Years ago when I was a little kid, we had a fluffy white dog named Blinker. He was beautiful but very naughty. Every time we turned our back he was down the road. He invented the word runner. After Dad paid the dog pound twice he said, enough. We had to have Blinker put down. That was the first and last dog us kids ever had.
After we got married, my husband and I decided we’d like a dog of our own and proceeded to go through a couple of dogs in rapid succession. One ran off, one insisted on biting the wheels of the tractors going in and out of our driveway. One day he got too close. That was the end of the dog named Bennie.
We were again without a dog. One day, we heard about a liter of pure-bred German Shepherd puppies for sale. We had always had mutts, so the thought of a pure-bred dog was intriguing. Looking the brood over, one little fella stood out with his short-haired, jet-black, trademark-brown look. Towering over his brothers and sisters, he was burly, bullying and endearing, all at the same time. Bringing him home we named him on the spot. We had our Ricardo, Rico for short.
He was my constant companion, although he did live outside. I’d walk him around the perimeter of our house and yard with a leash, to let him know this is just how far you’re allowed and you can’t go any farther. He was the perfect companion. It was just him and me. Every day, we’d run through our exercises and tricks. He grew and grew and grew.
By-and-by, we adopted our boys and when our youngest son was about 2 years old, he’d try to ride Rico. I watched, noticing that Rico was not too keen on roughhousing with little boys. He’d pull his lip back, not snarl, but warn, and move away. I watched, keeping a careful eye. He was so big!
Rico was my protector. One day, I was mowing lawn and a guy on a bike was riding past our house. I was near the road, and we think Rico sensed danger. At any rate, Rico ran alongside the biker and took a snip out of the back seat of his pants. That sealed Rico’s fate. He needed to be put down. Oh, what a sad day.
We then acquired a dog named Moe. Moe holds a special place in our hearts as he once rescued our daughter when she was just a toddler and had wandered off down the field. Moe was her constant companion and after a few agonizing moments when we didn’t know exactly where our daughter had gone off to, my husband thought of calling for the dog.
Moe heard his name, came running to let us know he had heard us, and turned back again to be with our daughter. We followed the dog and found our little girl. Moe disappeared one year, just before Christmas, never to be found again. We cried.
As the kids grew we just knew they needed to have a dog. Again, we tried. This time we adopted a dog named Simba. There are too many stories about Simba to begin to unravel, just suffice to say, one sad day we found Simba in a corn field, a few rows in, a bit down the road from our farm. She had wandered away one time too many.
Then, along came a dog named Diamond. This purebred yellow lab was a marvel. She was our first female dog. She blessed us with a batch of sweeter-than-honey, sunny-yellow pups, nine in all. Oh what a joy this dog was. She followed me everywhere, even inside the calf pens, but did not live in our house. She was a model farm dog, never wandering, ever present, always by our side. She died of cancer at the age of 8. We buried her on our yard, marking her grave with a makeshift cross.
After Diamond passed away, I vowed we’d never get another dog. Nope. Could not do it. It was too hard to lose Diamond. Well, you know that time heals. Eventually, because Diamond was such a treasure, we decided to try for another yellow lab.
At length we brought a dog named Molly Ann into our lives. One of the reasons I got rid of my chickens was because Molly thought they were live, red, running chew toys. They, therefore, needed to be penned and in time stopped producing eggs. If an animal doesn’t produce on the farm and costs money to keep, well, it goes. (I didn’t blame Molly, the chickens were getting old anyway.)
Molly moved right in the house. From the get-go, I decreed she’s either in the barn or in the house, not both. I did not want a dog smelling like a cow lying on my living room floor. Molly is our daughter’s dog. When she leaves, Molly runs to every window, watching her car drive away. She warns us when someone comes, straining at the door, and makes a huge commotion if she does not recognize the person standing there. Sleeping on the floor of our daughter’s bedroom every night, she has integrated her sweet personality into our lives.
I must admit, however, that the notion of a dog living in the house is more appealing than the reality of a dog living in the house. I do not tolerate dog hair well. It gets into every nook and cranny. How? It’s maddening. The pay-off is a sweet, well-behaved, gentle dog who loves us unconditionally. I will just have to deal with the hair.
A dog named Blinker, Bennie, Rico, Moe, Simba, Diamond and Molly. Each one enriched our lives with their own unique personality, bringing complete loyalty, canine friendship and unconditional love. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
(“A friend loves at all times.” Proverbs 17:17)
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