There are those dogs you never forget…
By David S. Greene
July 23, 2010
As he settles into the middle years of middle age, more and more Harry reminds me of a dog I had long ago — the one I still miss, even 18 years after he’s gone.
In 1975, to replace a string of increasingly poor choices of Poodle, my dad decided it was time for a different breed, and fell in love with a Miniature Schnauzer at a breeder in Swansea, Mass. He brought him home, and named him Jeremiah. Jerry for short.
Jerry was a fun little salt and pepper puppy. He’d romp around the house, slipping and sliding all over the tile floors, and banging (softly) into the walls.
When he was only five months old, tragedy struck. Jerry escaped through the fence, down the driveway and was hit and killed by a car. My parents lived on a busy street in New Bedford, and the worst thing anyone could ever do was leave the back gate open — for that very reason.
Jerry’s death was hard for all of us, but it hit my dad like a ton of bricks. He went back to the breeder and immediately got another Schnauzer. We needed that little guy so much more than he needed us (though he was quite happy to be adopted into a loving home).
I was 11 at the time, and didn’t know that when you lose a pet, you shouldn’t name the new one “the second” or “junior,” so I of course named him Jeremiah Junior Schnauzer Greene, or JJ.
JJ and I bonded like we were made for each other. I played with him, and made sure he knew the rules. I confided in him and he kept all my secrets. For the next 17 years, he was my dog. JJ was obedient with everyone, but he had a different look in his eyes with me. I was his Alpha, and he and I both knew it.
When my mother rescued an obnoxious, willful, ill-trained bully of a West Highland Terrier from a couple in the midst of a divorce, it created problems. McTavish tried to dominate JJ every chance he got. I’m not ashamed to say I hated McTavish, not because he didn’t listen or wasn’t well trained, but because he was mean to my dog.
JJ was dignified, docile, loving and very submissive. Sure, I wish he could have stuck up for himself better, but that wasn’t who he was. McTavish earned a new nickname that only I used — Muttley, which was short for The Mutt from Hell.
Over time, Muttley and JJ came to an uneasy truce. They came sailing with us, and were both outstanding boat dogs. They were not only housebroken, but immediately boat-broken. The minute we got to a new port, the dogs were ready for their leashes and their walk. They never once had an accident on the boat. They’d stand on the starboard rail, knowing they had to wait to pee until they made it off the dock — which in some harbors was another brisk five minute walk onto dry land. We must have been in 20-30 different harbors over the years, but JJ and Muttley were perfect sailors wherever we went.
Just like Harry, it was JJ’s eyes that melted you. They reflected exactly who he was: wise, caring, optimistic and assured. When I came home from school (or wherever I was living) to visit my folks, JJ would velcro himself to me. He’d run upstairs to my bedroom and paw the covers off me to snuggle in close, and he’d let out a happy, contented sigh when I’d cuddle him.
In 1993, JJ was 17, and had slowed down quite a bit. I was preparing to move to Washington, DC for graduate school, and at the same time we learned that JJ had advanced kidney disease. He was going into renal failure, and at his age, his quality of life wasn’t going to improve.
I told my father I just couldn’t bear to make the final journey to the veterinarian, and could he please do it after I left for DC. Dad agreed. I moved to Washington on January 21, 1993, the day after Bill Clinton’s first inaugural. Before I left, I held JJ in my arms one last time and stroked his ears. I whispered to him what a good dog and great friend he had been, how much I loved him, and how I’d never, ever forget him, not for the rest of my life.
JJ went to sleep peacefully at Anchor Animal Hospital in North Dartmouth, Mass. the next day. He was buried with his favorite blanket under the big rhododendron bush in my parents’ back yard. I couldn’t bear to replace my beloved dog until P and I adopted Cami and Harry in December of 2001.
I wish I had a picture of JJ to show you what a handsome, wonderful face he had (the paws in the picture above aren’t his). I can still see him so clearly in my memory, with his sharp, pointy ears, trimmed schnauzer beard and little bitty, wiggly docked tail.
Harry isn’t JJ, but sometimes when I look in his eyes I see a similar, warm and self-assured spark. I’ve wondered more than once if there’s a piece of JJ’s soul in Harry, or if I just want there to be. I love Cami and Harry with all my heart, but that doesn’t stop me from wishing I could have five more minutes with my old friend.
Photo credit: Schnauzer paws, flickr Creative Commons (Aislinn Ritchie)
Oh David, that is beautiful.
I can still feel Duchess, the neighbor’s dog. I met her when I was maybe 7 or 8. She was MY dog. I could just sit outside and make a low whistle and she’d barrel through that hole in the hedges. She loved me, the first animal who was really “mine.”
After a year or two she went to live with their grown daughter and I never saw her again. But I never forgot my little Duchess.
