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. ©
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| Scottie |
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| King |
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| Jody |
That's Blackie and me in the photo at the top.
