This One Is For The Dogs
By: Timothy O'Neill
Tags: Nonfiction, Relationships, Dogs, Love, Family

This One Is For The Dogs

You were wonderful companions and I loved you all unconditionally

Photo by Matt Nelson on Unsplash

I am not, by nature and by unfortunate circumstance, a loving person. My family and friends are aware of this painful reality. I can be affectionate and caring and tell you that I love you, but I cannot feel it in my heart. The only creatures I’ve been truly capable of loving were my dogs, who I have shared my life with. I consider them all to have been my best friends and I miss them dearly. I’m writing this article in tribute to them.

We begin with Jake. Jake was a Pembroke Welsh Corgi which means he had tiny legs, big ears and no tail. They lop them off at birth, leaving a tiny stump which can twitch and wag when the dog is nervous or excited. Jake was often both. He was quite large for a Corgi, possessed of a thick torso and he looked adorable waddling about on his small legs. You could see his large, pointed ears from well down the street. I would joke that I took him for ‘rolls’ instead of ‘walks’.

Jake had a keen sense for when things were off. Once I was young and feeling mischievous and I threw myself on the floor and began hollering in pain. Jake popped up from his nap, took one look at me and ran over to the door and began howling and scratching at it, trying to get help. At other times, when my friends and I would be wrestling or roughhousing Jake would thrust himself in the middle of the fray and begin barking and jumping up and down in an effort to break things up and restore order.

Jake loved the snow. A few times the snow had fallen thick on the ground and he would just bound off the porch and disappear into it, leaving us to dig him out. Other times he would be content to sit atop a tall snowbank like a king as the snowflakes wafted gently down. I can still remember the green glow in his eyes as he sat on his throne like a king. And Jake was a tough old man. He began tipping over due to a tumor in his intestines. We knew it was time to let him go, but even on his final day he bounced into the kitchen when my father laid down Cheerios for him to snack on. He wasn’t about to let a little cancer get in the way of a good treat.

Then there was Fifty. Fifty will always be special to me. We got Fifty from my brother Patrick when he moved and we were so grateful for his decision not to give Fifty away to another family because we gained so much joy from his presence. He wasn’t quite as sharp as Jake, he knew fewer commands and lacked Jake’s street savvy, but he was the sweetest creature a person could hope to meet. He was my pillow to sleep and to cry on. To rest my weary head on. He was gentle, but his bark was loud and imperious. It was far worse than his bit.

He could play fetch from dawn till dusk. We would tell him to go get a stick and he would tromp off and come back with small trees that he had ripped out of the ground. He also loved to swim. He could swim in rain, snow or shine, for hours on end, until we had to drag him out of the water. He was generally cordial with other dogs but he preferred his humans. He watched us closely and learned our language. When I told him I had no snacks left he would groan and slink off despairingly. A few days after we put Fifty down I attempted suicide. I think I very nearly died of a broken heart, that’s how much I loved him. I didn’t want to be in the world without him. He was the one being that I could look to for unconditional love and support and not feel ashamed in receiving it, because it was generously and sincerely given. I still grieve him every day.

Next we got Bell, a Golden Retriever. Bell was sweet, but she had never been walked before and had to learn the protocol. Luckily she took to it quickly and we didn’t have to deal with any accidents. Bell was just a bowl of sunshine. She was especially good with my niece and nephews who would crawl all over her. She waited patiently and never made a sound. She was gentle and she was calm and she didn’t mind these little creatures tugging at her ears or yanking on her tail. Bell and Fifty made fast friends. They wrestled together and the second Bell made the slightest squeak Fifty would release her and back off. This was a small gesture but I always found it endearing and fascinating to watch. The second one dog let the other dog know it was in pain of any kind the aggressor would respect it and back off instantly.

After Bell came Sally, another Golden Retriever, but with dark, reddish fur. Sally was a big girl and when she got excited her whole body would twitch and if you weren’t careful she would knock you over. She was just a barrel of fun. She had been the pet of an older woman who was moving into an assisted living facility and could no longer care for her, but who had always taken her on her shopping trips.

So Sally loved the car and loved going wherever we were going. She would just hop in the back seat and stare expectantly out the window. Sally was friendly, Sally was kind. Sally was the first canine face I saw after my release from the hospital following the coma and its aftermath. I had been hospitalized for a month, two weeks in the ICU, a week on a recovery unit and one week in a rehab facility. It was such a joy to see her wiggling and bouncing around in the back seat when I made my way down the walkway and into the car. Best gift that I could have received in that moment.

A few months later we got Buddy, a Brittany-Cocker Spaniel mix. He was an old dog at 15 who didn’t look like he had much life left in him. But we gave him good food, medicine and plenty of attention and soon he was looking as healthy as he had perhaps his entire life. Buddy had been through trauma so he barked a lot and was particularly terrified of thunderstorms, or when one of us left the house. But gradually he settled down a bit as he began to feel safe in his new environment.

And I felt safe with him. That was simply the vibrations he gave off. I’ve been through trauma as well and I felt safe in his presence. He was a sweet, wise soul who looked at you with his gleaming chestnut eyes and seemed to peer into your heart. Buddy made it a year and I think it was probably the best year of his life. I feel grateful and humbled that we were able to give him that experience. And I feel grateful for the sense of peace and wellbeing he was able to give me.

Now we have Percy, short for Perseus, hero of Greek myth. He’s an Australian Shepard-Sheltie mix and he appears in my profile picture. He’s a very different breed of dog from all the calm, gentle Labs and Retrievers. We got him from a rescue when he was just a puppy. The name he came with was Tiny Tim. We couldn’t keep that, of course. Percy is a wild one. We have cats as well and in four years Percy has never been able to make a truce with them or come to a cease fire. He’s watching them always, ready to pounce at any moment. He’s got fire in his belly, mixed with a good deal of fear, which makes him unfortunately a little unpredictable around strangers.

Percy can be a sweet, loving dog one moment and turn into a raging beast the next. He’s never bitten anyone but he has flashed his teeth and lashed out. He’s very territorial. Even a dog walking on the sidewalk on our side of the street is infringing on his property. He needs a lot of exercise to keep the excess energy at bay. In fact, I can hear him barking at the window right now. Sigh. I wonder who’s the culprit this time. Who dares trespass on King Percy’s domain? The vet recommended Prozac for some of these mood issues and we’re giving it a try. I’ll let you know how that works out.

So those are my boys and girls. All adorable, loving, beautiful creatures in their own right. All having had an enormous positive effect on my life. I wouldn’t have survived without them. I wouldn’t have been able to share something akin to love without them. Just their mere presence fills a house with a soothing energy. They bring the joy and the wisdom of nature with them. They are free spirits. Innocent in a way we can never be, but also wise in a way we can only strive to emulate. Their memories will rest in my heart forever.