Chapter 54. My Forever Friends.

I’ve probably told pieces of these stories before, but I’m going to try to put them together in this writing. It’s more for my benefit than anything else.

I suspect I was born loving dogs.  My earliest recollections contain a large, furry presence protecting me.  That was, of course, Tessie, the Doberman my grandfather, Louis, purchased years before my birth.  I know from photos that I crawled, napped, and hugged her.  I think she was my first Nanny.

When I was about four, my grandfather put me on a horse and told me to hang on.  I remember Louis holding the reins of the animal while I gripped the horn of the saddle. I recall putting my fingers through the horse’s mane, something I would do whenever I met a horse.  I still do to this day.

The first dog my grandfather gave me was a Border Collie named Casey.  He was a puppy, and I was mean and rough with him.  I don’t know why but I do know that after one incident, Casey disappeared. My parents said he had run off.  They looked for him.  Called the dog pound.  He was never seen again.  I suspect my grandfather took him away because I wasn’t ready to treat a dog properly.  I was 6.

Louis bought me two horses when I was about 8.  He selected a Quarter Horse and another whose lineage I don’t remember.  He said two were good because I could bring a friend, and we could ride together.  I brought my friend Robbie. Sometimes she and I talk about those times 70 years ago when we hung out in the stockyards of Denver.

The next horse was a Pinto Pony named Tony.  He was smaller than the Quarter Horse and he had the most beautiful whorls along his side.  I would run my fingers through his mane then trace the counterclockwise shape of the whorls.  Without the other two horses, I rode alone but I was happy about it.  I explored the stockyards, the Platte River, the small truck farms of Adams County, and paved streets of ßGlobeville.  I did that without any supervision.  Times were different.  No helicopter parents.

One day I decided to encourage Tony to gallop as much and for as long as we both wanted.  I leaned over the saddle, reins and part of his mane in my hands and let him rip.  As we charged into the paddock, I could see my grandfather standing with his hands on his hips.  As we neared, the smile on his face turned to anger.  We stopped.  He grabbed me off Tony. “Look what you’ve done!”  

I looked.  Tony was filled with sweat and foam.  His feet were bloodied.  I had run his shoes off because we had galloped on paved roads.  “We don’t treat animals like this,” he thundered at me.  

I remember the scene vividly to this day.  But it was my most important lesson about how to treat animals.  And it came, of course, from Louis, the meat packer and hunter. There would be more lessons later, but that was the strongest. 

I have not been without a dog, cat, horse or bird since, well, for as long as I can remember.

This morning, I was greeted on Facebook by a post from Gummy the Newf.  A little explanation is required here. My Facebook feed is filled primarily with Newfoundland posts and videos.  Gummy is a Newfie who lives in Quebec and she and Boomer became friends, then boyfriend/girlfriend and then engaged. I created a whole persona for Boomer in this relationship.  I gave him a plane, a helicopter, a 4-wheel, a rocket ship.  I’d post photos and drawings of his vehicles.  He’d fly to Gummy and take her to amazing places.  As the story grew, Gummy’s other friends wanted to come along, so I’d create maps to pick them up anywhere from Alaska to Virginia.  

Well, Boomer died a few months ago.  And, of course, Gummy and all her friends told us how sorry they were.  

But this morning, Gummy posted that she was missing Boomer and hoped he had met her grandparents in heaven. 

I was reduced to tears.  Still am, just thinking about it. I thought about Boomer and then my mind drifted to the rest. I recalled all the wonderful, amazing, loving animals I have lived with, both before I married GB and since.

Now, GB wasn’t much of an animal person before we married.  He liked them but hadn’t really considered incorporating them into his life.  He probably couldn’t imagine that once I was living on a half-acre property, I would begin collecting as many dogs, cats and whatever else came our way.  But I’m pretty sure he was happy he came along for that ride.

So, this morning, I am thinking about all of them. I can see them.  I can look at their photos.  But, I wish I could conjure up the smell of puppy breath or of the side of the face of a horse.  I wish I could once again run my fingers through the long hair of those many dogs (Cruiser R Roozer, Barney, Max, Winnie, Ghengis, Elon, Doc, Winter,Nisha, Shiney, Mimi, Boomer) or hear the purr of the cats (Mr. Wackett, Mean Beanie Diamond, Ashcroft Silkythoughts, Huey and Dewey Katzamazov, Abigail, Samantha Ann, Murphy, Lucy and Sophie).  Or hear the tweets and songs from the birds (Louis and Rose, Pikachoo and Paulina). Or feel the warmth and power beneath me when, after my Louis-imposed punishment had been served, I rode bareback on Tony.  

All those creatures have been incorporated into my life, into my memory, into my soul.  They are but one set of rich memories I have of a rather charmed life.