Travels with Casey: In search of Ann Arbor

No, this isn't a modern riddle of the Sphinx. The two heads and six legs belong to my dog and I.

About a week and a half ago, amidst beautiful autumn weather, I gave a canine campus day for Casey, my Shetland Sheepdog. If you're unfamiliar with the breed, think of a small, compact Collie. Actually, that's what most people say when they meet him: "Aw, little Lassie!"

I did not intend to walk Casey for the sake of walking. I wanted to explore the place I live, and learn more about it. I know I miss a lot of Ann Arbor everyday hustling to class. Going alone would not be fun, so I brought Casey as a wildcard.

David Wallace Exile on Maynard St.

Of course, I'm not the first person with this idea. John Steinbeck and his poodle, Charley, went to see America in "Travels with Charley." Steinbeck took off with his "old French gentleman," so feeling inspired on a smaller scale, I set out for Ann Arbor with my young Scottish lad and his little brave heart.

Our trip began on South Forest Avenue, then across North University Avenue past the loud, belching exhaust at the C.C. Little bus stop. The fumes gave way to an odor of hotdogs, and Casey aimed himself at the familiar cart and umbrella. But just underway, I steered Casey away from the hotdogs, and toward Burton Memorial Tower.

Only in college towns can you see people lying motionless, face down in the grass, and not stop to poke them with a stick. On this day, prone bodies fell on every patch of sunlit grass leading up to Rackham. In Ann Arbor, we just assume a nice day encourages people to get outside and relax - and sleep. Perhaps nodding off in lecture halls relieves students of modesty, so we sprawl wherever and hope no one takes our wallets. But you never know if that spread-eagle faceplant in front of you happened from sleep deprivation or, say, a million-to-one shot from jettisoned frozen airline waste.

While walking past our passed-out counterparts, several people stopped to see Casey. Wary of new people, Casey allowed them a few pets, but backed away after a minute. He's polite, but he looks to keep greetings innocuous and brief. In that respect, he's learned to emulate people.

The walk around campus held some surprises. For one, Casey's inherent cuteness usually makes him the center of attention. But on the stroll, more than a few people didn't even make eye contact and seemed slightly disgusted. A friend I ran into put it bluntly with a wry smile: "Using the dog to attract women?"

Crap. In a town full of young single people, a dog looks to some cynics like a desperate cry for attention. It came up a few times throughout the afternoon. A trio of coeds told me I would "totally get all the girls" with Casey, and my little sidekick shot me a glance saying it could happen, if we first went back to the hotdog stand.

I ignored the doubters and clung to my quest, Casey my little Sancho Panza trailing to my left. We headed to the Diag to join in the loitering.

The Diag holds the status of a town square you might expect to find in an old New England town. Everyone converges there. On the rare warm autumn day, an elegant beauty falls across its open spaces.

Casey and I found a seat under a tree near the Diag and watched. Everywhere, leaves pirouetted slowly to ground. Frisbees shot back and forth between friends. On a bench, two guys emphatically strummed chords from old guitars.

Other students handed abortion literature to passersby. One man combed the garbage for cans. Leaves kept falling, the frisbees kept flying and the guitars kept playing.

Casey sat down to chew a stick after a healthy drink of water while I watched the crowd. Soon a young couple and their toddler stopped to meet the dog.

"Cute baby," I said as the child approached Casey.

"Thanks, she's 15 months," said the proud mother.

"I was talking about my dog," I didn't say. Seriously, the kid was cute too.

For the first time, Casey met a person the same height as him. The little girl gave Casey a pat on the head while her dad took pictures. Talking to the family, I found out they hailed from my hometown of Livonia. After a few pleasantries about our common roots, the family continued their walk and Casey sprawled in the grass. Apparently he learned a few things observing Ann Arbor.

Eventually, we left our spot and headed for the car, walking straight through the middle of the Diag. I made sure none of Casey's paws stepped on the 'M.'

I don't fully know what we found. Perhaps a city overloads you with too many experiences to simply categorize it. What Casey saw knocked him out, because he slept the whole ride home. Ann Arbor? Maybe it's like the Diag; everything exists together, but nothing really intersects.

- David Wallace can be reached over e-mail at davidmw@umich.edu.

11-09-99