The best doggie in the whole world.
Felis canis
The dog that could purr.
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Around age 40 I decided I would like to have a dog, after a lifetime of cats. Some friends of mine had black labs, and they were delightful dogs. I made a list of what qualities I would like this future dog to have; it must not bark annoyingly, has to like children and cats, must stay off furniture, must already be trained and grown, a black lab or black lab mix but not huge, not jump up on people, I must be able to take it anywhere, female, etc. I was going to college full time and decided that as soon as I completed my degree, in a year and a half, I would start looking for this dog, when I had more time to devote to the animal. But...SOMEONE had other plans! That spring, I started an internship in a park. The second Monday after I began, a little black dog with collar marks but no collar was waiting in the parking lot when I arrived. I called to it and it ran away. The park personnel called animal control, and they came to the park and tried to catch the dog for two hours. It was hopeless. The park was huge and the dog was terrified by this time, running and running as fast as it could. "Tell you what; you catch it, call us, and we will come and pick it up," they told us, and left. Off and on people tried to catch this frightened little dog, but we couldn't even get close enough to tell what sex it was. I saw the little dog frequently in the following days. It drank out of a stream and ran through the park. I talked to the dog whenever I saw it, but it just looked at me and kept running. I decided it was looking for whoever left it there. On the third day, just before lunch, I saw it sleeping under a bush behind the building I was working in. I stuck my head out the door and said, "Hi, doggie!" The dog jumped up and ran away, but not far. It seemed very tired and depressed. I went out with my lunch, and sat on the ground. I threw it pieces of peanut butter sandwich, which it approached and ate very cautiously. After the dog ate my lunch, I figured it might trust me a bit, so I coaxed it over to me. The poor thing crawled to me on its belly and finally hid its face in my lap, shaking like a leaf. I said, "You poor baby!" and petted it carefully. After a few minutes of petting, it stopped shaking. I stood up, and.... I had a dog. I had a smiling, wagging, black dog, who had to be at least half black lab. She was a girl. She knew how to shake, sit, beg, lie down, roll over, come, and stay. She was housetrained. She was already spayed. When I took her home, she loved the cats. Someone had taught her not to bark; she only said "Bfff" in a timid sort of way. She adored children. After two weeks, my daughter and I realized her name was Sweetie, because that was what everybody called her. "Your dog is such a sweetie. What's her name?" She was so well-behaved I took her everywhere. When I took her to the vets to get her shots, I told him "Wow, I bet I'll have this dog until I'm 50 years old!" What I didn't realize was that I would LOSE this dog when I was 50 years old. And it's like losing your soulmate. I had no idea how much love there was in a dog. It's an endless supply and must come straight from God. I lost my beautiful friend on Monday, January 28, 2002. She became old, then ill, and then began suffering; one day she could no longer walk. The one thing I could do about this was make the suffering stop. She died in my arms, listening to me tell her, "What a good dog. The best dog in the whole world. What a good dog. Good dog. Good dog."
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Naptime at Riverhouse.
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