Doggone it!

Dusty (sweet and gentle) and Rocky (arrogant)1980's

Goofy Willy and Smart Buffy 1969 in Alaska

My friend, Gerry, is mourning the loss of his twelve year old Golden Retriever. I know that heartbroken feeling; the pain goes deep and it feels like it will never end. Dogs are not just our pets and companions, they are family. I just heard of a recent survey. Seventy percent of the respondents said that if they had to choose one, they preferred their dog to their mate.

I've had four dogs. Dusty, a mixed Springer Spaniel, was my baby. I got her when I was a newlywed. She went blind at fifteen but could find me anywhere in the house when I peeled an orange. She loved oranges and had a receptive vocabulary equal to a toddler's. She behaved better than my kids.


Willy was a goofy overgrown hound pup who stole (among other things)a neighbor's bra off the clothes line in Alaska. He was part Mackenzie River Husky which meant he had some wolf in his lineage, but mostly he was ruled by his comical hound dog genes and he was always getting into trouble. (He was really my ex-husband's dog.)

Buffy was my sweet girl. Her mom was a white poodle and her dad a husky, her litter was an oops! My friend and I were walking through the woods. We passed a homestead. We saw a big truck tire on the ground encircling a litter of pups. The owner was hawking the puppies. Most of them were brown or black or a blending of colors with curly hair and round little faces. One was smaller with husky facial markings, a pointed nose and Benji wirey hair. She looked like she had on thick black, mascara. My friend said, "Get this one and name her Buffalo." A free roaming buffalo herd traveresed our road at night. I called her Buffy. When she got older, she and Willy would wander off into the Alaska wilderness and often she would return home alone, so I'd send her back out to get him. She'd bring him home about the time that the sun slid down the back side of the mountain. She was so intelligent. Willy, not so much. (He was my ex-husband's dog.)

Rocky was a little black and white weirdo who chased flies on the patio for hours. The vet thought he was a bit 'touched'. (He was my ex's dog.) I came by him (the dog) most unexpectedly. My friend's dad was retiring from Anheuser Busch Brewery. She got this cute six week old little bundle of furry hyper-energy and named him Bud. She packaged him cuter than a Bud Light, put a bow on him and said, "Surprise Dad, this Bud's for you." Her dad said, "That's what YOU think. I've had enough Bud, Busch and everything else. I'm retired."

Each of these dogs had unique personalities; the females were smart. They were MY dogs. The males were testosterone driven because my ex didn't want to take away their ahem, manhood. My heart broke each time I lost one of them; they were family. Unless you are a dog owner or have been owned by a dog, you cannot imagine the depth of love, the connection and attachment a human can have with an animal. My sympathy goes out to Gerry and Mary Lee.

Years ago when my first granddaughter was four, we went through the bank drive through. Ashley was a little blonde cutie, who wore her hair in a thick pony tail. The teller sent the pneumatic tube on its way and said, "Thank you. Here's something for your little honey."

Ashley said, "That's me!" and flipped her blonde pony tail. She heard the clunk as the machine spat out the tube and she shouted, "A sucker for me!" I opened it up and out fell a dog biscuit. You should have seen the looks on our faces. I guess from five lanes away, her hair shaking from side to side resembled a dog's tail.

Special dog in your life?
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