That special dog

Mosby

I’ve been thinking a lot today about dogs, thoughts triggered I know by the loss yesterday of Jamie’s dog, Mosby, beloved not only by his own family but all of us. Over my life, I’ve had more dogs than I can count, but it occurs to me that for many of us there is one, or possibly two, who stand out. Memorable dogs. Each dog is memorable in its own way, loved for what or who he or she is, but there are these stand-out dogs.

In medical school in a small Missouri town, my brother had such a dog, a German shepherd named King. I can’t remember where or how King came into the family, but he was devoted to John. Once John was in a lecture on the third floor; King waited patiently until someone opened the door. The dog slipped in, went up to the classroom, and sat by John. The instructor ordered him to take the dog out, and he did. But after the third time, John said, “Sir, if you’ll let him stay he’ll just lie here quietly beside me.” And that’s what happened. King went everywhere with John. I distinctly remember he’d go along when John drove his route delivering cleaning.

About the same time in the same town, my ex- and I had a farm collie named Bathsheba Finkelstein, after one of his old girlfriends so he said. We called her Sheba. One day a friend, an art professor at the university I was attending, said he’d secured a year’s teaching appointment abroad and was taking his family with him. Would we keep his dog, a magnificent mahogany male collie? We agreed, and Shea came to live with us. Shea and Sheba gave us some beautiful pups. A year later, Shea didn’t want to leave. We’d return him, and he’d come right back to our cabin on the edge of town. The professor’s kids would come get him—tore me up to see them put a leash on him while they rode their bikes. So dangerous! Didn’t matter. He was never gone long.

As we prepared to move to Texas, we worried more and more about Shea’s future. We wanted to take him, but he wasn’t ours. Finally, Joel gathered his courage and asked Rich if we could have him. Rich said, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Jamie and Mosby

Shea came with us to Texas, but I had to leave behind the two pups we’d kept—broke my heart. In Texas, it was soon evident Shea was getting old and cataracts interfered with his vision. He also lost weight, perhaps from heartworms which I’d never heard of. The excitement in the household the weekend we brought our first child home was too much for him, and we had to have him put down.

King and Shea were standout dogs, and Mosby I know was that for Jamie. All three earned the term, “perfect gentlemen.” No doubt there will be other dogs for Jamie, but none quite the same.

Right now, I have my own standout dog. She’s lying on the couch, head on the pillow, watching me. She and I share a closer bond than any other dog I’ve ever had, mainly because I’ve had her since she was eight weeks old and we are together almost all day every day. After a rowdy puppyhood that alarmed a lot of people, she has, at almost seven, settled down into middle age—almost. She’s loving and affectionate and devoted—but she’s also excitable (I know, doesn’t look that way) and willful, more than a bit spoiled, and a diva. Given the chance, she’d take off to explore the world, which scares me. I adore her and have long conversations with her. She answers with a variety of intonations—just wish I knew what she was saying.

I cannot imagine life without a dog.