We have two dogs. They were mine, before Brian and I decided to walk down life's path together. They're big. I grew up with pets. My siblings say it was because I was the youngest, and thus spoiled (they never got to have pets). I had dogs, rabbits, birds, squirrels (only until they were old enough to release; they had fallen out of their tree during a really big rain storm), parakeets, a cockatiel, fish, a gerbil... I've always liked reptiles but couldn't handle the tub o' crickets in the fridge or mouse corpse in the freezer aspect of owning reptiles. So none of them, although I did get my herpetology fix by taking a 3 week intensive in the Ozarks that earned me 4 biology hours and had us tramping along paths, lifting logs and rocks, going through caves, trying to find snakes, salamanders and the like. Loads of fun.
Anyway, back to the dogs. I used to let the dog or dogs in my life (I've had one, two, and three dogs at a time) sleep on the bed with me. In college, when I had 3 dogs, I used to change my sheets
every day because of the dog hair. Call me a freak, whatever - my pets have always made a difference in my life, like they take dogs to hospitals to cheer up patients these days. I mean, they never made
any demands (particularly dogs). OK, walk 'em, feed' em, clean up the poop, whatever. But no matter what grades you got, what chore you had forgotten to do, how many books you had to pay the 5 cent late library fee on, whatever, they loved you. Bad hair day? Are you kidding? Have you seen the mats I have behind my ears, and this really gnarly one on my tummy? Good mood? Great, let's go take a walk. You know that place I like, the one with the ducks and the trees and the water I fall into sometimes. Feeling blue? No problem. My rubber ball with do the trick. It's a little slobbery and has teeth marks all over it that have kind of made it rough instead of smooth, but it's a great mood-lifter. Try it, really, here it is. Oh, you don't want to chew on my rubber ball? OK. Would you mind throwing it then, just once or twice? You know, so you can get the feel of it again, for when you do it 200 times later this afternoon. Brian read somewhere that husbands are portable sources of heat that snore. We came up with one, that dogs are portable sources of love that shed. Dogs love. Unerringly. Unquestioningly. And it's awesome. But some people aren't pet people, or dog people. Either you get it or you don't, but for me and now Brian, who didn't grow up with dogs or pets - his mom didn't like pets and he says they were lucky to have fish - takes care of the dogs all the time, they're great.
Anyway, years ago, actually, toward the end of college, I realized changing my sheets every day was ridiculous. At least for me. A little to much closeness. So, I trained the dogs not to get on the bed or the sofa, except upon direct invitation from me (or another appropriate authority figure). And that's kind of been the policy ever since.
Here, the dogs don't get on to the sofas or the bed in the house, although they're generally allowed wherever they feel like on the front porch seating area. When we're not around, they do sometimes sneak onto one of the sofas in front of the windows, because they're trying to look out the windows and step up on the sofas. They get in trouble, though, and the little sneaks know not to do it when we're around.
But last night, I called them up on the bed. If Brian and I could have actually managed to sleep, they would have probably slept all night on the bed. But they tend to sleep horizontally on the bed, taking up 3 times the space they could if they just cared about sharing the bed in a non-piled up fashion. Meaning, they don't mind piles, legs resting on top of them, whatever, but it's less comfortable for those of us used to sleeping on a flat and not lumpy, bumpy puppy surface. Besides, we can't curl around and rest around noses on our toes quite as easily, so forming a puppy pile is a little harder for us.
I'm beating around the bush, because I don't want to type what I need to type. So, as I was saying, we needed to feel the dogs close to us, warm, breathing, shedding everywhere, and hogging the bed. We were supposed to have friends, Scott and Aric, over for dinner last night. I accidentally had my phone on "silent" yesterday. When they were unusually late, I went over to look at my phone, knowing that they would have at least called by then to say they were running late. I had missed ten calls from them. Their dogs got out of the yard. One of them, Bogey, this crazy, high-spirited, high-energy poodle, was hit and killed yesterday afternoon. The other was missing until someone reported him found at the Humane Society, and, thankfully, could be brought safely back home. Scott had to throw away what he was wearing because there was so much blood on his clothes.
We had a significant amount of food prepared for our dinner with them, and there were other friends over at their house, so we took it all over there and were able to share with them, grieve with them, be with them. The house was so quiet without Bogey, really. He was the kind of dog that would run around and around and then flop over asleep like a mop, not to move again until morning. It was really funny.
And then, we came home and hugged our dogs, and felt how warm they are and got dog hair on the sheets again. And this morning, snuggled together with them again, and prayed together for our friends. This time, they climbed into the bed so that we were all lined up, like 4 kids under one big blanket. Well, Brian and I prayed, and the dogs snuggled between us. But they added their doggie kharma, too.
They Will Not Go Quietly
They will not go quietly,
the dogs that shared our lives.
In subtle ways they let us know
their spirit still survives.
Old habits still make us think
we hear a barking at the door.
Or step back when we drop
a tasty morsel on the floor.
Our feet still go around the place
the food dish used to be,
And sometimes, coming home at night,
we miss them terribly.
And although time may bring new friends
and a new food dish to fill,
That one place in our hearts
belongs to them...
and always will.
Linda Barnes
