Dog Daze (days)

I miss my dog.

I had one of those weeks where everything and everyone stressed me out so much; I didn’t and couldn’t talk about it. What I needed most was to wrap my arms around the thick neck of my dog, Coltrane, and bury my face into his soft and wiry fur. He would have let me hold him for as long as I needed, and then would have pulled back and stared at me, as if to say, ‘there, there, it’s okay’. Eventually he would have yawned in my face and I would have reluctantly inhaled his stinky dog breath, and then he would trot off in search of his teddy bear and hope that a good game of ‘throw the bear’ would make it all alright.

I’m not really a dog person. I mean, I didn’t grow up with a dog (or any pets for that matter – the toads that escaped from my older brother’s clutches and are fossilized somewhere in my parents house, don’t count!), and if truth be told, was afraid of those furry four legged animals. The schnauzer that lived next door was a frenzied barker that had a heart condition and didn’t seem to like kids (and people) all that much. The neighbor across the street had a ‘hotdog’dog that bit my younger brother on his wrist and drew blood. Their next door neighbor had a few dogs, all with the same name (when they passed on, they just got another and called it the same). So you can see how I wouldn’t be enamored with the idea of owning a dog of my own.

After being married a few years, my husband suggested we get a dog, though not just any dog, but something unique and different. I was skeptical but open to the idea, as long as ‘my fears’ could be addressed. I was adamant that I didn’t want a dog with a long snout (a la Lassie) or any breed that could bare its teeth (being a reader, I had nightmares about Old Yeller for years!) He did his research and decided that a Chinese Shar Pei was the perfect dog for us; located a breeder just a few hours away and made an appointment to go check out the puppies.

We were greeted by a bunch (it felt like hundreds) of jumping, squealing, nipping, adorable pups, in all colors. I used my body language (tense and frozen) to try and convey to my husband my lack of interest (and fear), though he was deep in conversation with the breeder negotiating prices. Just then, I noticed a pup that seemed to be moving in slow motion towards me. He was cool, black and non threatening, and looked like a baby version of King Kong. Since we had already decided on his name (Coltrane, after John Coltrane, the late great black jazz sax player), I smiled and thought, “Ok, this I can deal with”. I motioned to Howie that ‘this was the one’.

Fast forward through the years. Coly became everything and more. He was our best friend, protector and guardian and didn’t know he was a dog. Truly. He looked intimidating, with his muscular build, thick jowls and black ‘skin’, but in truth, he was afraid of most things. He wouldn’t enter a bathroom, but would ‘stretch’ his head in, to repeatedly lick my son’s shoulder raw, while I was towel drying him from a shower.

He would go outside, reluctantly, to do his ‘business’ (though not in rain and when it snowed, Howie had to dig a maze-like trench, as Coly got ‘stuck’ the first time he ventured out and seemed to remember that.

Other dogs were confused by him. He’d stand there, wagging that curly twisted tail of his as dog after dog approached him, sniffed, lifted a wary eyebrow, and then usually bit him.

After 13 years, he showed signs of age. The ‘puppy power’ had long faded, along with the rich black ‘coat’, now faded to grey. Just like one of my favorite childhood stories, The Velveteen Rabbit, he was so loved, how he looked was inconsequential. We should all age as he did – the multitude of wrinkles that framed his face and shoulders, softened and straightened.

He stopped eating and it was obvious that his time with us was drawing to an end.

He was riddled with cancer, exhausted and ready, though we were not ready to say goodbye. As we prepared to ‘put him down’, he summoned up one last burst of ‘puppy power’ and said his goodbyes. I believe he knew. My husband held him as he took his last breath and then, like air being released from a balloon, he was no more.

That was more than 8 years ago.

Reading books such as Marley and Me, and more recently, The Art of Racing in the Rain, remind me of the special moments we shared, and how much I miss him.