(no subject)
He did not like me. That was abundantly clear.
While I'm sure not everyone in my life has liked me, this bothered me. Not just that he disliked me, but that he was so adamant about it. Oh sure, he was cooperative, would do what I asked, even did it with a smile.
But he just did not like me.
Someone said to me, "It's not that he doesn't like you, he just doesn't trust you." Ok, that made sense, we barely knew each other. I did everything I could to earn his trust, yet he was still hesitant to trust me, to like me.
Then finally one day, when my family and I thought it was just not meant to be, he rolled over on his back and allowed me to scratch his tummy.
We were friends from that day forward.
Smokey came to us from a friend, the same friend who gave us Abby. He was a pup, yet he was house trained and if you said, "Smokey, kennel" off he would go, eagerly. Even if we were outside and his kennel inside. Though that did often confuse him...
I liked to say he was the smartest dumb dog ever. All he wanted to do was please you, even if he didn't know how to do that. He'd get a look on his face, and would step one direction, then the other. "This way, dad? No? Ok, how 'bout this way? No? Ok, how 'bout I just back up under your legs and hope for the best?" And so he would.
He loved people, and loved other animals. He would go racing for the door at the slightest sound, and his bark was louder than most military incursions. His short legs and smiling face were anathema to the sounds he produced. I now think he wasn't so much alerting us to impending invasions, but rather saying, "I'm here! I'm here! Come see me and love me." And how could you not? It was because of his vociferousness that he would become our Main Dog, and Abby the Emergency Back Up Dog.
When he was a pup, a real pup of only 2 or so, we would play "peekaboo" on top of the bed. I would pull the comforter over my head and he would paw at me. I threw the comforter back and he ran from the room at the speed of silliness....then he came charging back for more, a giant grin spread across his face that said, "This is the best thing ever."
And my God, did he love beaver. He had a few toys...a tennis ball, a chew toy, but he loved the beaver squeak toy. And every morning before I left for school, we would play fetch. Standing in the living room, I would throw the toy and he would make a mad dash across the wooden floor, across the kitchen floor, sometimes smacking in to the cabinets. Always he would come trotting back, happily, faithfully...beaver in his mouth. Dropping it at my feet, his face split in a grin that said, "This is the best thing ever."
That's right. He chased beaver.
He was a very funny, affectionate dog, but rarely would he show me that affection. That was reserved for the mama, no matter what. No matter how much praise I gave him, how many treats I gave him, the kisses were reserved for Gretchen. Even after we divorced. She would come to visit and received a sloppy, wet reception. I gave him eggs and cheese and chicken and potato chips and treats and toys and...and so on. My reward was the oppressive thump of his tail.
Ah yes, the Tail o' Doom. No dog, no animal, no human was safe from his tail. It was as long as his body, and strong enough to make Superman cry. There were instances his tail would hit something, and he would bark because he thought an intruder or visitor was near.
One of the funniest things I have ever seen any animal do(and I've spent my fair share of time watching animal videos on the internet) was something he did. This was after Gretchen and I had divorced. I was downstairs, in my man cave, surfing the web and and watching late night TV. At this time, he had been relegated to Emergency Back Up Dog, a role I think he preferred. Boone was/is the Main Dog, and Baby the Primary Food Receiver. Baby and Boone would sleep in the bedroom with me, but Smokey preferred the couch in the living room. Always at the same end, the same spot.
We were all downstairs. Baby and Boone curled up on the loveseat behind me, and Smokey in his kennel. This was of his own choosing, and the door was open. He loved the safety, the security of his kennel, even when he didn't have to be there. It was his dogcave, if you will. Another way that we were very much alike....
Anyway....
I sat a my desk, watching Letterman or Conan or somesuch. The girls(Baby and Boone) were behind me, snoring. Slowly, ever so s l o w l y, Smokey tip toed across the basement floor. He got to the foot of the steps and stopped. I could see him out of the corner of my eyes, and HIS eyes darted my direction, trying to decipher my own awareness. I froze. He placed one paw on the bottom step, then another...his eyes darted one way, then back to me. I sat perfectly still. He took one step, then another...and then sneakily, secretly, he trotted up the steps to find his spot on the couch.
He grew older. He lost a step, then another. Finally, last Wednesday, he left. He went home to see Abby, to be free of any pain and discomfort old age brings. He took with him love, so much love, as much love any dog can have. And now his ashes sit next to Abby's ashes, still feeling that love.
