"Puppy Love"

 

      I am the quintessential dog lover.  I developed a severe case of "puppy love" as a child that I have never outgrown. At times, my helpless love has been known to border on the absurd.  Once as a child, my aunt and uncle brought me to a local 5 & dime to buy me a little gift.  I chose the most adorable dog bank that I had ever seen. The irresistible pup was similar in appearance to a Cocker Spaniel.  His "coat" was a deep tan suede, the color of moccasins.  He had long floppy ears, black marble eyes, and a....damaged nose.  My heart melted over the little inanimate canine, especially because of the white spot seated on the end of his snout, rather like a wart on a witch's nose. It elicited from me a tenderness which would not be denied.  My aunt and uncle tried to dissuade me, pointing out the damage, but I was adamant.  I was only five or six at the time, but even at that young age I was strong willed.  They relented, and I gleefully brought him home, and fawned over him for years.

     I am, admittedly, a "scaredy cat".   A few years back I worked in a rough neighborhood.  The business next door had a guard dog who was caged by day, only to be let out at night to patrol the grounds. By happenstance,  I looked out of my office window as a  young man with an intimidating appearance was tormenting  the trapped animal by poking him with a stick.  I didn't even think as I stormed outside and demanded that he leave the defenseless dog alone.  I don't know what went through his mind at the sight of me (madwoman, probably), but he quickly took flight. It was only afterward that I became nervous over the confrontation.  I felt a distinct measure of self satisfaction for having chased him, however.

     Over the course of my life, I have had a number of dogs as pets, each with their own distinct personality  and disposition.  When I was ten, a friend gave me a little tan puppy whom I named Lucky (he wasn't).  He was about a year old when, while I was walking him one day, he bit an unfortunate man who just happened to be walking towards us.  My mom subsequently took the dog to the pound and had him put down.  I was too young to understand her reasoning.  I felt the dog may have been protecting me, and I was inconsolable afterward.

    When I was eleven, my folks bought me a little white poodle, whom my father named Jan.  We had him for a year when my mom sold him because he was too high strung.  The man who purchased the dog was buying him for his...little girl.  I cried until my eyes were swollen shut.  My guilt ridden mother allowed me to stay home from school the following day.  Small consolation.

    When I was twelve, we acquired a mutt from a relative whose dog had pups.  My mom named her Rags.  I guess the third time is the charm, because this dog lasted.  She was a sweet little dog, whom we were blessed to have for eleven years, until she died from cancer.

     In my adult life, I have had three labs and one husky.  Two of the labs passed in 2004, and the husky, one year ago today.  I mourn for my dogs, all of them, including the dogs from my youth.

     My yellow lab, Holly, followed me everywhere.  She slept by my side of the bed, sat at my feet when I was on the sofa, and even waited patiently for me outside the bathroom door.  Brandy, the black lab, had the gentlest disposition ever.  My neurotic chocolate lab, Buddy,  is like my best friend.  We spend oodles of time together, walking, or cuddling on the love seat while I read, study, or watch movies.

    Years back, my next door neighbors brought home an Alaskan Malamute, and for me, it was love at first sight.  I would never have been happy until I had a "sled dog" of my own. Hence, we bought a husky whom I named  Aurora Borealis.  My Aurora was fluffy, beautifully regal in appearance, and somewhat aloof.  Her presence, along with Buddy, helped me retain my sanity during the course of my divorce. She was a good dog, whom I sorely miss.  The pain of her death is still raw, especially since it was so sudden.

     Buddy is over nine now.   I can see him slowing down, and moving more gingerly, as though arthritis has reared its ugly head.  My son keeps inquiring about when I will get another dog, intimating to me that "you know you can never live without one".  He knows me well!