A Dog Party

The life and adventures of the Taubs, my daughter-in-law told us, would make a great coffee table book. David Taub takes his Harley to motorcycle rallies, but he is not a biker in the old sense (no pigtail, no tattoos, no loose women). He is the former mayor of Beaufort, and he is still on various civic boards around town. He used to be the proprietor of Morgan Island, in St. Helena Sound, nicknamed Monkey Island, the center for primate research, and he has thousands of slides of macaques, among other monkeys. He knew Richard Leakey and worked with Jane Goodall; his work is listed alongside monographs by Dian Fossey, and he knows most of the other luminaries of the primate world, since he wrote Primate Paternalism in the Eighties.

Pam Taub, well, she is perhaps the most colorful well-dressed woman in Beaufort, tall, vibrant, funny, bright, always a good time to be around, natural, unforced. You could say she lives for her dogs, Cavalier King Charles spaniels, but she has more of a life, and she lives it fully. The dogs are beloved and lovingly cared for: Harley (of course), Spangle (for Star-Spangled Banner, since patriotism is real and intense in the family), and Sunny (short for Davidson). Cavaliers are sweet and loving dogs (David calls my Cavalier, Keats, "sweet boy" in a Texas inflection), and their love is returned by David and Pam Taub.

A dog party might be outrageous in almost any other household, or a community less individualistic than is Beaufort’s. For the Taubs, it is perfectly natural to celebrate Spangle’s birthday along with that of his sister Roxy, and to invite dogs and their owners and their friends and their godparents from Hilton Head, Charleston, and even from New York, to their backyard in Beaufort. There is no embarrassment involved: the dogs deserve it, they love the toys and the treats, and they sit in the laps of the humans who cherish them, as needy and as loving as any co-dependent relative, and probably much less demanding. Neediness in dogs is much less demanding than greediness in humans.

Certainly, keeping these luxurious dogs is luxuriously expensive, but, according to the vet Mark Guilloud, who owns two Cavaliers, dogs are now like people: they are healthier, better fed, better nourished, better medicated; and they live longer lives with better quality in those lives. I don’t think Cavaliers are like SUVs, by which I mean useless and expensive status symbols. They are family adjuncts, and they are supposed to think of their human owners as "Mommy" and "Daddy." They are comfort dogs.

My dog, Keats, is a great chick magnet. He is fluffy, has those big bug eyes, and he moans and mumbles to himself only when taken for a walk. Women say "Aw, he’s talking to me," and come up in droves to talk back to Keats and be loved by him. I mean, Keats is really adorable: after I feed him, he comes up next to my chair, puts his paws up, and gives me a little burp of gratitude. If I reach down to hug him and ruffle both his ears at the same time, he gives little moans of pleasure and his eyes water and his nose gets wet; and if I scratch his butt, his tail wags even harder. He does all that with women, and they love to see and hear him do it. Keats affirms the need for love in the world.

At the dog party, the men and the women were happy with the dogs and each other, and utterly unembarrassed by having a party in which party favors and cake and treats were shared separately but equally between people and animals. Keats got a lolly-pup (carob and raisins, peanut butter, organic) and a chewy bone; we gave Spangle some patriotic tennis balls to chase; Keats got a doggie treat like beef jerky and the humans had M&Ms and piece of cake with a Cavalier head carved into the icing. The dogs were exhausted with running around all afternoon and they all slept well that night.