Life is all about people entering and exiting our lives. Our personal stories are filled with the influences of individuals who impacted us for either good or bad. Things tend to only have meaning by association with events or people who impacted us. Pets, on the other hand, are as integral to our histories as our relationships with humans. So it is that certain dogs have brought profound comfort to me in the toughest of times.
There was the stray dog that we called Whitey who showed up on our front porch shortly after my father had died. We were a devastated group filled with fears that we had never before experienced. Somehow without Daddy we felt anxious and unmoored. Whitey was like a guardian angel sent from heaven itself. We saw him as a protector who would lie at our front door during the dark of night as though understanding that we needed his vigilance to feel safe again. We searched for his owners to no avail and began to believe that he was our dog, sent from heaven maybe even by our Daddy.
We transitioned Whitey to the backyard behind a fence and played with him during the day. He no longer roamed the neighborhood as he had once done. He became part of our family rather quickly distracting us from the sorrow that blanketed us. We got better under his watchful care. He was a kind of panacea for our woes. Then one day he was gone as quickly as he had come to us. Our mother opined that he must have found someone who needed him more than we did. We would never forget him.
Once we were settled in the home where each of us would grow up surrounded by wonderful neighbors we once again longed for a pet, another dog. We went to a rescue shelter with our mother and fell in love with a collie named Buddy. He was already well trained and ready to be our new best friend. He was gentle with us and with all of our friends. He instantly became a neighborhood favorite.
There was something wild about Buddy that explained how he may have ended up in a shelter. He liked to climb the chain link fence and stroll around the neighborhood. He’d visit with the people and the dogs and then return when he was tired or hungry. We never worried when he was gone because we knew that he was just exploring.
As we grew older so did Buddy. One day he was gray and no longer able to take his strolls up and down the street. We found him lying under the shade of a fig tree barely able to lift his head. I was dating my future husband, Mike, by then and the two of us carried Buddy to the car and drove to see his vet. There was nothing the good doctor could do, so I reluctantly agreed to putting the faithful pup to sleep.
After Mike and I married and settled into a house with a big backyard we decided to get a dog for our two little girls. We visited the local SPCA and found a golden retriever named Red. She was beautiful and as sweet as any golden ever was. She had a sixth sense about loving and protecting us just as that variety of dogs was bred to be by Sir Dudley Marjoribanks of Scotland in 1868.
Red met every criteria of a wonderful golden. She was calm and patient with all of the children and she loved to fetch things. She was protective as well. The only time I ever saw her become aggressive was when I was working in my backyard garden and a group of men arrived claiming to need access. They asked me to unlock the gate so that they might enter but Red would have nothing to do with them. Each time I attempted to approach to gate, Red forcefully pushed me back. When the men tried the latch she lunged at them with her teeth bared and a threatening growl. Somehow she sensed that they were up to no good and sent them away.
Red lived to a very ripe old age in dog years. Her golden coat turned gray then white. She moved slowly like an old lady. One day much like Buddy she simply gave up and lay in a heap unable and unwilling to move.
We would miss Red so terribly that our daughters became convinced that the only way to comfort us was by finding a new golden retriever. They found an advertisement for puppies in the want ads of the Houston Chronicle. We drove to a home in Katy, Texas to select a pup from a very large brood. One of the little dogs clamored over the others as though to let us know that she was anxious to be part of our family. We took to her immediately and knew that she had to come home with us.
We named her Scarlet and often joked that she had a personality like Scarlet O’Hara. She was strong willed and beautiful, sometimes determined to do things her way. Nonetheless she possessed the best characteristics of her breed. She seemed to read our minds, knowing when we needed a snuggle or a kiss with her warm muzzle. On one occasion she served as a sentinel when I contracted the bird flu and had fevers raging as high as one hundred three degrees. I was sleeping most of the day and whenever I awoke Scarlet would be patiently lying next to the bed.
Just as with Buddy and Red, Scarlet lived a long and wonderful life. She developed cancer which we treated for quite some time but eventually she grew weaker and the vet told us that she had given us all that she had left. We reluctantly let her cross the rainbow bridge to meet with all the angel dogs who had ever brought so much joy to their keepers.
I have mostly been a dog sitter for my granddogs these days. I’ve enjoyed time with Maggie, Shane, Lucy, Cooper, Stella, Luna, Hermione, and Mercury. I have spoiled them like a grandmother is apt to do. Mostly I have enjoyed how bright and loving they have been. Dogs are good friends, loving children who never ask much of us but always give to us so unconditionally. I can’t imagine what we would do without them.
All It Takes Is A Little Love 