In 57 years of marriage, Flo and I have had a number of dogs. As a child growing up, I never had one. We had a variety of other animals: gold fish, hamsters and even a cat, but no dogs. My mother didn’t like them. Case closed. Flo, on the other hand, had a lovable old hound, Jafe by name (first initials of three girlfriends, don’t ask).
For our first year of marriage, we were dogless. After a year, we bought a house. Shortly after, I came home one night from work, and we had a newly weaned beagle puppy. I got to name him Claude, after a first cousin I basically couldn’t stand (oh well). To say I was not tempermentally ready for a dog would be an undertatement. Claude was central casting’s perfect image of a purebred beagle. Unfortunately, his first love was for the fields. He was a champion escape artist (we had another one later – tell you all about it). On at least one of Claude’s escapades, he was kidnapped for about a week, before we got an (anonymous) phone call (don’t want to get involved or anything) telling us where he was. We got him back; shortly after, Uncle Sam transferred us to DC. After a few more escapes, we gave up and gave him to a couple with a farm. Plenty of room to run.
We were not long w/o a dog before Flo visited the local dog pound and adopted a german shepherd female we named Grandi. She was everything Claude never was for us: faithful, loving and protective. By that time, we had a son and daughter, and we had to getsome other animals: a hamster and two cats. Grandi coexisted with all of them. As Ed, our son-in-law has observed, the worst thing about dogs is they don’t live long enough. When Grandi developed severe hip displasure at life’s end, Jen took her out several times daily with a towel to prop up her hindquarters, for about 2 weeks. Finally, we faced the inevitable and had her euthanized.
Once again to the pound to get a large male mutt. Sidney we called him. Sid liked to get away once in awhile. His MO was to burrow under the chain link fence in our backyard. I was constantly trying to escape-proof the yard, including a locking mechanism fitted to a gate. After I had finished these modifications, my next door neighbor observed, “Roger, if he figures this one out, sell him to a circus”. Sid did have another quirk: he was a “fear biter”. He often hid under the dining room table. If you dared to place your hand under the table, he would growl, fearsomely. Well, your hand shouldn’t be under the table, anyway. He was also a problem solver. Did he need water? He would place his water dish under the tap (never did figure out how to turn it on, though. That would have had him sold to a circus).
One practical use for Sid was as shotgun (and potential protector?) for the Deputy Lab Director of DEA’s Mid-Atlantic Lab in (not quite) downtown DC. The facility was located in a really bad neighborhood. Street people would try to enter after hours, and would often set off the alarms. I would have to cruise into the breech to investigate the possible cause of the alarm. At Flo’s instance, Sid would ride in with me. Fortunately, none of these break-ins ever materialized, but it felt good to have my 140- pound fear biter at my side.
After the inevitable happened to Sid, we moved. Our local PetSmart held an adoption one Saturday; of course, Flo went. She found a female border collie mix. They also featured a black lab female. Who they threatened to euthanize. Couldn’t let that happen. We adopted both. With apologies to the late Bill Haley, we adopted two hound dogs named Rhythm ‘n Blues (only we called them Heather ‘n Jill). Heather, the border collie, was one smart dog – too smart for her own good, and too smart for us. She was an escape artist. Just loved to roam. Whether Jill felt the same, we never knew, but she faithfully followed Heather’s lead. Every time. Once, they had been gone for about a week; when I opened our front door, there was Jill! Shortly after, Heather appeared. Don’t know where they went. Will never know. Heather eventually died. Jill lasted about four more months.
Save the best for last. We got Bella, a female Golden Retriever from a “breeder”. She was the runt of the litter, spent most of her time in a small cage in a remote part of the property. Although almost a year old, she weighed about 35 pounds soaking wet, and had experienced zero socialization. Since we were getting her from a breeder, we paid about a grand. Within a day or so, we had her examined by a doggie cardiologist, (ka ching, ka ching) who blew the whistle on the breeder and told them not to cash our check. Over time, Bella became a beloved part of the family. Although we have spent lots of money on vet bills, she is healthy (pretty much), intelligent, and for my money, the best one we’ve had. She is almost 10, and likely to be the last we’ll ever have.
Then there are the granddogs. Midas was Ed’s dog when he married Jen. A yellow Lab, he was the sweetest dog. And very bright. He passed away too young, of cancer. Having had good luck with the breed, they acquired Nelson (also a yellow lab male, named for a British admiral). Also a good dog. Currently, they have a black Lab named Halsey (this time for an American flag officer, World War II vintage). Davis, our grandson, has grown up with these guys. Lucky for him!
Rogernarc 