Not Today

I grew up in eastern Iowa, which is where my ex-wife grew up, as well.  We married in 1997, but I was living in Milwaukee at the time.  Shortly after getting married, my company transferred me to Chicago.  Chicago, as it turned out, was “Not my kind of town” so back to Cedar Rapids we came.  It was bittersweet, as I’d kinda gotten beat up from the experience, but we were both relieved to be “going home”.  We looked at a few potential places and decided to rent the lower level of a duplex, in Hiawatha.  Shortly after we moved in, the people in the upper level moved out and Tom, the landlord, offered it to us.  We gladly accepted as it had a nice, big, picture window, much better view, and a big deck on the back, which was perfect for drinks in the summertime.  Tom seemed to like us and offered to let us pick the tenants who would become our new, downstairs, neighbors.  After meeting about a half dozen couples, we picked a nice couple who were about our age & seemed to have things in common with us.  He was a chunky, beer drinker, like me, and she was gossipy & opinionated, like, err, never mind.  We liked them.  One problem; they had a dog and Tom didn't allow dogs.  Well, it was a small dog, and after some consideration on his part, he decided to make an exception, letting them keep their dog.  Not wanting to be hypocritical, he told us we could get a dog, as well, if we chose to do so.  Had he just told me, nothing would have changed, but he told “us”.  My wife gave it some thought, roughly a nanosecond, and she went dog shopping that day.  She looked at a few puppies in the pet store and circled some ads in the paper, but I didn't participate, right away.  After a few  days, I suggested we check the Animal Shelter.  We went out to the Cedar Valley Humane Society on a perfect May afternoon.  When we walked in, there were only two puppies in the place.  The rest were large, full grown, dogs.  Too big for the size of a place we had.  Of the two puppies, I knew, immediately, that you were the only one I’d even consider.  Amy picked you up and, on the spot, fell in love with you, looked at me and said “This is the one”.  I chuckled & shook my head in hesitation as you were the very first dog I’d even looked at.  She insisted.  “Look at him, he’s so cute!”  I nodded and replied “Yep, all puppies are cute”.  “Hold him!” she persisted and shoved you into my chest.  So, I take you, this little six or seven pound, ball of fluff, into my chest and held you.  You smelled like the dog pound and had some gunk in your fur.  I patted you on your little head, but remained steadfast in my hesitation.  I was not going to let the first puppy I saw, pull a one-time close on me.  At that moment you leaned in and slurped your tongue across my chin.  “Damn it.  I’m a dog owner”.

They wouldn't let us take you on the spot.  We had to wait until the next day, as they needed to confirm, with Tom, that we did, indeed, have a place where a dog would be welcome and they needed to get you all clean and pretty, which they certainly did.  I remember, when we picked you up, the next day, that you fit perfectly on the dashboard of my Ford Escort.  Once we got you to your new home, we took you out to the backyard to let you get the lay of the land.  You seemed a little shy, but enjoyed things as they came to you.  I never saw Amy so excited.  After about forty-five minutes, we took you inside, where you promptly shit on the floor.

I've had other dog’s that took a lot of work when it came to potty training, but you weren't bad, at all.  Remember the bell?  I’d taken it off of a wreath, tied it to a thin rope and hung it from the inside back doorknob,  so it hung about 6 inches from the floor.  We showed you how to ring it with your paw to let us know when you wanted to go outside.  It didn't take long to figure out that you were training us.  All you had to do was ring that bell and at least one of us would jump up out of our chair and come open the door for you.  Boy, you took full advantage of that, every time you were bored.  You were so damned funny to watch when you’d go outside, too.  You had a little dance you did when you were “ready to go”.  We called it your "poo poo" dance.  Watching you hop around in circles three or four times before taking your stance, was priceless.

Oddly, the people we chose to be our new neighbors backed out and Brian, Lisa & their young son, Brandon, moved in downstairs.  You've never believed in strangers, only friends you hadn't met, yet, be they dog or human.  Brian loved you, instantaneously, and gave you cheese, even after I’d repeatedly asked him not to.  “But he likes it” Brian would say to me after I asked him to stop.  You never made the connection that I was looking out for you, boy!  Brian never saw, or smelled, the results.  Trust me, cheese really didn't agree with your digestive system.  Brian was, habitually, a bad influence on you.  I remember him teaching you to howl.  It was really something, watching the two of you standing in front of each other with your faces pointed to the sky “oooooooowwwwwwwwwwwww”. 

It wasn't long after that, that the next door neighbors got a dog as well.  You and she were immediately the best of friends and no chain linked fence was going to keep you apart.  You had your tunnel dug in minutes.  We tried anchoring the fence with tent stakes, but you were having none of it.  Every time we’d block one route, you two would dig another.  Once, you woke me in the middle of the night to go outside.  You ran out, zipped under the fence to the neighbor’s house and barked until they let their dog out, too.  I gotta tell ya, bud, they weren't your biggest fans; not that night, anyway.

