For all practical purposes, he was from the wrong side of the tracks. He had no papers, no pedigree. He didn't come from the right kind of family. He had no fancy bowl and ate table scraps every night, that's right, he was, dare I say it, he was a mutt.
What has happened to the dog that many of us knew in childhood? The dog that ate real chicken bones and went outside without a rain coat? Where is that dog who rescued Timmy from the well?
I have had about 8 relationships in my life that have been life changing. The kind of relationships that are filled with secrets that aren't shared, love and laughter. As a child, there is nothing like having a best friend. Now, if that best friend can play catch, and lick your face occassionally, that's even better. The first best friend I remember was Ashes, or as my sister called him, Asses. You see, she had a little speach problem and renamed the dog Asses. Anyway. Ashes was by all accounts, a mutt. He was dirty gray in color, shaggy but loyal. Ashes was kept mostly, on a long chain in our yard until we let him loose to play. Each day, we would go get him and play and play. I would give him fresh water in a large mop bucket. I still remember the night, when somehow, his chain got wrapped around the carport and sounded to us like robbers were going to break in at any moment. Three little children and their mother sat huddled up, listening to something scratching along the carport, as the rain dripped down outside the window. Finally, we had no choice, someone had to look outside. We knew, we were goners. That's when we saw it, the dog, stuck on the porch, his chain tangled around one of the poles. We weren't being robbed, unless we were beng dognapped! Afterall, that dog was valueable.
Next, there was Good old Trusty. Trusty was an Irish Setter. Trusty was a little more energetic. He needed your full attention. One day, I came home from school and my dad told me that Trusty had gone to live on a farm. This would become a frequent place of visitation for various animals at my house. However, Trusty must not have liked the farm. Trusty kept coming back from the farm. No matter how often he got returned to "the farm", he always returned. Until, one day, he didn't.
Enter Noah, Bo, Drake Robinson. Noah was my dog. Yes, my dog. A mutt for all seasons. I can't explain Noah, except, I named him for a Doctor off of General hospital and gave him my last name. Noah was special. He started out as an outside dog. However, one day during a bad storm, Noah got struck by lightening. All of the hair on his tail came out and his tail resembled that of an oppossum. From that day forward, Noah became a house dog. Sleeping next to my bed. Now, that tail scared most people. It was about 2 feet long and hairless. Noah wagged it with pride, sometimes striking those within close range. Noah was my best friend, we shared everything, including reading the novel, Anne of Green Gables.
There's no judgement in a dog. No look of disapproval, no questions, no unappreciation. The dog just takes you as you are, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. Reminds me of another situation. Well, I digress. I remember when Noah got sick. He layed by my bed, trying to hang on. Ultimately, he went outside and layed in the family garden. I could not get him to come inside. He just kept going back to the garden. Finally, he died in that garden. My best childhood friend. He had been with me through my coughs and colds, my teenage crushes and then watched as I went off to college. In the garden, where he had played state fair, with my sister and I every year after the fair. Noah left so many memories, beautiful memories. A dog knows when it is their time to go. They don't fight it and they don't try to burden their human companions. Noah began teaching me lessons about dying. He taught me not to fear death, because, it is final. However, dying is to be feared. The dying process can be long and linger on.
Princess and Midnight were to come next and those two were a pair. I was in college when these two lived in our house, so, not so many memories of these two, but, I do recall that Princess was mean. She would bite you. I think both of these dogs ultimately went to live on the farm. I don't know who has this farm. It must be crawling with animals. Maybe it will be on the next episode of Animal Hoarders.
After being out of college and working for year, I decided to pack up and move to South Carolina. Upon arriving, I needed a dog. I went to the humane society and I got Cymonne. Cymonne was a Yellow Lab. She had been returned to the shelter numerous times and was a very skiddish dog. She and I were made for each other. Cymonne would wait for me each and everyday in my tiny South Carolina apartment, slowly chewing the wallpaper off of the walls in the kitchen. She had severe anxiety issues. After she finished the wallpaper, she began to eat the tile from the floor. She seemed to have a cast iron stomach. I tried to calm her anxiety, by leaving a small televison on each and everyday. The television only proved one thing, Cymonne loved television, especially, the soap operas. Cymonne just didn't like to be left alone. She ate the mattress on the bed, she ate the answering machine cord, the tile on the floor the leather around the door locks in the car. You name it, if I left her alone, she ate it. Anxiety is a disorder that many of my two legged friends also understand. In humans, we often try to mask the anxiety. We medicate through prescribed medications, over the counter drugs, alcohol, you name it, but the dogs, they must handle their anxiety in other ways. Or do they? Cymone was eventually prescribed her own anxiety medication which returns me to my original thought, what happened to the dogs of the past? Anxiety medication for dogs? Rain boots, clothing, beds, liposuction, speciality food. Are these dogs?
Cymonne continued on with me on my South Carolina journey and even gained a new friend when I got married. Enter, Spade, the black cocker spaniel, belonging to my husband Keith. Spade, was a third generation cocker spaniel. How so, you ask. Well, Keith has named every one of his last three cocker spaniels Spade for the last 20 years. Anyway, I met Spade in Georgia, living in Keith's backyard, a little worse for the wear and definitely a dog. Keith says that I turned Spade into a pet. Our first meeting, I gave Spade a steak and we were fast friends. Fast forward and understand that Spade was very over protective of me and would bite anyone coming close. We always warned people, "Don't try to touch him, or give him a command, he will bite you!" There were a few skeptics. Well, a fool and his finger tips will soon part. One night, as Keith and I slept, the lightening flashed like a Kodak moment on the red carpet over and over again through the night. The thunder was so loud, you would think a concert was playing outside. And then it happened. Suddenly, A loud crashing sound, accompanied by a large black figure jumping over our bed. Keith sat up quickly, grabbing the figure and screaming, "get out, get out". Keith began punching and then, I realized it was the dog, Spade, afraid of the storm. There was no stopping both of them. Spade began to growl, Keith in a dead sleep, was going to beat the intruder to death and I was caught in the middle, a sure and certain death. I screamed, Keith, Keith, it's the dog, stop, stop, it's Spade, he's afraid. The next thing I saw, was Spade, flying through the air, like a trapeze artist in the circus. Spade wimpered, Keith woke up and I thanked Jesus for my life. Both Spade and Cymonne moved to Kentucky with us after the wedding and lived to be very old dogs. Cymonne lived to be 16 and Spade, I swear, was 20 when he left this earth.
In 2006, enter Fluffy Puff! The Jack Russell Terrier, with boundless energy. Fluffy has a raincoat, wears a Coach collar, sleeps in a bed and eats special food. Fluffy has no idea what it is like to live outside and has a birthday party every year. I think Fluffy can talk. He waits by the stove most days, hoping that his dinner is being prepared. He has his own stuffed animals that he brings to storytime with the children. He dresses up for Halloween and patiently waits for his Christmas gift each year. He's never rescued Tiimmy from a well, or worked with Cruella De Ville, but, he's mine and he does have papers and even if he didn't he'd still be my best friend.
