to all the dogs I've ever loved

So yesterday while being around this dog that reminded me of Joey, I was thinking about Sheldon and all the other good dogs I've had in my life. I started typing this up yesterday and then kept going this morning, so it is pretty long. Just pretend it is an essay that will never get an A+ due to the amount of times that I stray off on another subject. But there are lots of dog pictures, if that is your sort of thing.

For most of my life I have had the joy of having a really good dog in my life. Sometimes there is a huge chunk of time between owning dogs, but I always feel more complete when I have a good dog. There's just something about the companionship of an animal that nothing else can fill. I am an animal person. I'm not a fanatic who would spend thousands of dollars for a wild dog to have back surgery or anything, but I do love animals, in a normal, non obsessive and fanatical way. 

When I was four we had this chihuahua, Bama. My older brother had asthma and my mom had heard somewhere that those dogs were good for kids with asthma because they usually weren't allergic to that kind of dander. I don't remember how long we had him. Only a couple of years, but he was an inside dog so he quickly became another member of the family. I remember he used to lick popcorn and Jonathan and I would throw it back in the bowl and laugh as my mom ate it. 

When he unexpectedly died I was in the shower with my mom, and Jonathan ripped back the curtain. He is kind of hyperventilating and says, "The worst thing that can happen has happened. Bama has been hit by a car." Jonathan has always talked like a baby genius, even when was just six. I am pretty certain I screamed. In my memories I screamed. Somehow he had escaped the house and ran into the road and by the time someone realized he was gone he had been run over. We lived down a residential dead-end road that only got traffic from people who lived there. My parents had an idea of who they thought hit him, but no one ever approached us and admitted anything. I remember we buried him in the yard with some toys and put up a little marker.

Years later a family pulled out a map and threw a dart and it landed on My Hometown, Alabama (This is a true story.) A husband, wife, and their 5th grade son moved into our house that was for sale. Years later I hear a rumor that he had dug up a dog in the back yard and burned all the toys 'just because.' I didn't really care, because come on, even as a child I knew Bama was just dust. But I did think, "Wow, this kid is weirder than me."

My next good dog was a Jack Russell terrier named Star. Jonathan had wanted a dog for his birthday and someone (probably my mom) told him it would be a good hobby to breed her with studs and then raise and sell the puppies. Apparently either my mom or dad knew some people that had male dogs they 'rented' out as studs. This all seems so crazy to think about as an adult, but I promise you that the puppy raising years of my childhood were some of the most fulfilling. I loved always having puppies to play with. Anyway, so Jonathan gets his dog and I decided I want one from her first or second litter. I don't remember. I pick a puppy, Star, who grew up be one of the weirdest looking dogs, but she loved me so much, and I remember sitting on the back porch with her and it was like she could read my emotions and responded accordingly. Her presence comforted me through the tumultuous hormone-fueled teenage years. I loved that dog.

We didn't breed them all the time. We tried to calculate so that they would have puppies right before Summer or in time for Christmas. Times when we knew they would sell. And I don't remember ever having a hard time finding families. It was me and my brother who ran this show. We bought the dog food, we took care of the puppies, we wormed them and my dad helped us with their shots. We were in charge of keeping the dog area clean. It gave my life purpose and responsibility, and I really enjoyed coming outside each day to puppies that were so excited to see me. It was always sad to see them go, especially the ones you really got attached to. I got Star in the fifth grade and she died my 11th grade year. She was in our pasture and some large dogs attacked her. She was still alive, but she passed away at the vet. I was devastated for a while. I remember my theatre teacher noting something was wrong and asking me (in front of everyone) why I didn't seem into character that day. I told her my dog had died that weekend and she could tell I was about to break down, so she apologized and shut up. Afterwards she approached me alone and told me she was sorry. 

The next good dog in my life was Jade. She wasn't even my dog. When I moved in with Peppy my mom filled the void in her traumatized heart by replacing me with a golden retriever. I was not really around much for Jade's baby years, but somehow we had this connection and she always wanted to be around me when I visited. She would often come stay at our house for a week when my parents traveled. Later when we had the RV parked across the street from my parents, Jade would go outside first thing in the morning, walk across the street and hang out with me all day long, only coming home when she heard my dad calling around dinner time. She visited me every single day until a week before she died, because her back legs had stopped working. Jade was perfect. She was the personality type that they base movie dogs off of. Loyal and friendly, loving and obedient. Everyone loved her. It was hard when she had to be put to sleep because Titus had died only two weeks before. But at least we were all like communal grieving together. Me and my mom couldn't even look at each other without crying. But it was nice to have someone understand. I couldn't talk about Titus or Jade for months without bursting into tears. I'm not talking about a few streaming down my face. I'm talking about hyperventilating inconsolable crazy people tears. 

