The Dogs in my Life

Since coming down with a bad cold and sinus infection I’ve been moving slower than a two-toed sloth. I was going to say that I probably smell like one too but google says they don’t have body odor. They smell like the algae that grows on their fur. It’s part of their camouflage to smell like the trees they hang out in plus they get to eat the algae they carry around. I love sloths. Under normal circumstances I could catch a sloth and make him cuddle with me when I don’t feel well and I can’t say about Levi. He is by far the least affectionate dog I’ve had in my life. This week I told him if he didn’t let me hug him I'd send him off into the cold world with only his least favorite stuffie to keep him company and I’d cuddle with his favorite. His idea of giving me comfort when I’m sick in bed is to lie on the foot of Don’s side of the bed. Sentry duty style. I like to call Levi my dog, but I think he was Don’s. I was the disciplinarian, Don was the guy Levi went to when I was being the mean mamma teaching him all the ‘no!’ stuff a dog needs to know to live with humans. And they spoke the same language. You could almost see the thought waves going back and forth between them. 

In my bedroom I have one of those family picture frames only mine hold photos of all the dogs that have been in my life starting with a photo of me at eighteen months old sitting next to Blackie who was slightly bigger than me. Although this photo was taken of the two of us sitting outside of a playpen I have others showing us together inside the playpen---Blackie in various sizes, me not so much. We were raised together only she learned how to escape the ‘cage’ before I did. But I’ve been told she’d jump back in if I was crying and if my mom didn't come in a timely fashion, Blackie would bark to help get her attention.

The next photo is of King, a large black and white dog who picked my brother to be his go-to human. They were both energetic and full of mischief. King’s mischief probably got him shot by a farmer out by our cottage because he liked to mix in with the herd of Holsteins at the end of our road. He was a happy dog who loved all two and four legged critters the same. Every chance Mom got for months she would take us out on the country roads looking for King, stopping the farms with photos.

After King we had Scottie the collie who lived with us for over 19 years before we finally had to put her down. My dad would have denied it but Scottie picked him to be his go-to human and with good reason. Scottie was blind since she was two years old and my dad took that dog to the vet 1-2 times a week for the better part of a year prior to that. She’d had a form of canine polio and was in an experimental program through the state veterinary college but Dad would not let them keep her at their facility. He wanted to be the one to decide when she’d had enough. For months, Dad and my brother carried Scottie outside and held her up while she did her business and she lived in our bathroom in between. She did recover but the blindness was a result of all the drugs she’d been given. Scottie was the sweetest dog, a bell trained dog and in the summers at the lake we’d put jingle bells on me or our other dog, Jody, and we became Scottie’s guide dog.

Jody was midnight black, a pure bred Belgian Shepherd, a rescue dog who’d been badly beaten and she hated men. My dad was working nights and Mom wanted a bad-ass dog to protect her while he was gone. By then my brother and I were teens and we understood we couldn’t rough house around her because Jody would rush to protect any female in the room. One time a friend of my brother’s was teasing me, telling me he was going to kiss me goodbye and my brother hollered out, “Don’t do it, she’ll bite you!” As the boy leaned in to put his lips on mine Jody clamped her teeth on his hi-topped tennis shoe. Mom spent a lot of time obedience training Jody and she mellowed over the years and needless to say, Mom was Jody’s go-to human but my dad’s gentleness and patience taught Jody that men are not all evil wife and animal abusers. Mom got another Belgian Shepherd after Jody and my oldest niece is named after that dog. 

The next three dogs in my life were the poodles of my adult life---Sarah, Jason and Cooper. I’ve written extensively about them in my dog’s blog. Don always made a big deal out of their birthdays. He’d get balloons and an ice cream cake and invite all the neighbor’s kids over for a party. It was quite the joke of the neighborhood. I can‘t imagine living without a dog in my life but I do wish Levi didn’t have the stubborn, aloft characteristics of his Schnauzer breed. It has crossed my mind, though, that at this point in my life when I might be “aging out” of me getting another dog after he’s gone that maybe Levi is the perfect transition dog. He gives me a sense of purpose and I love him but he’s not hug-able or affectionate like most dogs. Leaning his body against my leg is his only way of expressing love or sympathy. He’s never licked my tears away like all my other dogs have done and the only reason he’ll get close to me when I’m sick is to steal my used Kleenex. ©

Scottie

King

Jody

 That's Blackie and me in the photo at the top.