The Wisdom of Dogs

If you have the time for a pet, I recommend a dog.  We had a dog.  He was a pound puppy.  By the time he reached two years old, he weighed in a one hundred and ten pounds.  He was a cross between a German Shepard and a Doberman.  He was quite handsome.  His name was Robbie.  Not my choice.  Mom called him "Doggie".  He had his own special relationship with each individual in our household.  It fascinated me to watch the differences in his interactions with each of us.

Mom was Mom, even to Doggie.  For her he did his special leaping dance.  He would bound up to her feet, whether she was sitting or standing, then leap straight up in the air, twist mid-air and take off toward the nearest door to the outside.  Just before he would make his leap, he would verbalize.  It sounded almost like a cross between a bark and a yodel and there were times when I could have sworn it sounds as though he was saying, "Mom!".  He was able to communicate his needs to her with an astounding degree of accuracy.  With her he was gentle and soft-spoken.

His relationship with MaryBeth, the youngest in our household, was a little like a devoted younger brother.  He was her shadow and her pillow.  He would listen to her speeches and her tales of trouble or adventure.  He listened intently to her instructions and obeyed them most of the time.

Bob, MaryBeth's dad, and the one who brought Doggie to us, had a more traditional "master-pet" relationship.  He played with Doggie and took care of bathing and exercising him.  They did all the rough-housing together.

The relationship between Doggie and myself was more that of comrades.  When the rest of the household was asleep, Doggie would join me to watch television and just "hang".  Sometimes he would come and rest his big head on my lap, pressing gently, but firmly to get my attention.  Then he would look up at me me with those huge, liquid brown eyes.  He furrowed his forehead and I could swear he was trying to tell me that everything would be okay.  Robbie/Doggie died of cancer just shy of what we believed was his tenth birthday.  Although he has been gone for nearly two years, there are times when I swear I hear his toenails clatter on the tile floor and the jingle of his neck tags.