I remember taking a half-day on a Friday, once. I came home around 1:00.  It must have been in July or August, as it was crazy hot outside.  I let you out back, forgot you were out there and went to meet a buddy for lunch and some beers.  When I got home, a couple hours later, you were standing by the back door, in the direct sun, and I let you in.  I got really concerned when, ten minutes later, you were still panting like you’d just sprinted a mile.  I took you back outside and started filling the kiddy pool with the hose.  I had some mixed emotions watching you position yourself in the lowest part of the pool to expose your body to as much of the water as possible while drinking as much of it as you could.  It was a damn funny sight, but I felt horrible for having left you outside in that scorching heat.  As soon as you cooled down, though, you made sure to demonstrate the fact that there's nothing quite as friendly as a wet dog!

Then there was the time we gave some kid, with whom Amy worked, a place to crash, for the night, after a big party.  She and I both had to work a half-day, the next morning, so we told him he could hang out there with you & watch TV.  When I got home, the two of you were so proud to show me your new trick.  You’d leap straight up in the air when he would say “Praise Jesus”.  He wasn't “church goin’ folk”, he was just having fun with blasphemy.   I hate to break it to you, boy, but that’s just one of the reasons you and I are running the risk of going to Hell.  I think you'll probably get a pass.

You’re the only dog, in my experience, that grasped the concept of “Hide & Seek”.  You never hid, which was great, but you’d go sit on the couch while I’d hide.  Once I was hidden, I’d whistle one short whistle and you’d come running, searching for me with fervor, barking at me once you’d sniffed me out.  Then you’d run back to the couch and wait for the next whistle.  Just spectacular.

Then came the day Amy was offered  a 1,400 sq ft, 3 bedroom farmhouse outside of Marion, to rent for an extremely good price, since she worked for the City, and it was a City owned property.  It was your first experience with not having a fence.  You thought that meant you had no borders.  You elected not to listen to me when you decided you wanted to meet the neighbor dogs, about a quarter mile down the road.  I remember running after you, down the middle of the road, in my socks.  You kept stealthily looking back at me, using your peripheral vision the best you could to give yourself some sort of plausible deniability, but once you figured out that I wasn't going to stop, you circled around and headed back for the house.  What happened next, still bothers me, a little.  I chased you into the bedroom where I put the fear of God into you.  The look on your face when I shut the bedroom door is still burned into my memory.  I've never punished you so severely, as I did that day, but we were close to a curve and the speed limit on that road was 55 MPH.  You needed to know that you have to obey me when I tell you to come.  I yelled at you louder, and slapped your ass harder, than I should have, but I've had your complete attention ever since, and that was a dozen years ago.  I haven’t had to punish you, outside of some light shaming, ever since.

Remember when you rode with me over to Al’s Citgo to get propane for the grill.  It was a beautiful day, so I had all the windows down, in the car.  I got the propane and headed in to pay for it.  I told you to stay in the car, but after I got, maybe, 15 feet away, you leaped out the window so you could go with me.  I didn't get too upset with you on that one, as for the life of me, I can’t figure out how I thought you would stay put.  You just wanted to go with me.

Your favorite toy has always been your rope bone, but you loved your Frisbee, too!  You never mastered catching it, but you maintained about a .600 average.  It was never hard to figure out when you were done, though.  You’d chase it over and over, but once you decided you were done, you’d wait for me to throw it, take a few strides in the direction of the Frisbee but then veer off in another direction, leaving me to chase it the last time.

Perhaps the cruelest part of the day we got you, is that we brought you home the same day that the cats came home from being declawed.  You thought you had a couple new friends, but they were not impressed.  Bear was horrified with your presence and Tom, the cat, stood up on his hind legs to chase you across the floor, punching at you like he was boxing.  You couldn't understand what that was about, but you kept your distance; for a little while.

Your buddy, Barry, always made a practice of saving his steak bones for you.  It got to the point that your mouth would start watering as soon as we turned onto his road.  Now that he & Lois have Zoe, you don’t get the bones, anymore, but you like going there, just the same, as you & Zoe get along so well.  You've always enjoyed running in their timber, even though, on more than a few occasions, you came out with your coat full of burrs & I had to cut so much out, you got embarrassed by how you looked.

You used to be the energetic dog who drove other dogs nuts with your incessant need to constantly play, but now, in your “golden years” you've lost a step and have become the dog who gets grumpy when the neighbor dog, Sam, just wants to play a bit.  He still likes you; a lot.

