M Is For...

Memorial:  something designed to keep remembrance alive.  Those of us who love our dogs (cats, hamsters, lizards...pets) can list the names and attributes of every single one with whom we've shared our lives.  It takes nothing away from my affection for Bessie Anne or any of my other beloved dogs when I talk about Dogie.  Dogie was just special, a once-in-a-lifetime dog.

When we bought this place, the sellers had two dogs; a little, inside rat-dog (who had ruined the carpet in every room in the house) and a medium-large mongrel who lived outside.  The sellers asked if I wanted the mongrel because, one way or the other, they weren't going to take the dog with them.  Four years old, she was literally a throw-away dog.  I've never understood that; they'd raised her from a puppy.  Maybe that explains why her name was D-O-G...she didn't even have a real name.  I was working two jobs at the time and facing a three-hour commute, but I knew I'd be spending a lot of time alone here; Steve was also working long hours.  It would be a good idea to have a dog who was familiar with the place for company and protection.  D-O-G was entertaining gentlemen callers at the time.  My work hours would preclude taking care of puppies.  I said we'd take the dog if they'd have her spayed and let her recover while the house was going through escrow and they agreed.

Steve moved up here a couple of weeks before me, living in our trailer while he readied the house.  He spouted a lot of rules for this dog, whom we had renamed Dogie (close enough not to confuse her, but with a little more dignity).  She was going to "do this" and not "do that."  I would get daily reports, and it was pretty obvious from the git-go that she was worming her way into his heart.  The "outside" dog had moved into the trailer, was sharing his breakfast toast, and he kept saying how smart she was.

I had an inside cat, Victor, who had never had to share space with any other animal and thought he was the king.  He took one look at the dog and stayed under the bed for a month.  It was Dogie who patiently taught him that they could co-exist.  Never before allowed in the house, she never had an accident.  Dogie was the ultimate hostess, greeting guests with decorum, making sure they were comfortable in her presence.  The only time she showed aggression was if anyone was wearing a black hat.  Somewhere in her history, she had been mistreated by someone wearing a black hat.  A friend she knew well drove up one day wearing a black ten-gallon hat and she wouldn't let him out of the truck until he took it off.  I trusted her instincts implicitly.  A repairman came and Dogie started a low growl in the back of her throat, following him from room to room.  I kept her with me until he left.  She never did that before nor after, but I trusted her.

Dogie had never ridden in a car before, and her first experience was a long trip to a family reunion.  She loved it!  She liked to ride in the back seat like a queen with a chauffeur.  The jingle of car keys was enough to get her excited, and I'll admit there were times we'd get in the car and I'd drive around the driveway just to please her.  She claimed the shotgun seat when my granddaughter was visiting and wouldn't budge.  After all, it was her car!

She picked up every trick Steve taught her and loved to show off.  Dogie would take nothing that wasn't hers.  I bought big boxes of dog biscuits and could leave them open on the floor, knowing she would wait.  However, she was a hoarder, hiding a stash so she could have one when she wanted.  She would con my friend Dolly into giving her several in succession, but then would hide them under Dolly's pillow.  Dogie could get five big dog biscuits into her mouth at one time, and kept trying for six.  Once Dolly told Dogie no, she'd already had enough.  Dogie went and got one from her stash and came and ate it at Dolly's feet.  "There, take that!"

Dogie didn't walk...she danced.  She danced her way into everyone's heart.  Many of our friends who had beloved dogs of their own would sing Dogie's praises.  She was just that kind of dog.