Some of the Most Influential People in my Life Have Been Real Dogs
Life Lessons From Two of My Canine Buddies
I have been blessed by the company of seven family dogs so far in my life.
All but one have lived long and full doggie lives.
Though a “purebred” German Shorthaired Pointer (“GSP”), according to AKC paperwork, we think the one suffered from a severe congenital disability caused by excessive inbreeding. That experience was heartbreaking for our whole family.
The breeder shares responsibility, but I am also upset with myself for not paying better attention to the names on the certified pedigree until after I had to put BeeJay down. The name of the same sire showed up way too many times in BeeJay’s ascendant genealogy.
During my lifetime, our homes have been occupied by four German Shorthaired Pointers, a Brittany Spaniel, and a Chesapeake Bay Retriever.
The current occupant holding our home's sole esteemed place of honor is Roxy Doodle, our sweet ginger Cockapoo. At only ten pounds, Roxy is very different from the previous larger dogs we have shared our lives with.
While all these dogs have rich stories worth telling, I want to share a little bit about two GSPs in my life, the first and the most recent.
The First Saved Me Emotionally
When I was nine years old, my seventeen-year-old brother suddenly passed away from a quick and mysterious illness.
That event changed my life forever and is a story worth sharing another day.
It is sufficient to say my family was devastated by Dan’s passing. I was emotionally destroyed. I clammed up and spoke very little for several months after, and uncontrollable stuttering often hindered any words I tried to utter.
Happy
Twenty months earlier, my parents loaded me in the back of our brown Chevy II to visit a house across town to pick out a new pup. A litter of the cutest liver and white German Shorthaired Pointer puppies had been born six weeks earlier and were ready to be adopted. They were all active and excited to see us at first. But one by one, they ran out of steam and curled up to nap on the green lawn in the sun.
However, one stood out from the others: a spunky, well-marked female who refused to wind down. Adrenalized with aggressive puppy energy, she would attack her siblings, playfully bulldozing some and tugging on the ears of others. “Come on guys, let’s play!”
I was allowed to choose the pup that would come home with us. My dad favored the active female still awake and looking for a brother or sister to antagonize. But Dad would defer to my judgment.
With all her siblings dozing, the whelp zeroed in on me and playfully attacked with puppy growls, tugging on my Levi pantlegs and untying the laces of my high-top Converse shoes. She playfully nipped my hand and nose with needle-sharp teeth as I picked her up.
We stared at each other for a moment, holding her tiny, warm body cupped in my two hands. She licked my mouth, nose, and cheeks. Settling down, she snuggled up under my chin. The smell of her puppy breath was heavenly.
As it turned out, choosing a youngling out of this litter was not a unilateral matter. Clearly, the pup had chosen me, and I immediately agreed with her judgment. I was to be her boy and her my dog. That’s when I learned a dog has as much, if not more, say in the matter than the human master when choosing their new pack.
Dad asked me what I would like to name her.
“Happy.”
Comfort
Happy quickly grew to 60 pounds. Though heavier, stronger, and quicker, the two of us enjoyed a grand time wrestling, tugging, and teasing each other as pack mates.
She defined her place in the pack hierarchy as number three behind my Dad as the “Alpha” male and my mom as the “Beta” female. My three older brothers were her subordinates, and I was at the bottom of the heap.
Happy spent most nights sleeping on the floor by Dad.
But when I walked into the house that late Sunday morning of May 3, 1964, after Dan died, she sensed what I needed and modified her role in our family pack.
Happy saved me emotionally.
I could talk to her when I couldn’t utter words to anyone else. Curled up close during many long dark nights, she was my constant companion and never wandered far for several months.
She was physically bigger and faster than I was then and redirected my emotional outbursts of anger into epic boy and dog wrestling matches.
To any outsider, the sight and sound of each frequent contest would have appeared to be a fight to the death! The skirmishes were harmless except for occasional minor scratches and welts on my hands and arms. Looking back, I can see that our wrestling matches provided good therapy for that grieving young boy.
I adjusted, healed, and began again to interact with a small group of people as time passed. Happy slowly weaned me from her constant company.
