He’s a country boy, a dairy-farmer’s son, married for 30-plus years to the love of his life, Teresa. They are parents of two, grandparents of one, love to travel, are neat and organized people who keep a beautiful home. They’re conservative Christians living in extreme north rural Idaho, a state so “red” it bleeds off the map. He’s sensible and business-minded, thoughtfully sends hand-written thank-you notes for everything and cards to his wife and children every day he’s on the road. He genuinely loves every new person and animal he meets. He’s draws energy from a crowd. He’s a veterinarian, a healer, who loves his patients and their owners.
I’m a city kid, daughter of man who swore he never saw a horse without a jockey or member of the San Francisco PD aboard until he was in his 30s. I’m a never-married very liberal native of very “blue” California. I never wanted children, am a recovering never-again-will-I-be Catholic and a progressive Christian, have traveled pretty much only when I had to (which is lots) for work and would generally rather stay home with my animals, my garden and a good book. I’m neither neat nor organized, in any way. If I send a thank-you at all, it’s likely to be in a text message. I’m not very business-minded, and I’m often broke because I generally can’t be bothered to watch where my money goes (but at this, I’m getting better and will soon be completely debt-free). I never accept anything or anyone on face value. My house is in a state of constant deferred maintenance. I’m a journalist, asking questions and getting answers from people who often don’t want to talk to me. Crowds drain me of my energy.
He loves puns and silly jokes; I don’t. He loves Christmas; I ignore it. I love afternoon naps; he can’t imagine sleeping in daylight — there’s work to do! He’s an optimist; I’m a cynic.
He sees the best in everyone. I … well you get the idea.
And yes, as odd a business partnership as we are, it works. We get along famously; we rarely disagree. We love each other, and we consider each other family. His daughter, Mikkel, is like a niece to me. His wife, Teresa, is a source of courage, faith, inspiration and Snickerdoodles. I actually go a little ga-ga over their granddaughter, despite my general belief that infants are about an interesting as cabbage until they’re a year old or so.
That’s all the personal stuff. On the business front, in four years we’ve written so many books I have to pause to count them — 10? 12? — covered conferences and trade shows, written hundreds of articles and blog posts. And really, we’re just hitting our stride.
Sometimes I wonder how this all happened. After all, I’d known Marty for more than a decade before he called out of the blue to propose us doing a book together. “Why Do Dogs Drink Out of the Toilet?” was a New York Times best-seller, but even more important, it made us realize we loved working together, and so we joined forces, folding his syndicated column into mine and going forward with more … everything. He stood by Christie and me when we broke open the 2007 pet-food recall story, even though we were reporting on industries run by people he often knew on a first-name basis, people he considered — and still considers — his friends.
But Dr. Becker always does the right thing. Always.
So why am I writing all this now? Because yesterday he did one of those “right things,” adopting a 2-year-old pit-Lab mix named Gracie who’d spent almost her entire life in the shelter. And because watching the video clip of him telling the shelter director of his decision just made me bawl as much as she did.
Go ahead: See if you can watch it an not do the same.
This is why I love having this man as my business partner. He’s the real deal.
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