She was more than just a dog
Keith Lawrence, Messenger-Inquirer, Owensboro, Ky.
Thu, February 24, 2022, 6:42 AM
Feb. 24—I held her as she died and whispered, "We'll never forget you" in her ear.
It's been almost 30 years, and we've kept that promise.
The daffodils have pushed through the dirt on her grave, and soon they'll be blooming.
I was looking out the kitchen window the other day and two squirrels were playing on her grave.
Boy, she would not have liked that.
She was fierce in her defense of the backyard against the squirrel invasion.
She would tear across the yard, barking fiercely if one even dared to cross the utility lines that run across the back of the yard.
Our son had wanted a dog as far back as he could remember.
But we always found excuses.
Someday, we kept saying.
Someday.
He was 9 that day in 1982 when he discovered a new batch of puppies down the street.
They didn't even have their eyes open yet.
The owners said he could have one.
And he looked so hopeful, all we could say was yes.
He picked her out. Or maybe she picked him out.
He'd run down the street to visit her every day. And she'd waddle after him when he started home.
It was the end of June before she was weaned — the longest days in his young life.
But finally, she moved in.
He named her Doo Dad. She won a blue ribbon for most original name at a dog show at the library.
She was a cross between a border collie and a Pomeranian-poodle.
Soon, the house was hers.
She'd sit in the bay window and guard the yards as far as she could see.
If something moved, we knew about it.
Even five houses down.
He was a latchkey kid. His parents worried about him.
But she was there every afternoon, watching in the window for his school bus, whimpering with glee and wagging her tail when he appeared.
Back then, when college was still a distant dream, he would talk about the day when they would grow up and move away together.
His parents would smile, a little sadly, knowing what the future would hold.
Time has a way of moving on.
Little boys turn into men. And dogs get old way too fast.
Soon, he went away to college. And she had to be helped up into her guard post in the window.
But on Fridays, when she heard him coming, the years rolled back, and she would rush to the door, whimpering her joy.
Then, just before Thanksgiving in 1993, time caught up with her.
She began vomiting and couldn't eat.
The doctor said she was in the final stages of kidney failure.
It was only a matter of days, he said.
The boy who was now a man came home that afternoon.
It was a different kind of Thanksgiving, sitting there beside her, hoping for the miracle that couldn't happen.
By then, she couldn't even drink water. Just lick it off our fingers.
Friday, we had to make that last trip to the vet's.
That morning, she made one last trip into the backyard, looked around for the squirrels she used to chase and gave a final bark at a man two houses down.
I'm not sure which hurt the most. Feeling her last heartbeat.
Or watching the boy who was now a man digging her grave.
A flower bed covers her grave now.
Baby bunnies and squirrels play on it.
I can almost hear her barking a warning for them to get out of her yard.
Forget her.
Never.
~~Keith Lawrence