Sleeping with you over the years has been an experience, as well.  You don’t do it quite as much as you used to, but on more occasions than I can count, I've woken up with you in the dead center of the bed while I’m lying cockeyed with my feet hanging off one side and my head off the other.  Then, when I gently push you over to your “half” you give me a look as if to say “Hey, buddy, what’s the big idea?”.  In the morning, you don’t always mind sleeping in, but when you decide it’s time to get up, apparently, it’s time for me to get up, too.  Your habit of subtly lying across my face, gets your point across, well. 

For years now, our bond has been unbreakable.  We have complete trust in one another.  When you sense something, I stop to see what the matter is, and if I tell you to stop, regardless of the drawing distraction, you stop.  Coz, it’s good to know you got my back and I have yours!  I just wish I'd seen that skunk first, that day.  What a rough week-end, that was.  Took me three days to get the stink off you.

Remember when T.J. lived with us and decided to get his own pup from the “No Kill” shelter?  She was a sweet dog, but the days of just keeping your food dish filled were over.  She’d been a stray, so she felt the need to eat every morsel available and growl at anyone in the vicinity.  Sorry about that, boy, it wasn't your fault.

You didn't even seem to mind moving back into town from the farmhouse, even if you didn't have as much room.  It was nice, though, that the lack of a fence wasn't an issue, as you had matured and figured out your boundaries, quickly.  Even the elderly neighbor lady loved you.

You were there when we brought Ella home for the first time and you seemed to know immediately that she was someone who was going to be a part of everything going forward.  I've heard of pets getting jealous of new babies, but you knew she was part of your family.  As she grew and crawled more, you grumpily accepted her pulling your hair and tasting your ears.  You groaned a few times, but never growled or nipped, and I was never worried, for a second, that you would.

And seven years ago, you were there when my marriage failed.  You whined a little more than normal, but you always worry, don't you?  Whenever you sense something is uncertain, you worry.  You seemed to sense my feelings and curled up tight to me, and rarely left my feet if I was in the chair, or my lap if I was on the couch.  I tell ya, I've had some amazing dogs in my life, but none compare to you.

You've gotten to the point, now, where you know you don’t have to put much effort into begging, as I’ll make sure you’ll get your portion, whether it’s the last of my sandwich, eggs, or even the time I had to wake you up to give you the last of my Klondike bar.  You didn't seem to mind.  Sorry about my habit of crumbling dried cayenne peppers on my eggs.  You've never gotten used to that, but it’s also never stopped you from cleaning my breakfast plate.  For crying out loud, Cosmo, I even share my bacon with you!

There was a time I believed you were the fastest thing on four legs, and you, no doubt, were certain of it.  You ran like the wind & could turn on a dime. 

Your trot is more determined now.  You walk, mostly.  You get up slower, and stretch more than you used to.  You might be getting up there, but when the Golden Retrievers, from down the hill, come up and start barking, you still come off the couch as fast as you can & head, full tilt, for the back door, barking all the way.  Watching you, and them, running up and down the fence line, barking like you’re ready to tear each other to shreds used to concern me, until the day you and I were walking outside the fence when they came up.  You started after them, until you realized there was no fence between you and them.  Suddenly you weren't quite as ferocious.  Interestingly enough, neither were they.  Apparently that fence isn't really the only thing preventing you from destroying each other.

You don’t always hear me when I call you, now, but you’re not deaf.  Seems you have a bit of “Selective Hearing”.  You still hear the word "treat", clear as a bell.  Gray has replaced the gleam your eyes used to have.  You've put on some pounds and I can see the arthritis getting worse.  You turned fourteen a few months back and you have more and more trouble doing the things you used to do so effortlessly.  I don’t mind lifting you into the car when we go for rides, nor do I mind having the stool next to the bed to give you an extra assist when it's time to sack out.  I don’t mind doing anything I can do, to help make things a little easier for you, boy. 

There’s a day on the horizon.  I don’t know how far off it is.  I pray it’s later, not sooner, but life, for you, will become more pain than pleasure.  I dread it so much, but I will do what has to be done, if I must, to end your pain.  Between now & then, we're going to have as much fun as we can and I'm going to continue being thankful for all the days I can say “Not Today.”

Addendum:
13 April 2013.  I was not able to say "Not Today", today.  My best friend has ended his journey.  There is no question I loved him, unconditionally.  He was a trooper to the end.  I can't remember the last time I did something so difficult.  I'd, sincerely hoped he'd just pass in his sleep.  His body just could go no further.  He'd stopped eating and stopped drinking.  He was no longer able to remain on his feet.  I was picking him up, to take him outside, where he'd walk for a while and lose his balance.  I'd carry him back in to his pad.  Then at bed time, I'd carry him to bed with me.  His will to live was evident, but his body just couldn't accommodate any longer.  The veterinarian was compassionate and could see how much Cosmo mattered to me.  His 15th birthday was a little less than two weeks ago, so I guess I shouldn't complain, but sure did want a little more time with him,  I don't know what I'm going to do without him.