I love dogs, less so cats. I had severe allergic reactions to cats when I was a kid and that has left me leery of interacting with them. This blog is about dogs. I’ll feature Golden Retrievers because my wife Carol and I currently happen to share a home with one.

The great thing about dogs is that, unlike me, they give to give rather than give to get.  I will withhold love when angry and sometimes only express appreciation when receiving something (a gift, money, a hug). Dogs I have lived with have seemed genuinely excited when I come home. 

Okay, not our current dog, Annie (I picked the name simply because I thought it was cute). Annie is a Golden and she’s the third dog who has shared our home in our 36 years of marriage. Carol and I don’t have any children so, like many other people (whether childless or not), our dogs have been our children.

Annie is 10 years old and rarely shows excitement about anything these days. Most of her time is spent lying outside the house or inside the house. When I come home, she opens her eyes, looks up from her prone position and follows me as I walk over to her, kneel down and stroke her fur. I love to nuzzle my face against her body, inhale her aroma and kiss her face. She doesn’t move during any of these ministrations. She tolerates me. I love her.

Annie’s face has turned white and her left hip is giving her trouble. Once she starts walking she’s fine, but slow. However, when she first gets up, she does so carefully and with obvious difficulty.

Annie has been experiencing this hip problem for about a year and her face started turning white two years earlier when she was eight. Walking Annie around our neighborhood in Tempe, Arizona was an ordeal for me. Passersby would ask Annie’s age and I would say, “8.”  They would give me a sympathetic look and express their concern that such a young dog would have a white face and a limp. I felt terrible and would dread that, “How old is she?” question.

After enduring this painful experience for several months, I hit on a solution. When I was asked Annie’s age, I would lie and say, “12.” Almost immediately, people would express their delight that such an old dog was walking so well. This caused me, if not Annie, to feel much better.

I can’t quite bring myself to adopt the same policy. I’m 61 and dye my hair in an attempt to look younger (friends tell me it works but, then again, they’re friends). I had enough angst when, at the age of 55, I asked for a senior ticket for the first time at a movie theatre (this was in Portland where the senior designation starts at 55). My wife encouraged me to do so and I was in despair when the teenager selling the tickets didn’t hesitate for a moment before giving me the ticket. He could at least have had the decency to ask to see my id.

As I’ve said, Annie is the third dog who has shared our home.  We put Sable, our first dog, a sheperd/collie mix (he had been abandoned in the neighborhood where I taught high school so we were never sure of his breed) “to sleep” (I hate that euphemism. The fact is we killed her, even though it was a mercy killing since she could no longer walk after 14 years). Our second dog, Katy, (abandoned at a rest stop on the highway and brought to us by a friend who found her) was put down after a stroke left her almost paralyzed. Katy, another shepherd/collie mix (we think) had loved us for eight years.  

My wife brought Annie home when she was only about nine weeks old. I came home from a business trip and, as I drove into the garage, I noticed a piece of white poster board pinned to the door leading from the garage into the house. I got out of the car and read what was on the poster board: “Close your eyes, put out your arms and a beautiful blond will give you a kiss.”

My wife is blond, so I assumed this was her creative way of welcoming me home. From behind the door, I heard Carol asking, “Are your eyes closed?”

I closed my eyes, the door opened and, the next thing I felt was a small bundle of fur being placed in my arms. I eyed this tiny package suspiciously as she did me. I’ve never owned a puppy and, therefore, never had to go through training a dog to “do its business” outside. Both Sable and Katy had come to us when they were about two years old, well past the house wetting stage. In fact, both dogs knew how to “sit” and “stay” when we got them.
 
There’s more to come in the adventures of Annie (the chewing of a complete room of carpeting, the competition for Annie’s love between me and a jar of peanut butter. You know, standard stuff) but I’ll stop here and carry on in another posting. I’d love to hear your stories.

Thanks for visiting and allowing me to share the love.