In my conversations with others, the subject of children often comes up. How many kids do you have,?” Ive often asked. Oh...just me, the wife... and our dog, often came the reply. I have never appreciated that reply, and in response I have often said, A dog is not a kid. Theres a big difference. The other person seldom responds, silenced by my rudeness. And though my statement is literally true, today I understand what that person meant. Fifteen years ago I got my kids a poodle. Andre was his name. He was a shaggy, gray-haired dog who needed a lot of attention, suffered terribly from ADD, and had a bark that shook the house. We got him from a poodle rescue service. He was terribly demanding. We never could understand just who it was that would put his pale in the middle of the living room. We interrogated each child. They all denied it. “Why we would do that, dad?” they’d ask with frustration. It finally dawned on us: Andre did it. This “kid” was smart. If we didn’t fill the pale with water or food, he did the only thing he knew to do: push his pale in your path. He was housebroke when we first got him, thus we were spared of all the potty-training time. But when you let the dog put, you’d have to remember to let him back in. That wasn’t always easy, however. One night we let him out, then headed over to grandmas. It wasn’t until we got home several hours later, and couldn’t find him, that we realized we had had failed to allow re-entry before we left. Lydia was heart broke. It was a tough blow to a 9-year old. She searched everywhere - for about 2 minutes. Then, overwhelmed with sorrow, she voiced her feelings: “I’m gonna miss that dog.” A few seconds later that all too familiar scratching was heard at the door. There he stood, giving us a look that could kill. It even appeared that he was trying to talk. Something along the lines of “Did you not read my contract when you first got me. I’m a house dog!” Before long, he became my Lydias best friend. As a matter of fact, hes the only male I ever trusted around her. All the other ones were, well, “evil” I told her. But on Friday, September 26, we had to let this little fella go. Fifteen years of dog life is about 95 or so in human life - and his body showed it. But my oh my: it was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. Watching him lie on the vet’s table staring into the eyes of his “sister” Lydia, we bid him good bye. Only seconds after the injection, his heart gave out. So, I render my heartfelt apologies to those of you whom I have offended with my careless words about a dog not being “family.” My heart has a hole in it the shape of a poodle. I complained that he often slept at my feet: now I will miss that inconvenience. I griped when he had to go outside to relieve himself: but what I’d give for that again. Now I stare at an empty pale, never to be used again. I watched with sorrow today as 4 of my daughters saw him slip off into eternity. So long Mr Andre,” they each said, with tears streaming down their cheeks. Their “brother” had left the pain of this life. According to a Disney movie, “All Dogs Go To Heaven.” I sure hope that flick was based on a true story. So long “Mr Andre.”
Posted on: Sun, 28 Sep 2014 18:20:42 +0000
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