Dogs have always been a part of my life from the time I was a child, and although we have two dogs now I have always thought of myself as more of a cat person. It seems that you are one or the other, cat or dog, but being married to Al who is a hunter and has always had dogs, dogs have prevailed in our life together.
As a child we did not really have pets. We had animals that came in and out of our lives mostly as a result of my dad being in the army. We were living in Texas when he brought home a jackrabbit from work one day. I am not sure how it came to be in their possession but since the soldiers were not allowed to have animals often times my father returned from work with some kind of animal that needed a home. That particular rabbit had been found injured and while we tried, it did not survive in captivity,
Another time, when we lived in France, he brought home a large sheepdog. We had no yard to contain it and so soon after he came to live with us the dog escaped. His name was Blue and we combed the streets for hours looking for him, but because we did not speak the language and could not communicate our need for assistance we had to give up the search as darkness fell. Blue was never seen again.
Later while still in France, after moving into government housing, my father brought home a goose. It was a domesticated goose and was kept in a pen behind the apartment building in which we lived. To this day I have no idea where it came from but find it odd how we small children became attached to it. One day while we were out the neighbors cooked that pet. I was distraught and felt horribly deceived by my father who was complicit in the distraction necessary for the bloody deed to be done. And while my father continued bringing home animals, mostly dogs, wherever we resided I never really attached to any of them again. I was seven years old.
Eventually my mother took to choosing her own dogs and her heart's desire became a series of silver miniature poodles. By this time I was in high school, and while the puppies were cute no one took the time to train them and they were destructive. One after another my mother labelled the untrained dogs as "bad" and gave them away only to replace them a few months later with another tiny version of the previous bad dog. My little sister played with them like dolls and no matter what the name my father called them all Missy, after the first doomed dog. I took to my closed-door room forbidding their presence until I left for nursing school.
In my own marriage we had a series of cats. They were good cats, as cats go, but because of my husband's military career it was difficult to provide a consistent environment. Over the years our housing ranged from apartments, to townhouses, to free standing houses. After a series of moves with our first two cats, who were around for the births of both of our sons, we left them in Texas with a lawyer who had a farm. They had become accustomed to moving freely indoors and out and our housing in Chicago would not accommodate those habits. Shades of my childhood hung over that decision.
Eventually, several years later, we succumbed and got a puppy. My younger son was five, had always been afraid of dogs, but out of the blue one day starting carrying around an imaginary puppy. Paul had a lot of anxiety resulting in many fears, but amazingly found ways to overcome most of them on his own. But the dog fear needed a little help so with the next move, a house with a yard and Paul's involvement, we began the search for the right dog.
My husband wasn't a dog person either so it was purely out of love for our child that we made the leap. Cassie was a Boykin Spaniel puppy, came highly recommended by our family vet, and was the perfect dog. Well almost. She had a digging problem, but also a burying problem. I had been drying clothes outside whenever the climate allowed, and Georgia was where nature and clothes drying collaborate well. However as Cassie grew, into a not very big dog mind you, she developed the habit of pulling clothes off the line and burying them. She was so accomplished that we rarely found the things she buried, up to and including adult sized white shirts. It was the dog or the clothes line and so I left off hanging out clothes. That was almost thirty years ago.
While she was a good size for a house dog what we didn't realize was that Cassie was from a hunting line. She would stay inside with her people in the evening but only sleep outside except in the coldest of weather. So after six years and a move to New York, where once again we would be living in army quarters with no yard, we left Cassie with my sister. The idea was that they would foster her and we would get her back when we moved to a more appropriate place. Two years later we returned to the same post only to realize we could not possibly reclaim our dog from our niece and nephew who has grown to love her as much as we did. I never visited my sister without that dog greeting me happily. It was my first real experience of dog love.
I have had several more dogs since Cassie. Sophie, a black lab who we acquired after I was followed on a run through our neighborhood one evening, and who lived to be sixteen. She stayed with my husband after our divorce just because she was so old. Charlotte, a chocolate lab, who came as a puppy when Sophie was twelve and rejuvenated that old dog to live another four years. Both have gone on to their reward. In my second marriage we have Snook, a nine year old American Water Spaniel who Al brought home while we were dating, and Ginger an English Cocker Spaniel who came as a christmas gift almost seven years ago. They are good dogs.
In our dog family I must include our sons' dogs because they have also been a part of our lives. Abby was my younger son's first dog after he married Anna. She was a spirited Golden Retriever who loved my first grandbaby when she was brought home six years ago. They have had many pets along with and after Abby, but now Finn fills Abby's collar; a foundling Golden he watches dutifully over their four children. I have enjoyed them all but it is Eli who has become a dog of my heart; the dog who finally cracked my resolve to never get attached to another pet.
Eli came to my older son Jay and his wife Millie one Saturday eight years ago. He was an odd mixture but very handsome and full of life. Eli moved with the kind of energy that made me smile from the day I met him until the last day I saw him. He always greeted me enthusiastically. Part beagle, Eli was a talker who would proceed to barking if you encouraged him at all. And my husband Al always encouraged him; me not so much.
Eli was a really good dog, the perfect dog for my son and his wife, but he was an incredible dog when it came to welcoming babies into the family. Five years ago when I stayed with one week old Kira for an hour so her parents could go out for a cup of coffee and feel some sense of normalcy, Eli stayed by my side every minute. Never taking his eyes off me or the baby he moved in tandem with me down the hall or into the kitchen. And that was just the beginning of Eli's call to duty.
For the next year, until Kira was crawling and began pulling on his ears or tail, Eli stayed by her side. He slept under her crib every night until one day, without fanfare, he moved back into the master bedroom where he had slept since he was a pup. When John came home from the hospital two years after Kira he began the vigil all over again. And again when Simon came home seventeen months after John. There wasn't much respite in the intervening months but that didn't matter to Eli. His duty was self-determined and he accepted it without complaint.
I think one of the most interesting things about those years was how little Eli seemed to sleep. If the babies were awake he was awake. If we were holding the babies while they slept he was awake by our side. He only seemed to sleep under their cribs when they were in them. Whenever I came to help he greeted me with his normal enthusiasm and then watched me like a hawk. His protective instincts seemed always on high alert and yet he never appeared threatening to any of us.
By the time I publish this Eli will have gone on to his next life. He has been diagnosed with a cancer so invasive that when the vet saw him last week his life expectancy was only about two weeks. He has probably been sick for a number of months but he has never complained. Declining gradually, it was hard to see that there was anything wrong until the last few weeks. It comes as a shock to all of us, but especially to my son and his wife, who thought they had years to bring a puppy into the home for Eli to train up in the ways of a good dog.
It is so like Eli to leave this way. Always steadfast, always reliably the same, it is hard to imagine a dog that could ever be as good as Eli. He accepted his responsibility quietly and happily. He loved all equally although I always sensed I was special to him. That's just the kind of dog he was, he made everyone feel special. But I think, hope, another dog will come into their life; one who will not be so responsible perhaps but who will teach the children about responsibility and help them remember Eli.
Go in peace Eli, wherever you are I hope you are barking up a storm and playing with old friends. And getting lots of good dog sleep, You have earned it little buddy.
