God is doG spelled backward
Far back as I can remember our family has been owned by dogs. Before I developed lucid thought (Some will argue I’ve yet to achieve such a thing), I vaguely remember a cocker spaniel, but its name and fate remain an ageless mystery. In grade school or maybe before, my oldest sister acquired a chihuahua mix expertly named - Floppy. as I entered my teen years, a wonderful purebred collie came to own me. He and I traveled the countryside together. We swam in creeks and ponds together. She snuggled with me and kept me safe, but failed to keep me out of trouble (I was a teenager). Sadly Lassie was hit on the highway one Christmas Eve. Dad kept the news from me for several weeks. I still miss the old girl.
I experimented with being owned by a Marmalade cat with another original name - Tigger. Two horses also tried me out, Babe, a Quarterhouse barrel racer and Smokey, a sleek, mostly gray, Appaloosa. Nevertheless, I missed the cockeyed relationship one has with canines. It wasn’t until I was out of the Marines and met my wife that I renewed that relationship. It started with a little Valentine’s Day ball of fluff. More on that pup in just a minute.
First, What is it about dogs that holds our hearts for ransom? Is it their luxuriant fur? Their eyes? Their clowning around? Naw, it’s got a whole lot more to do with their wagging tails. Certainly not the slobber, the shedding or the occaisonal accident. Ahhh, wait, I know what it is ... It’s unconditional love. It’s no accident that God spelled backward is doG. For if God is love, and that is what I’ve grown up believing, than dogs are the epitome of His/Her love. Once a dog comes to own you, he or she enters into religious devotion to you. Yes, of course we feed our dogs, provide them a place to sleep, walk them, play with them and see to their medical needs. It’s the very least we can do in exchange for their incredible devotion. To me it’s not a question as to whether or not we domesticated dogs. I know what happened. They domesticated us.
Once I was married I brought my wife that little Valentine’s Day ball of fluff. He was a tiny West Highland Terrier, so tiny was he, that he fit in the palm of my hand. Stupid as we were we thought he’d sleep in another room. He soon set us right. We named him Philbert J. Chuffnuts. He brought us and our children no end of joy. Unfortunately he came to a horrible end. Blind and deaf, he wandered into our decorative pond and drowned while we played cards with our neighbors. I’ll never forgive myself.
Shortly after losing Philbert, we got Calvin, a wiggly black lab pup for my son. We named him after our son’s favorite cartoon, Calvin and Hobbes. For our daughter we got Cookie Dough, a black and white kitten ... we’ve regretted it ever since. Our son joined the Marines so we were necessarilly adopted by Calvin, who became “Big C” to us, and our much beloved, mellow, old man. Cookie Dough turned out to be the cat from hell. She stalked and bit not only her family but many visitors to our house. Her bite very nearly cost our daughter her hand. Needless to say, our daughter became a dog person.
Calvin was not our last black lab, he was followed by Bunny and then by B.P. (Bunny’s Pet) otherwise known as Beep. Both were what we call throw-away, hybrid pups. Unwanted until they found their forever home with us. Bunny was slender and cautious and absolutely devoted to me. B. P. was shorter and rounder and devoted to my wife. He was also the most skilled stalker of ground hogs and squirrels I have ever seen … that is until Bert came along to ruin his hunts.
The joys of dogs, I will admit, come with related sorrows. Remember the sad passings of Lassie and Philbert? Floppy once tangled with a muskrat and had the scars to prove it. Big C tangled with a copperhead and had his snout swollen to the size of a football. Bunny and Bert, one of our current furry kids, took on pit bulls both carried scars to remind them of what not to do. Poor Bunny suffered with such excruciating pancreatitus that it made me weep. And in the end, our furry friends lead short lives that often lead to brittle bones and the necessary needle to end their suffering. Calvin, Bunny and Beep all died in my lap and I dread such future experiences.
Our current canine friends were also throw-aways obtained from the Humane Society. Bert, whose full (ridiculous) name is Roberta, happens to be - don’t laugh - a Jack Russel / bassethound mix. While Fidget is a mystery, to the best of our knowledge, is a dalmation & pit mix. Bert is an independent girl, a food hound and boss of the house. Fidget is a nervous, needy boy who requires constant attention from anyone at all times. We’ve nicknamed him our dog whore.
Why do we spend our time, money and effort on dogs. Because we were made for them, because we fulfill them and they fulfill us. THey love us and we love them. Thank God for doGs. And God, please, let them live just a wee bit longer. Amen.