Chapter 18. Passion.

I know.  You’re thinking this’ll be about sex.  It’s not.  When GB and I were going through our daily ritual of rummaging through memorabilia, I came across a picture of me when I was about 2 or 3 years old.  I’m with Tessie, the dog for whom Louis bought the house.  Tessie was my first nanny and my first dog.  I can remember touching and hugging her; she licking my face.  I remember her doggy smell.  From the moment I met Tessie, I was in love with dogs, a passion that has carried through my lifetime. So, here I am, with a very determined look on my face, with my first dog, a Doberman who had multiple Best in Shows.

My passion has turned to violence on occasion.  Mrs. Dunn, a Park Hill neighbor, once chased Tessie with a broom.  I don’t think I witnessed this.  My brother, Steve, told the family about it.  Tessie would run between our house on Forest Street and my grandparents on Locust.  It was probably a mile or so.  There were no leash laws in those days and Tessie ran freely between the two homes.  Mrs. Dunn’s actions angered me for years and one night, when I was about 7, I had my chance at revenge.  We had been playing hide and seek and I had to, how do I say this nicely?  Poop.  So, I took my revenge on her front lawn.  Yes.  I.  Did.  I avenged Tessie.

Years later, I had married GB and we had two dogs, Cruiser R Roozer, my college acquisition and Barney, our first shared canine project.  I was walking with Barney down a walking path near our home when the across the street neighbor ran out and kicked Barney.  What the hell is wrong with you?  You kicked my dog!  I rushed the neighbor with the  only weapon I had, a pooper scooper, and it into his forehead.  Neighbors heard the commotion and called the police.  The police arrived within minutes (slow crime day, I guess) and informed us we would both be taken downtown.  I politely addressed the police officer and said I’m sorry.  I can’t go to jail today.  I have a dinner party.  The police officer suggested we compromise.   I promised not to let my dog urinate on the neighbor’s property and the neighbor had to reimburse me for the cost of my pooper scooper.

My passion for dogs has led me to stop traffic while I tended to a victim of a hit and run.  I’ve circled neighborhoods attempting to lure stray dogs into my car.  And, this is amazing:  one day I was driving on I-25 when I spotted a dog stranded between the north and south lanes.  It was rush hour and I caught the attention of a truck driver.  Together, and I don’t know how, we managed to stop the traffic, each of us holding up our respective lanes and convincing the third lane to stop.  The truck driver jumped out, grabbed the dog, got himself bitten and hopped back into his truck.  I offered to take the dog to a shelter, and he said, no, he needed a dog and would be keeping it. We then heeded the honking behind us and went on our ways.   I’ve sat on boards of animal friendly organizations that raised money to feed pets, have rural dogs and cats sterilized and, most dear to my heart:  rescue Newfoundlands. When I was a lobbyist, I represented a group of shelters to pass stronger laws against companion animal abuse.

Now, when I telephoned GB to find out why he hadn’t called me after our meeting at our 10^th high school reunion, I had to make it clear to him that there were questions that needed answering before I would agree to spend time with him.  I know.  I got it. I called him and then interrogated him to be sure he was up to my standards. He should have hung up. But he didn’t! One of the questions was about dogs. Do you believe dogs are the center of the universe?  He stammered.  He said he had cats and he liked them.  I told him I also had two cats. But what about dogs?  Well, he said he didn’t really know but he was willing to learn.  That was good enough.  And over the ensuing 49+ years, he has learned to love and be loved by dogs, have his heart broken by them only to fall in love again.  

And, we now face a future where having dogs may be difficult.  We’re down to two: Boomer, a Landseer Newfoundland who is 10 and has myelopathy (a paralytic condition of the rear legs) and Monkey, a 16-year-old Grifter.  Will we bring dogs into our hearts after these two leave us?  Who will care for the new dogs when we are either too infirm to care for them or die?  I don’t want orphan dogs.  Is it selfish to want the company of a dog in my old age?  Is it selfish to say no to a dog needing a home?  

My life with dogs informed my love of animals. And over the years, GB and I created a habitat that would support our dogs, cats and chickens as well as other woodland critters: raccoons, squirrels, skunks, bunnies, birds, snakes, the ailing turkey and that sweet little lamb that never survived.  Our travels together always included an animal component.  Sometimes I dragged GB to a dog park . . . how can a trip be complete without a quick visit?  Or I’d stop strangers on the street and compliment their dog.  Safaris were great, but spending a day in an observation blind at a watering hole was the best.  We sat, unseen by the wild beasts, while they came to and from the water, the powerful yet elegant elephants taking baths, nuzzling each other, males testing each other; wildebeests, zebra and nyala coming to the water’s edge and all disappearing at sunset when lion, leopard and wild dogs would take the next shift.

I was born with a passion.  I gifted it to my husband. I think he thanks me for that.