Dog Days of Winter

***Chad & Frosty in the backyard; Webster Groves, Missouri, 1977-ish***

Today was one of those days I'm just beatin' down--not in a bad way, just in the sense that it's the end of the week and it's been a long one, even though it was a short one. It was one of those days I got in my car after work and thought, I just want to go home and hang out with my dog.

I have loved dogs my entire life. I don't know why exactly my affinity for the canine species took hold. I do remember that I loved watching "Lassie," even crying often at the end of the show. I must have been just a toddler then. I know Frosty died the summer after seventh grade, she was eight, which means we must have gotten our dog Lassie when I was three or four. I remember her, I vaguely remember Mom trying to explain why she had to be put to sleep, and I think she was just a year or year and a half old. She was small, if indeed she was full Collie she definitely didn't live long. I don't remember her ever being anywhere near as big as I. 

Frosty came next, she's in the picture here. I remember picking her up from the airport--she was flown in by a relative, I don't know whom, from I think Alaska. She was a hearty dog, a "man's dog" if you will. Built for cold, for sure. I still remember the feel of rubbing her fur. She was a sweet dog, though fiercely protective of her people and property. A garbage man put a trash can over her once, because a friend left the gate open and Frosty got out and, well, didn't like the garbage man much. I was sad when she died, though it was pretty quick, no prolonged illness. I simply remember going outside one morning and she was laying on her side, breathing heavily. Dad took her to the vet, only to return without her. My sister, Cara, and I got the putting a dog to sleep talk again. We were sad. I remember sitting with Mom and Cara, mourning, and ultimately deciding to get another dog. I'm not sure Dad was in on that conversation. He's a farm boy, and animals are purposeful. Frosty was purposeful, an outstanding watch dog. The type we decided to get next, though, was not a watchdog: Poochie, an Old English Sheepdog. Think "Shaggy DA". More on her in a separate entry or entries.

Back to my topic of Chad "Hearts" Dogs, ever since I was a wee lad I loved stuffed animals. I still have all of mine from my childhood. They rest in a corner in my guest room. Bernie loved to chew on such things, stuffed toys or balls, but she never, never took one of my stuffed animals into her mouth. I always called her stuffed toys monkeys with her, so we must have had a stuffed monkey for her back in the day. She absolutely destroyed those things, it was ridiculous but cute. I have her last "monkey" still. It's in good shape, it didn't get much hard use. However, even in the sunset of her life I could occasionally get her to chomp and wrestle with it a tad. I'm glad I have it. 

When Cara was brought home as a baby, I filled her crib with stuffed animals, all on top of her. Mom thought she was going to suffocate. I was just being affectionate toward my baby sister! 

Somewhere within all that above, my love for animals but particularly dogs was born. I thought it might be hard, after Bernie's passing, to see people with their vibrant best friends, walking and what not. It's not, I love it. I love dogs and often see the pride in both canine and owner's eyes as they walk by.