I didn't have my own dog, Kula, until I was 32. However, I did feel like I had my own dog, or at least co-guardianship, when I was in my 20s living in Palo Alto with my friend Ann S. Before that time, Ann and I had met through our boyfriends at the time. We quickly became good friends, and she moved from San Diego to share a two-bedroom, one-bath house in the more industrial part of Palo Alto with me. Her dog, Heidi, was a black Labrador mix, who was very intelligent but had severe separation anxiety.

Heidi could not be left alone for too long without laying waste to what was nearby. Things she tried to destroy (and sometimes successfully) included the sofa, the legs of the kitchen table, the back seat of Ann's VW Jetta, my favorite stuffed animal, and a hefty reimbursement check for travel expenses (out of all the mail left on the table!). I had to go to the Oracle Accounts Payable group and tell them that "the dog ate the check" which sounded unbelievable. Fortunately, my friend Cameron L. worked there and ensured that a new one was generated quickly after he teased me sufficiently.

Ann's boyfriend had a purebred black Lab named Zeke who was sweet but not the sharpest tool in the shed. He enjoyed coming over and playing with Heidi, or perhaps I should say that Heidi enjoyed playing with him. I would watch them run around the large dirt backyard from time to time and remember how it would go. Heidi would run at full speed straight to the back fence, and at the last nanosecond, turn right to avoid hitting the fence. Zeke's reactions weren't as quick, and he would run right into the fence. After watching this go on at least 15 times, I decided that I couldn't watch it anymore and wondered if Zeke was going to have brain damage.

Heidi had psychic ability. Sometimes, I would wake up early, lie in bed, and debate whether I should go for a run. On the occasions when I decided (in my mind) to go for a run, I would hear scratching at my door. Somehow, she knew, and this would only happen when I had decided to go for a run. I would take her on leash to the Stanford campus. As we neared the stadium, I would unleash her so that she could chase the squirrels while I made my way around the stadium. She loved chasing squirrels. Then, she would meet me after my loop so that I could leash her again. There was one time when I couldn't find her and panicked. I ran around and around the stadium calling for Heidi and could not find her. Usually, she would come when I called. I called Ann from a phone booth because this was before mobile phones. Ann talked me down from my ledge and said that I should run back and see if she had started heading for home. I was worried because we had to cross El Camino Real, a major road, to get to and from home. Lo and behold, who is sitting nicely and patiently for me, but Heidi near the intersection of Serra St. and El Camino Real? My heart leaped for joy.

There were a few odd times that we had. One time, Ann had hit a dead deer on I-280. Fortunately, she wasn't injured, but the smell of the deer on the undercarriage made Heidi try to crawl under Ann's car several times. It took some strength to pull her back. Another time, I went to a movie with a friend, Evan G., and realized that I had forgotten to take my house key, after he dropped me off at home. Ann wasn't home, and I literally had to kick the door in to get inside. I looked around for Heidi and couldn't find her. I went into Ann's room and eventually found her hiding under her bed. I felt awful for making her so afraid. I coaxed her out, hugged and petted her, and assured her that I was not angry at her. I think she understood. At some point, Ann and I decided to give up our lease on the house and went our separate ways. After that, Ann would always tell me that Heidi would see a person who looked like me and want to run up to her. This made me happy and sad at the same time. Heidi may not have been my dog, but I loved her as if she were.