Dan's mortal departure left a hole in my heart that could never be filled in this life. But enough scar tissue had formed, allowing me to cope and resume daily activities, one small step by one step at a time.
Happy actively demonstrated faithful love and companionship that carried me over those troubled waters and continued throughout my teenage and early adult years.
She lived a full life of 15 years. According to the American Animal Hospital Association conversion table, that equals about 93 human years.
Although I didn’t understand it then, I now appreciate the true meaning of unconditional love and compassionate service, thanks to Happy. She was unwavering in her devotion to me and always sensed when I needed extra attention.
I am convinced that divine providence knew what was coming and exactly what I would need to get through the trauma. Placing Happy in my life at that time was no accident.
Bookends
I see the events in my life grouped into books. With time, the number of volumes increases, and bookends are needed to prop up the volumes on the bookshelf of life.
I consider Happy the first bookend of my life.
Rocky entered my life 30 years after Happy left. He became a second bookend on the bookshelf of my life.
Rocky Doodle
Another German Shorthaired Pointer, Rocky Doodle, was my friend, buddy, and pal for 13½ years.
Anyone who knows about GSPs will attest to their intelligence and cognitive ability. Rocky was a step beyond the average intelligent GSP. Looking into his golden eyes, It was clear a lot was going on in his mind.
No matter the activity, Rocky had the unique ability to enjoy every day as the "Best Day Ever!" He always gave 100% of all he had to give in any endeavor.
Go for a ride in the back seat with the windows rolled down? “Best Day Ever!”
Chase a cat, go pheasant hunting, go fishing, come along for a walk, hunt for blue belly lizards, dig a hole, chase water from the hose, bury a bone, snag peaches and apples off the tree, steal food from an unsuspecting grandkid? “Best Day Ever!”
Rocky's pure unconditional love and empathetic sense set a high bar for any human, attracting the attention of family, friends, and strangers alike, always rewarding all with sincere, warm puppy affection.
His end came quickly due to acute and untreatable kidney failure. Rocky became extremely ill and then gave that look I had dreaded, “You need to fix this. It’s time.”
He couldn’t walk, so I carried him to the truck on his bed and placed him in the passenger seat. I rolled down the window during the drive to the Vet’s office. He sniffed at the fresh air and made eye contact with me to convey his approval and appreciation, “Thanks Big Dog. It’s a beautiful day. Best Day Ever!”
Even in his final moments of mortality, Rocky did not deviate from his primary purpose of being my companion and comfort.
The Intersection where magic happens.
Rocky taught me many beautiful lessons. Perhaps the greatest is this.
Despite our obvious canine and human differences, Rocky demonstrated that free, intelligent beings can accomplish great things by setting aside differences and focusing on the relationship's common aspects.
It’s like a Venn diagram with two circles. One circle is a human being human. The other is a canine being a canine.
When the man freely does his man thing and allows the dog to freely do his dog thing, where the two overlap pure magic.
Once I figured out Rocky’s capabilities and he figured out what I was capable of, we began to work together as a team, instinctively sensing and anticipating what the other would do in any given circumstance.
Our eyes would meet, and it was like we had created a new third being combined of the both of us. It is difficult to describe the feeling when two beings come together in a telepathic state of symbiotic synergy. But, once you have experienced it, the reality of that state of being is undeniable.
Getting there did not happen overnight. It took about six years for Rocky and I to get to the human-canine mind meld starting point. First, I had to embrace his intellect and abilities totally. And he had to figure out that it was more fun and productive to do things with me than to follow his own path.
Our magical relationship grew from there.
My relationship with Rocky taught me to look at interpersonal relationships through a less complicated lens.
If a man and a dog can unite in symbiotic trust, love, service, and action, why is it often so difficult for two humans to do the same?
Paw Prints
Tears come easily whenever I think too long about any of these dogs. The waterworks are close to the surface when it comes to Happy and almost immediately well up any time I think about Rocky Doodle for even a few moments.
I used to wonder how actors could cry on demand. But now I think I know their secret. They think of their favorite dogs that have passed on!
A Final Question For You to Think About
What paw prints will you leave in the lives of others?
Thanks for reading and thinking for yourself!
Russell Anderson
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