Ode to a dog

I buried a dog the other day. Have you ever kinda loved and resented something at the same time? That was how I felt about this dog. He was affectionate, adorable, and reasonably well behaved, but he was also forced into my life, which led to the resentment.

You see, about 12 years ago, I was living a life of codependent bliss with the woman I would eventually become unhappily married to. Because I'm a low-income redneck, I'm technically still married to the sociopathic devil, but we haven't seen each other or shared friendly words in about 8 years now, and that's all off-topic anyway. The relevant part of the story is that about 12 years ago, my significant other lost her beloved english bulldog to old age. It was a sad time for HER, and for US, but a somewhat happy time for ME, because I'd been promised that I was finally going to get to actually pick the dog I wanted to fill the space left in our household.

Like most promises from that woman, that one was rescinded shortly after it was made.

I know a few things about training dogs, and had wanted a bloodhound to train as a tracker for years. The idea that I was finally going to get one filled me with excitement. I could barely contain my jubilation, as my search for the perfect canine companion (my first in over 10 years!) began.

In just a couple weeks, I had found 4 viable candidates. All rescue dogs, but young enough to still easily work with. All within just a few hours of travel from our home. I picked up my phone, to begin making calls to set up times to see the animals, and it rang.

It was my (soon to be) oldest stepdaughter. I thought it was odd that she would call; she was from the 'text' generation. I had traded my flip phone for a smart phone just so I could communicate with her efficiently. Slightly worried, I answered.

'What's up kiddo?'

Look. Don't hurry home today, and when you get home, don't be mad.

Not exactly worrisome words, but a very odd thing to say.

'What's going on? Did your mom paint something?'

No.

'Did she do something weird to her hair?'

No.

'Did she do something weird to YOUR hair?'

Ew, god no! Look. It's fine. Just don't be mad.

'You know this is having the exact opposite of your desired effect, don't you?'

Uh, yes! I knoooow I shouldn't have said anything, but I wanted you to be prepared.

'Prepared for...?'

I can't say anything.

'Okay, kiddo, well... this has been a highly vexing conversation, and I have to get back to work now. I love you, see you all when I get home.'

I love you, don't be mad!

'By the time I get home, I'll be so stressed from worrying about what it might be, whatever it actually is will be a relief. Bye kiddo.'

When I got home, there was a Rottweiler puppy in my house. Not a free one, either. Not a rescue animal needing a home, this was an AKC eligible purebred Rottweiler, and he was a real bargain at only $500.

My (soon to be) wife had gone to her aunt and uncle's house to visit that day, and they just so happened to live up the road from a reputable breeder of Rotties. They just so happened to be going there to visit their neighbors that day, where they just so happened to have a litter of puppies that were old enough to be sent to new homes that day. My (almost) wife got puppy fever, and just so happened to bring my checkbook with her.

She promised I could train him however I wanted, another promise that vanished the moment he was housebroken. Although he was a good dog, he certainly wasn't MY dog, and he ended being pretty useless as anything other than a cuddle companion.

Fetch? No, he wouldn't even catch a treat in his mouth. He was fussy about treats, so he'd let them bounce off his muzzle, then he would sniff at it and see if it was worth eating. He would pant and drool whenever he was happy. He didn't chase animals out of the yard. He didn't chase people out of the driveway, but he was scary looking enough that he was still a deterrent.

He wasn't a bad dog. He would come when called, even if he was running to check out some noise he heard. He would sit, and lie down, and he was very gentle with children. My youngest stepdaughter once fed him a cracker, but wouldn't let go, so he ate the cracker around her fingers, while she giggled like a little maniac.

He was a lovable old fool of a dog, even when he was young, and I'm going to miss him. That's what I kept telling myself, while I spent 12 hours digging a hole in this clay big enough to put him in. That's what I told myself while I carted that large carcass up the hill, to where he would be laid to rest (as if he hadn't spent his whole life resting).

I quit telling myself that for a little while after I wrenched my back trying to get the carcass in the grave. After some cursing, screaming, and weeping, I remembered that lovable puppy face, that still looked like a puppy face in his old age. I thought about that sweet puppy face while I covered the grave with wet January soil, my newly wrenched back yelling at me the whole time, as a mix of snow and rain began to fall.

Logan was his name, but we usually just called him puppis, or black dog. I'll miss him, in that light relaxing way that one might miss a toxic person who was in their life for a long time. Not that puppis was toxic, just kinda, exhausting. And expensive.

He was afraid of bridges, so I suspect he'll be haunting me here for a time, while he works up the courage to cross The Rainbow Bridge. Maybe his ghost will finally keep some deer and rabbits out of the yard.

See how happy he was with the hole he chewed in the wall? That's the kind of relationship we had.

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Thanks for stopping by to read! I hope to be bringing you some lighter fare very soon!