Titus was heaven sent. I still have no idea where he came from. It had been heavily storming and for some reason I was at the RV alone that day. After it stopped raining I opened the door and thought I saw a very wet Jade and I yelled out "Hey what are you doing outside?" because my parents generally didn't want her getting muddy after the rain. Well, this dog runs straight at me and decides that he has immediately implanted himself to me. He was wearing a collar, but it was only for rabies and not any identifying information. We put up various signs in every gas station and store and I had a friend post on facebook, but we never got a response, so Titus became ours. His tag didn't have a name, just a rabies thing, so we have no clue what he used to be called. Sometimes we would call out random names like "Red," "Buddy" or "Elvis," but we never got any signs of recognition. I loved that dog so much. He was beautiful and I loved his smell because due to his short hair he didn't smell like a fishy wet dog. He wasn't aggressive at all and loved everyone he met. He was so intelligent, but he was stubborn. Generally he was happy to come when we called, but there were times where if he was doing something more exciting, I would be ignored. He also roamed with the neighbor's dog. They were always gone from about 7-9 am every morning. I have no clue where they went. We lived in the RV at the same time and there was no way for him to have a quality life in an RV. Plus, I know it sounds shocking, but roaming dogs that have been rabies vaccinated (with identification) are pretty accepted here. As long as you know your dog isn't some aggressive mutant. 

Titus went camping with us and was great in the car for long drives. He also loved to explore the trails we hiked on. His only fear was water, and I think maybe that was rooted back to the day I found him in the rain. He was also absolutely terrified of thunderstorms. I wondered if maybe someone dropped him off in the rain, because the first time we tried to get him in the truck he was terrified. After he realized we weren't going to kick him out, he loved going places with us. 

The night Titus died, Peppy, the kids and I had gone on to walk down the trail. We had recently booked a Disney trip and we were talking about the things we were most excited about. We got back home and I missed the window of when Titus would be on the deck. He had a schedule and between about 5-7 he would just lay on the deck. He did this every single night. This night he left the deck a little earlier because the days were starting to get longer, it was a little warmer and that made the squirrels appear in abundance. So obviously Titus and Zoe, his BFF, were barking nonstop. We tried calling him for over three hours but it was in vain. We knew he'd eventually get hungry and come back. I was reading a book to the kids at bedtime. That was a fun time where they shared a room and at bedtime I would read a chapter of something that we all agreed on. Sometimes I made voices and they both always listened and we all enjoyed it. We read some really awesome stuff over those last two years in the RV.

Anyway, I hear this noise. I thought it sounded like garbage cans being hit, so I kept on reading. About ten minutes Peppy comes back and calls me outside. He was visibly upset and kept saying, "I am so sorry. Deanna, I am so, so sorry." And my mind jumped to Granny for some reason. She had been sick and my mind automatically assumed she had passed away. I said, "Is it Granny?" He looked a little bewildered and said, "It's Titus." I got cold all over. I need to know now. "Is he dead?" I said this in the most robotic monotonous tone. "Yes, I am so, so sorry." And then he hugged me.

I could hear Titus' dog friend wailing in the distance. Animals mourn. I've seen it more than once. It is heartbreaking, because it is so raw and real and uninhibited. 

Shock is such a weird thing. The bottom falls out from under you and you feel like you are free falling, although the permanence of the situation hasn't hit yet. That comes later. Now you're just like in a perpetual state of your body vibrating and your mind just saying "what?" over and over.

"Do you want to see him before we bury him?"

"No." I didn't see Star before she was buried either. I am a super morbid person, but I couldn't remember those two companions like that. I visited their grave spots after they were buried, but I always need time alone to mourn before I feel ok to openly grieve around others. It's like I need to get the ugly, feral part out and then I can take on the reality of the new situation. 

I was very cold and distant that evening. Peppy and I were laying on the bed in silence, in the dark. After about 30 minutes I said, "Can we watch something. I have the rest of my life to be sad about this." I needed to distract my mind at all costs because a life without Titus was too unbearable to even consider. He had become my emotional support dog. He loved us all, but because he saw me first I was his top person. When Titus died I was in a fairly ok mental spot, but I had only recently gotten out of periods of feeling like I was floating out of my body. I would go to a baby shower or church function and just feel like I didn't understand small talk or talk about other people and what is going on with their families. It is not that I don't care about people, you just lose me when you talk about your cousin's daughter's youngest son's baseball team. If my mind had eyes, they would literally be crossing from confusion. The older I got, the less socially anxious I was, but the more out of place I felt. These events didn't seem to feel natural to me, and the next thing I know I'm not even real. I am floating outside my body. Titus helped me through that period of time. It was a very lonely time in my life because Peppy was working very long days and sometimes he would come home right as the kids were going to bed. 

