Arrow

Over my long life I've had some significant relationships with fine canine friends. My childhood pet Pal was a terrier mix with one ear flopped and one up. He was smart as a whip and learned many fine tricks that won him ribbons and awe from visitors to our home. One rainy day when no one was being nice to me I went and joined Pal in his little dog house, among the fleas and black widows, planning to stay there until my family was panicked at my absence. He was a sympathetic ear, but the leaky roof eventually drove me in before anyone noticed I was away. Throughout my teen years he continued to be the one I could always talk to without being lectured or scolded.

As newlyweds in Nebraska, Sheldon and I adopted a tiny little black curly pup. Angela named her Daisy after a stuffed dog she had. Daisy had the world's best disposition for a family dog. She was sat upon, pulled by every appendage, and generally abused by our growing family, but never once bit or so much as bared her teeth at anyone. For many years I never found it necessary to buy dog food, because after every meal Daisy would be called in to clean up what my children threw/dropped on the floor. Remarkably that was enough nourishment to sustain our little friend until the kids were old enough to keep their food on their plates. I guess it didn't hurt her, because she lived to the ripe old age of 16.

When my husband Sheldon died I had a sweet old dog named Whitney. She was 14 at the time and didn't move as fast as she once did, but still managed to follow me where ever I went in the house. She would quietly lie down near me and doze until I moved from the room and then would just as quietly follow me to my new location. Her quiet presence was a constant in my life that kept me going. I got the idea that since Sheldon had never allowed dogs on our bed, that this was a perfect time to invite her up. She would have none of that. She knew too well that she wasn't allowed on the bed.

Not long after that, Christian got married and found his dog Arrow to be an unsuitable dog for young children. So my first "grandpuppy" came back to live in my house. Having been mostly an outside dog, Arrow had no preconceived notions about beds and was all too happy to sleep with me. He was huge, but would curl up beside me, his big head across my body, and sleep all night. What a comfort that big, hairy dog was to me when I needed a companion. Arrow had a constant smile on his face. He could bound across our yard in three strides, and often did just that to greet me. If I ever felt alone or unloved, Arrow was the cure.

Arrow died this week. When I got word of his passing, I went out and hugged my horse. I felt every muscle in his body tense as if he was wondering what had gotten into me. Horses are not dogs. You'll never get a horse to lick your face or sleep on your bed.

I don't know what the afterlife holds for dogs, but I surely hope it is worthy of the joy they bring to us here.