When I was about seven years old (circa 1970), my family got a boxer dog. I recollect that we paid $100 (about $860 today) for a flashy fawn from a breeder, who let her go because she was the runt of the litter. But she was very pretty and adorable. Her official name was “Miss Meerschaum.” My father was a pipe-smoker and meerschaum is a kind of light-colored wood used in pipes that gradually turns a boxer-colored brown as it’s used. But we just called her “Miss Boxer” for short.
We got a dog primarily for my father. One of his students had committed suicide and he’d become very depressed. He spoke with a therapist who recommended several things, one of which was to get a dog. I think my father fell in love with boxers after reading about Malabar Farm. My father was an ecologist/environmentalist and Louis Bromfield, who was considered the father of the environmental movement, famously had boxers.
Miss Boxer was the first of three boxers my father had. Boxers, like most large, inbred dogs, don’t live very long. After Miss Boxer, we got Sunny and then, after I had left home, he got Beau (whom I called Beauzeau because he was such a clown.)
Once I was out running in the countryside with Sunny. We lived in the country and she ran off lead most of the time, ranging around. She was usually pretty far out in front. She was amazing in that as we came to a decision point — a corner or fork in the trail — she would look back and with a gesture, I could tell her which way we were going to go and she’d head off that way.
Boxers are described as being protective. Running along the road, I approached a truck that had four or five young men standing around the tail gate drinking beer and laughing. I didn’t think much about it, but something must have seemed off to Sunny. She came alongside me and interposed herself between me and them. Then all the fur came up along her back and she ran with a really stiff-legged gate. The young men fell silent and watched us go past. Then she just went off ranging around as usual. My respect for boxers as guard dogs went way up after that.
When I had a family, we decided to get a dog. I, of course, held out for a boxer dog. My wife was skeptical and did extensive research on dog breeds, looking at all kinds of weird things, like otter-faced dogs. I would also conduct oppositional research to point out all of their negative characteristics, e.g. “It says they bark incessantly. Did you hear that? INCESSANTLY.” Finally, I wore her down and we got a boxer puppy.
Boxers are a little weird. They look weird and they act weird. Their short muzzle is thought to be a neotonic (puppy-like) characteristic and their behavior is also puppy-like their whole lives. Their forward-facing eyes give them a very human-like gaze. Their wrinkly face is incredibly expressive. And their jowls (which my brother and I called “muppies” as children) are soft and velvety.
When we got our first boxer, my wife would just shake her head and say, “Boxers look weird!” And then about 6 weeks later, she shook her fist at me and cursed, “Now other dogs look weird!” It’s true. Once you get used to boxers, it’s the long-nosed dogs that look weird.
My family had two boxers. I set up a website to share our boxer experiences. Our first boxer died young, at 6, from canine lymphoma. (Like all inbred dogs, boxers are subject to a variety of health problems, like cancers and heart conditions). The other lived until she was old and grey. I kind of wanted to get another, but my wife resisted because we’re getting too old to manage a big dog and we have my elderly mother living with us, who is too fragile to have a crazy boxer dog jumping on them. And for several years, I was without boxer companionship, which I missed terribly. But then my son got one.
When my son got an apartment, he decided to get an emotional support animal and I was delighted that he chose to get a boxer dog. I got to go with him to pick out the puppy from the litter. Then to go with him to bring her home. I’ve gotten to see her pretty much every day as she’s grown up. She is adorable and I love her to pieces.
Boxers are also reflected in my fiction. In my collection, Better Angels: Tour de Force, one of the protagonists is a NeoBoxer — a genetically engineered, cybernetically-enhanced boxer dog. NeoBoxers just look like dogs, but they have human (or better) intelligence, are able to pilot star ships, and can make themselves understood by (most) people just by barking.
There are actually two NeoBoxers in the stories, Lambda and Tau. (One of the stories is a riff on Lady and the Tramp.)
When the artist first drafted the cover, she thought the character must be humanoid with a boxer head. I explained that, no, he just looked like a fawn boxer dog. “Oh, that’s way easier!” she said.
I’ve actually got several more stories that feature NeoBoxers, but since the Truck Stop at the Center of the Galaxy seems to no longer be a focus of the publisher, it’s not clear that these stories will ever see the light of day. It’s kinda sad.
Other dogs are okay too, I guess. But boxers are the best.