Wow, that took an off topic turn. The morning after Titus died, I went out on the deck very early, while everyone else was still asleep. I started bawling for the first time. I knew last night I couldn't grieve in front of anyone until I had had a chance to do it alone first. Suddenly Jade is trotting up, much earlier than normal. I still don't understand how she was outside so early. And she knew something was wrong and came to comfort me. Later on that morning my dad and the kids and Peppy went to the five dollar store, but I stayed behind and experienced this white hot anger that I didn't know I was capable of. It was a consuming fire. I've never felt anything like it ever again. I started kicked and punching these bean bag chairs. I grabbed his bed and bowl and hurled them outside growling, "We don't need this f*ckin sh*t anymore." For the record, I don't talk like this at all. It was a deep, guttural anguish that was coming from me. I felt like Titus' dog friend wailing in the street. 

I was in a brain fog for weeks. Maybe it was preparing me the future. Hah. People would be talking to me and I wouldn't hear them. I was usually sitting there zoning out. I kept repeating, "God, what am I going to do without him?" 

Then two months later the pregnant insane stray showed up. There was no room in any of the inns that we called, so she ended up having babies in a box at our house. The puppies kept my mind busy. We all thought they were adorable and had so much fun playing with them. Fortunately we had no trouble rehoming them. Except Joey. We kept Joey, who turned out to be an insane bipolar aggressive dog that we had to surrender because she was dangerous. I've seen some covid longhaul articles that suggest people who were stressed out when they were infected tended to be more prone to having long haul issues. I wasn't stressed about covid, but for almost a year I had literally felt like I was holding my breath when Joey was outside. I was afraid she was going to escape her fence and hurt someone and we would be sued. I've been around dogs my whole life and have only met one other dog that acted just like Joey, and that dog actually looks just like Joey. 

Then months later Frankie showed up, and she would have never shown up if Joey was still here. We didn't think about dogs until Owsley began asking for one. I told him let's wait until the summer, and then when it warmed up we started looking for a dog that met our criteria: good with cats, not aggressive, housetrained, and neutered. Owsley and I always wanted a big dog. The bigger, the better. And no puppies. We wanted a young dog, but not one we had to start from scratch. And my entire life I had wanted a dog that would cuddle with me on the couch like a big pillow. That is Sheldon to a T. 

I have been gone a lot more than usual this week. Peppy texted me this picture yesterday and said Sheldon had been waiting for me to come home all afternoon. 

We prayed for a good dog and that prayer was answered in the affirmative. Peppy and I were both around different dogs this week. He was visiting his cousin and texted me at 10:30 at night. "Wow, I forgot about much I dislike needy dogs. Sheldon is the best." Same. Yesterday I was around a dog who likes me (most dogs do. It's a gift.) but she is aggressive and hates everyone else. I can't tell how many times someone has told me that their dog is usually never friendly to people and then it warms right up to me. I think animals can sense that I am not a threat, that I will respect them if they want to be left alone, that I am going to hand out treats, and they can probably somehow tell that it is easier for me to be in a room of animals versus a room of people. Animals can really sense the character of a person. She reminds me a lot of Joey and it made me think about Joey, whom I had not actively thought about in a long time. I thought about how well behaved and self reliant Sheldon is. He loves us and happily plays ball and wrestles with us, but will also grabs his toys and go to a corner and occupy himself for hours.

Sheldon doesn't get a voice. I had given Titus a personality and would answer for him and make him talk. When he died it hurt doubly because since we had given him a human personality, it was like a person had died. 

I also appreciate that he's not much of a licker. Only when I provoke him, which does happen from time to time. Dogs lick their butts and eat feces and dead things. I am not going to willingly allow a dog to stick his tongue in my mouth. And while I love pets, it grosses me out to see an animal slobbering in someone's open mouth. It is a goal to keep fecal matter and dead animal bacteria out of my mouth.

I am so thankful for both my pets. They both bring my life joy in different ways. 

They don't hate each other. There's a detached respect coming from Frankie. She isn't afraid of Sheldon at all,  but she just prefers to mind her own business. Sheldon is good with Frankie, but it about kills him when she won't play with him. He sees her playing with string or catnip and he looks so confused like, "Huh? She understands playing, but she doesn't want to play with me? I'm a good boy, who wouldn't want to play with me?"

Frankie is legit a spoiled princess baby.

If you made it all the way to the end, well done, well done. I hope you all have the privilege of loving an animal.