A PEDESTRIAN'S GUIDE · SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA · SECOND EDITION
A Field Guide to the
Dogs of Route 31
Field marks, voice, range, behavior and biscuit acceptance of every dog on one letter carrier's walking route

   
by Lanny Poore, letter carrier

Introduction. I have carried mail for twenty-four years, the last eleven on Route 31, a walking route of about six hundred deliveries through an older neighborhood of Sacramento, under the elms and sycamores. Over those years I have met a great many dogs. I keep a box of biscuits in my satchel, small ones, and I have been bitten exactly once, in 1983, by a dachshund, on a different route, through the sock. I will come back to him.

Bird watchers have their field guides, and I have always admired them, the way they sort every bird into families and tell you how to know it by its markings and its call. So here is mine. Every dog on Route 31 is listed by breed and by the nickname I gave it, which in most cases is not its real name. I don't list the owners or the houses. The dogs know who they are.

How to use this guide. Each account gives:

FAMILIES: The Doorbells · The Fence Runners · The Welcoming Committee · The Silent Watchers · The Escape Artists · A Historical Record · A Word to Owners

Common and widespread. The Doorbells announce the carrier to the household, the neighborhood and, in some cases, the county. Nearly all are harmless. Their job is to tell, and they take it seriously.

SHETLAND SHEEPDOG  "Siren"
Field marks: Small, sable and white, with a magnificent ruff, like a collie someone left in the dryer.
Voice: A high, steady alarm that begins when I am three houses away and does not stop for breath until I am three houses past. Rises in pitch at the mail slot.
Range: The front window, which she has polished with her nose to a fine haze.
Behavior: Spins in circles. Follows my progress down the block from window to window, then runs to the back of the house to see if I've gone around.
Biscuit acceptance: Accepts, on Saturdays, when her owner is home and opens the door. Stops barking for exactly as long as it takes to eat it.

BEAGLE  "Foghorn"
Field marks: Tricolor, white-tipped tail held high, ears like dish towels.
Voice: A deep, mournful bay out of all proportion to the dog, audible two streets over. Some mornings he starts before I've turned onto his block. I believe he hears the satchel.
Range: Behind the side gate.
Behavior: Bays at me, then sniffs the mail when his owner carries it in, then bays again to report his findings.
Biscuit acceptance: Enthusiastic. A beagle has never in history declined a biscuit.

MINIATURE SCHNAUZER  "The Colonel"
Field marks: Salt and pepper, with a beard and a pair of eyebrows any general would envy.
Voice: Short, sharp, rapid, like a typewriter.
Range: Behind the screen door.
Behavior: Inspects. Stands at attention behind the screen while I put the mail in the box and barks once for each piece, as though counting it. I have never caught him in an error.
Biscuit acceptance: Accepts, but only after a long, suspicious look, as if he thinks I might be bribing him.

Found along fence lines, where they escort the carrier the length of the property at speed. They will race you. They will win.

BORDER COLLIE MIX  "Shadow"
Field marks: Black and white, low to the ground, eyes that are working out the angles.
Voice: None. She doesn't waste breath.
Range: A corner lot with a chain-link fence along two sides.
Behavior: Meets me at the far corner and runs beside me along the whole fence, both sides, stopping exactly where the fence stops, every day, at a dead run, and then trots back to wait for tomorrow. We have raced every delivery day since 1993. I have never won.
Biscuit acceptance: Accepts it over the fence at the finish line, like a trophy.

LABRADOR RETRIEVERS, YELLOW AND BLACK  "The Twins"
Field marks: A matched pair, if you don't count the color. Tails that could clear a coffee table.
Voice: Happy, loud, and in unison.
Range: The back yard, behind a wooden fence with a gap at the bottom just big enough for two noses.
Behavior: Run the fence line together toward the street when they hear me. The black one always runs the right way. The yellow one runs the wrong way about one day in three, reaches the back of the yard, realizes his mistake, and arrives late and out of breath.
Biscuit acceptance: Two biscuits, at the gap, at exactly the same time. Anything else causes an incident.

GERMAN SHEPHERD  "Sergeant"
Field marks: Big, black and tan, ears up, every inch the professional.
Voice: Silent along the fence. One deep bark at the corner, as if to say, "Noted."
Range: A large yard with a tall fence, which he patrols in a regular pattern.
Behavior: Walks the fence beside me at my pace, watching, never rushing. A colleague, really. We are both on duty.
Biscuit acceptance: Accepts it with great dignity. Took him two years to decide I was all right.

The most beloved family on the route. Greets the carrier as a long-lost relative, daily.

GOLDEN RETRIEVER  "The Mayor"
Field marks: Red-gold, feathered, grinning, and nearly always carrying something.
Voice: A low, happy grumble, muffled by tennis ball.
Range: Behind a low picket gate he could step over if he ever wanted to. He doesn't. He has a sense of occasion.
Behavior: Brings me a tennis ball every day and drops it at the gate. Waits for me to throw it. I throw it. He brings it back as I'm leaving and drops it again, so it'll be ready tomorrow.
Biscuit acceptance: Eager, gentle, takes it like it's made of glass. The Mayor would make a fine postmaster.