But I think somewhere, he is once again chasing beaver...
While I'm sure not everyone in my life has liked me, this bothered me. Not just that he disliked me, but that he was so adamant about it. Oh sure, he was cooperative, would do what I asked, even did it with a smile.
But he just did not like me.
Someone said to me, "It's not that he doesn't like you, he just doesn't trust you." Ok, that made sense, we barely knew each other. I did everything I could to earn his trust, yet he was still hesitant to trust me, to like me.
Then finally one day, when my family and I thought it was just not meant to be, he rolled over on his back and allowed me to scratch his tummy.
We were friends from that day forward.
Smokey came to us from a friend, the same friend who gave us Abby. He was a pup, yet he was house trained and if you said, "Smokey, kennel" off he would go, eagerly. Even if we were outside and his kennel inside. Though that did often confuse him...
I liked to say he was the smartest dumb dog ever. All he wanted to do was please you, even if he didn't know how to do that. He'd get a look on his face, and would step one direction, then the other. "This way, dad? No? Ok, how 'bout this way? No? Ok, how 'bout I just back up under your legs and hope for the best?" And so he would.
He loved people, and loved other animals. He would go racing for the door at the slightest sound, and his bark was louder than most military incursions. His short legs and smiling face were anathema to the sounds he produced. I now think he wasn't so much alerting us to impending invasions, but rather saying, "I'm here! I'm here! Come see me and love me." And how could you not? It was because of his vociferousness that he would become our Main Dog, and Abby the Emergency Back Up Dog.
When he was a pup, a real pup of only 2 or so, we would play "peekaboo" on top of the bed. I would pull the comforter over my head and he would paw at me. I threw the comforter back and he ran from the room at the speed of silliness....then he came charging back for more, a giant grin spread across his face that said, "This is the best thing ever."
And my God, did he love beaver. He had a few toys...a tennis ball, a chew toy, but he loved the beaver squeak toy. And every morning before I left for school, we would play fetch. Standing in the living room, I would throw the toy and he would make a mad dash across the wooden floor, across the kitchen floor, sometimes smacking in to the cabinets. Always he would come trotting back, happily, faithfully...beaver in his mouth. Dropping it at my feet, his face split in a grin that said, "This is the best thing ever."
That's right. He chased beaver.
He was a very funny, affectionate dog, but rarely would he show me that affection. That was reserved for the mama, no matter what. No matter how much praise I gave him, how many treats I gave him, the kisses were reserved for Gretchen. Even after we divorced. She would come to visit and received a sloppy, wet reception. I gave him eggs and cheese and chicken and potato chips and treats and toys and...and so on. My reward was the oppressive thump of his tail.
Ah yes, the Tail o' Doom. No dog, no animal, no human was safe from his tail. It was as long as his body, and strong enough to make Superman cry. There were instances his tail would hit something, and he would bark because he thought an intruder or visitor was near.
One of the funniest things I have ever seen any animal do(and I've spent my fair share of time watching animal videos on the internet) was something he did. This was after Gretchen and I had divorced. I was downstairs, in my man cave, surfing the web and and watching late night TV. At this time, he had been relegated to Emergency Back Up Dog, a role I think he preferred. Boone was/is the Main Dog, and Baby the Primary Food Receiver. Baby and Boone would sleep in the bedroom with me, but Smokey preferred the couch in the living room. Always at the same end, the same spot.
We were all downstairs. Baby and Boone curled up on the loveseat behind me, and Smokey in his kennel. This was of his own choosing, and the door was open. He loved the safety, the security of his kennel, even when he didn't have to be there. It was his dogcave, if you will. Another way that we were very much alike....
Anyway....
I sat a my desk, watching Letterman or Conan or somesuch. The girls(Baby and Boone) were behind me, snoring. Slowly, ever so s l o w l y, Smokey tip toed across the basement floor. He got to the foot of the steps and stopped. I could see him out of the corner of my eyes, and HIS eyes darted my direction, trying to decipher my own awareness. I froze. He placed one paw on the bottom step, then another...his eyes darted one way, then back to me. I sat perfectly still. He took one step, then another...and then sneakily, secretly, he trotted up the steps to find his spot on the couch.
He grew older. He lost a step, then another. Finally, last Wednesday, he left. He went home to see Abby, to be free of any pain and discomfort old age brings. He took with him love, so much love, as much love any dog can have. And now his ashes sit next to Abby's ashes, still feeling that love.
But I think somewhere, he is once again chasing beaver...