I Moved to Maryland and Now My Dog Owes the Government Money

I learned something this week that I did not know before moving to Maryland. In this state, your dog has to have a license.

Don’t get me wrong, I get this. I do. Dogs need to be vaccinated. Vaccinated dogs need to be registered. Registered dogs can be returned to their owners if they wander off. It is a perfectly sensible system, and I respect it. I just hadn’t ever given much thought to it.

Back in Georgia, this was not a thing in most areas. A handful of counties required it. Down home, a dog’s identification system was, generally, a little more informal. It went something like: “That’s Dale’s dog. You can tell because she’s got that look Dale gets when he’s about to do something inadvisable.”

But we are in Maryland now, and Maryland doesn’t try to be the wild west, and I appreciate that to some extent. So, of course, our dog will have a license.

Her name is Sunny.

She is a puppy.

She is, to put it charitably, a work in progress.

Since this development affects her more than anyone, I decided the right thing to do — journalistically, ethically, and as a responsible pet owner — was to sit down with Sunny before we head to get her licensed and get her reaction. What follows is a transcript of that interview, lightly edited for clarity.

BT: Sunny, thanks for sitting down with me today.

Sunny: [Stares at my left shoe. Begins chewing it.]

BT: I’d like to talk to you about your upcoming dog license.

Sunny: [Looks up. Tilts head forty-five degrees to the right. Tilts it back. Tilts it further right, as if the answer might be at a sixty-degree angle.]

BT: A license. It’s an official document. It means you’ll be registered with the county.

Sunny: Is it a treat?

BT: It is not a treat.

Sunny: [Loses interest. Wanders toward the corner of the room where she has been systematically dismantling a throw pillow since Tuesday.]

BT: Sunny. Focus. This is important.

Sunny: [Returns. Sits. Appears engaged. There is pillow stuffing on her nose.]

BT: The license means you’ve had your shots, and you’ll be officially recognized by the county as a legal resident.

Sunny: I live here?

BT: Yes. You live here.

Sunny: I thought I was visiting.

BT: Remember the big moving truck, the long car ride?

Sunny: [Looks genuinely surprised. Glances around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Spots a rabbit out the window. Forgets we are doing an interview.]

BT: Sunny.

Sunny: [Returns, slightly out of breath.]

BT: Now, in Georgia, dogs didn’t need licenses. But here in Maryland—

Sunny: Georgia?

BT: That’s where we moved from. The South. Where you were born.

Sunny: Was there a squirrel there?

BT: There were many squirrels.

Sunny: [Stares into the middle distance with what I can only describe as longing.]

BT: Anyway. The license. How do you feel about becoming an officially licensed resident of Harford County?

Sunny: What’s a Harford County?

BT: It’s where we live.

Sunny: Is it outside?

BT: It contains outside, yes.

Sunny: I would like to go outside.

BT: We’ll go outside after the interview.

Sunny: [Stands up. Walks to the door. Sits down in front of it. Looks back at me.]

BT: After. The. Interview.

Sunny: [Returns. Lies down. Puts her head on my foot. Sighs the sigh of the deeply persecuted.]

BT: The license also means that if you ever get lost, they can identify you and bring you home.

Sunny: I get lost?

BT: You wandered off with one of your friends a few months ago because someone left the gate open. Remember, I had to come get you in my bathrobe and slippers?

Sunny: Oh! We were playing a game of “Get the Angry Daddy to chase us.”

BT: Yes, but you didn’t know where you actually were.

Sunny: [No response. She appears to be processing this. Or sleeping. It is genuinely hard to tell.]

BT: Do you have any concerns about becoming a licensed dog in the state of Maryland?

Sunny: I chewed something this morning that I probably shouldn’t have.

BT: What was it?

Sunny: I don’t want to say.

BT: Was it a shoe?

Sunny: It was not not a shoe.

BT: Whose shoe?

Sunny: [Tilts head again. Looks at the door. Looks at me. Looks at the door.]

BT: Sunny, whose shoe was it?

Sunny: The interview is going very long.

BT: Last question. What would you like the people of Harford County to know about you, now that you are about to become an official, licensed resident?

Sunny: [Stands up. Stretches. Yawns so wide her whole face disappears for a moment. Looks at me with enormous, sincere, amber eyes.]

Sunny: I am a very good dog.

BT: You destroyed a throw pillow.

Sunny: I am a very good dog who is working through some things.

And there you have it. Harford County’s newest soon-to-be licensed canine resident, ladies and gentlemen. Curious, enthusiastic, occasionally destructive, and absolutely certain she is doing a great job.

We’ll be heading to get that license taken care of shortly. I expect the process will go smoothly on my end. I expect Sunny will try to eat the paperwork.