BASSET HOUND  "The Deputy"
Field marks: Long, low, ears that drag, a face full of sorrow and none of it sincere.
Voice: One long, slow note, about ten seconds after I've passed.
Range: The front porch.
Behavior: Hears me coming. Gets up. Begins to make his way down the porch steps to greet me. Arrives at the walk just as I'm turning the corner. Has done this every day for six years. We have never actually met in the middle.
Biscuit acceptance: I leave his on the bottom step. He gets there eventually.

MIXED BREED, PART EVERYTHING  "Sunny"
Field marks: Medium, tan, one ear up, one down. Looks a little like every dog you ever had.
Voice: A squeak of joy.
Range: A fenced front yard, with the gate always latched.
Behavior: Leans. Presses her whole side against the fence so I can scratch her through the pickets. If I'm running late, she leans harder.
Biscuit acceptance: Yes, please, thank you.

PUG  "Snorkel"
Field marks: Fawn, black face, curled tail, eyes like two shiny buttons.
Voice: Snorts, wheezes, snuffles, and one tiny bark he's very proud of.
Range: The arms of the retired lady who owns him, from which he greets me at the door every day at 11:15.
Behavior: Wiggles until he's set down, then runs one lap around my feet and back to her.
Biscuit acceptance: Always. Forever. With the owner's say-so, half a biscuit, because his doctor says so.

Uncommon. Easily missed. Watch the carrier closely and say nothing, and form their own opinions.

GREYHOUND (RETIRED)  "The Professor"
Field marks: Tall, thin, brindle, built like a question mark at rest. Adopted after his racing days by a nice couple who are both teachers.
Voice: None, in four years. His owners say he barked once, at a vacuum cleaner.
Range: A dog bed on the front porch, from which he rarely rises.
Behavior: Lifts his head when I come up the walk. Watches me put the mail in. Puts his head down again. I feel I have been graded.
Biscuit acceptance: Accepts, if I bring it to him. He used to run forty miles an hour for a living. He's done chasing things.

CHOW CHOW  "The Judge"
Field marks: Red, lion-maned, scowling, with the blue-black tongue of his breed, which he shows rarely.
Voice: Silent. One low rumble, years ago, which I took to heart.
Range: Behind a solid gate with a slot at eye level, through which he watches.
Behavior: Watches me every day through the slot without blinking. I don't stare back, and I don't put my hand near the slot. He and I have an understanding based on mutual respect and distance.
Biscuit acceptance: Declines. On principle. I respect that.

LABRADOR RETRIEVER, BLACK, ELDERLY  "Grandpa"
Field marks: Gray in the muzzle, gray at the eyebrows, moves slowly, tail still going.
Voice: He used to bark when he was young. Now he just thumps his tail on the porch boards.
Range: The porch, in the sun.
Behavior: Watches me. Thumps. I have known him all eleven of my years on this route. The first week, he chewed the corner off a seed catalog in my hand. He's fourteen now.
Biscuit acceptance: Accepts, a soft one, which I carry just for him. I sit on his step a minute. It's the best minute of my day.

Rare, but memorable. Range highly variable. Frequently seen where they are not supposed to be.

JACK RUSSELL TERRIER  "Houdini"
Field marks: Small, white with brown patches, built entirely out of springs.
Voice: A bark like a car alarm.
Range: Officially, the back yard. Actually, the whole block.
Behavior: Digs under the fence, goes over the fence, and once went through the cat door. When he's loose, he joins me on the route and walks the rest of the block with me like a supervisor. I walk him home. His owners have put in a new fence three times. I'm told he has opinions about all three.
Biscuit acceptance: Accepts it on the walk home, as payment.

SIBERIAN HUSKY  "Blue"
Field marks: Gray and white, masked face, one blue eye and one brown, which can be unsettling before coffee.
Voice: Not a bark at all. Talks. Something like "a-woo-woo-woo," with feeling.
Range: A yard with a fence that is, as of August, two feet taller.
Behavior: Tells me all about his day through the fence. Has gotten out twice, and both times was found sitting politely on a porch three doors down, where the people have a cat he finds fascinating.
Biscuit acceptance: Accepts, and then tells me about it.

DACHSHUND, SMOOTH, RED  "The Incident"
Field marks: A hot dog with a grudge.
Voice: A growl like a small outboard motor.
Range: Formerly, a yard on my first route, in the summer of 1983, where the gate had been left open.
Behavior: Came out of the gate low and fast while I was handing a package to a little girl, and took hold of my left ankle, through the sock. It wasn't much of a bite. I didn't need stitches. What I needed was to understand why, and later I did: he thought I was taking something from his girl. That's what I learned that day, and it's in the section below.
Biscuit acceptance: Unknown. I offered, the following week, from a respectful distance. He took it, and then he took the corner of my glove. I have no hard feelings. He has, I'm sure, long since gone on to his reward, and I hope it was a sandwich.

Readers' Stories: Mail Carriers and Dogs »

Sightings recorded on this page:

since March 1998.

Send me your dog stories, your carrier stories, or a correction to my field marks:
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Last updated Thursday, September 23, 1999