in the mornings, ready for play, when he heard my breathing change as I woke up. The way he was so obedient, he really would keep a hot dog balanced on his nose until I told him it was OK to twist his jaw and snap it out of the air. He never asked for anything except to be by my side, except to interact with me as often as he could, and, in exchange for this simple gift, he would have died for me.
Like all dogs, Pit Bulls are a mirror. They are what people make them. Indiana had been abused before we adopted him and training him, monitoring him, was a tremendous amount of work. I wouldn’t trade that experience for the world. But I would be certain, should you decide to adopt an abused dog, you seek out as much information about the responsibilities and challenges of rehabilitation. Abused dogs need homes too and you do get out what you put in.
Alternatively, if you are looking for a more typical experience, be sure your adoptee has passed their temperament test with flying colors. And if you have children, or are planning to have children, be certain both you and they know how to interact with dogs of any breed.
As much as it feels completely unique, I know my experience with Indiana was not. There are thousands and thousands of Pit Bulls out there waiting for a home, for a companion. Waiting to share similar experiences with a person who has yet to appear. They represent, by far, the largest proportion of dogs available for adoption in this country. And that means making mine and Indiana’s experience your own is very simple indeed. All you need to do is visit your local shelter.