Comment by Mary Mary — July 23, 2010 @ 4:37 pm
I agree, David. There are some we never forget. Actually I’ll never forget any of my dogs and when it’s my turn to cross that Rainbow Bridge, I hope they are all there waiting for me.
But Watachie was the first dog I trained, my first ‘heart dog’ and he absorbed the brunt of my learning processes - learning how to be a dog owner and how to teach a dog. I was 18 when Watachie joined me.
Watachie accomplished a lot in his short 7 years. He was a certified search and rescue dog. He had his AKC and UKC UD; he went to the California and Virginia state frisbee championships and then the World. He did even more for me.
But I apologize to him on a regular basis. Looking back at the younger me, I was a horrible trainer. If I had Watachie now, I can only imagine what he could have accomplished and how different his life might have been.
So thank you, Watachie, for teaching me so much and I did learn. But again, I’m sorry. Please don’t bite me when I cross the bridge!
Comment by Liz Palika — July 23, 2010 @ 5:17 pm
How very beautiful.
Comment by VJ — July 23, 2010 @ 5:25 pm
David, OK, why didnt you warn us in advance to have the kleenex ready?….sigh…
Comment by Sandi K — July 23, 2010 @ 5:41 pm
Kleenex worthy!v But yeah-there are dogs and then there are Heart dogs-J.J. was a heart dog.
Comment by Susan — July 23, 2010 @ 6:09 pm
Sometimes I feel like my cat has my dog’s soul in it. Our dog died before the cats were born, but I’m sure they were still “Baking” Anyways, lately Rory (my cat) has been reminding me of the dog, what with being skittish and quite loud.
Oh and random side question but have you noticed that beagles seem to DESPISE rain and baths like its poison ?
Comment by Nathan — July 23, 2010 @ 6:11 pm
What a beautiful piece. When these heart dogs and cats leave, they take a piece of our hearts with them, and we never forget.
Comment by Ingrid King — July 23, 2010 @ 6:27 pm
When my Dammit lay on the table of a strange vet hospital in NJ last fall with his smashed pelvis and under an opiate to protect him from the pain, I literally wanted to die with him. I had no idea how huge a piece of my heart that little 10 pound being owned. Thank you David for writing this piece from the heart.
“Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ‘em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long—
So why in Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?”
Rudyard Kipling, “The Power of the Dog”.
Comment by Deb — July 23, 2010 @ 6:59 pm
David, this made me cry.
Comment by ericka — July 23, 2010 @ 7:06 pm
Oh David, I am so there with you. My current dog, Darby, is a fine, loving dog, but I still carry Bosco with me daily, though it’s been five years since he’s been gone. I believe not quite ever getting over him is the very best tribute to our mutual love and devotion to each other.
Comment by Vicky — July 23, 2010 @ 8:09 pm
There’s something about those dogs we have when we’re young, the ones we tell our secrets to. They teach us how to be human, don’t they? How to nurture and love.
Comment by KathyF — July 24, 2010 @ 12:55 am
And bunnies too.
I will never, ever forget my Zsa Zsa. She died last year and I still cry over her.
She was smart, stubborn, diplomatic, affectionate, confident, playful … on and on.
When I took her as a favor for my friends back in 2001 (their kids had grown bored with her, an outdoor animal they had to “visit” — no big surprise that they didn’t bond deeply), I expected very little. I was a dog person. Rabbits were dumb, right? Kind of aloof and noninteractive?
Boy, did I have a lot to learn. And she’s the reason that, over the last six years, I have taught hundreds and hundreds of rabbit owners how to care for these grossly misunderstood animals.
Sniff. I miss my best girl.
Comment by Mary Mary — July 24, 2010 @ 6:12 am
Some of our pets are our “Heart Pets” and it sounds like JJ was the one for you. When you lose a pet you love, you miss them every day. But JJ still lives on in your memories and the stories you tell about him.
Comment by CatPrrson — July 24, 2010 @ 6:46 am
Yes, this was definitely a heartfelt piece, brought back some wonderful memories. Baldwin is only a baby, but I have the same feelings as you describe. I think certain dogs and people make a soul connection, one that transcends any species conflicts in communication.
Only a look, and one knows what the other is feeling, saying, or what our needs may be mutually.
Very good David…now where is the kleenex box and my chocolates?
Comment by Mary — July 24, 2010 @ 9:24 am
David,
That is such a poignant, beautiful piece. I call dogs like JJ the “dog of a lifetime.” Thank you for sharing this, David. And here’s to Harry, your second “dog of a lifetime”!
Comment by Maria Goodavage — July 24, 2010 @ 9:57 am
David, I very much enjoyed reading your story. Our two Portuguese Water Dogs (Popeye and MacGregor) are only 4 y.o. and Geoff and I dread seeing them get older. We love them so, and are thankful each day for their unconditionally loving presence!
Keep on writing! You do it well!
Comment by Fatinha Kerr — July 25, 2010 @ 7:27 am
That was lovely, David! Thanks for writing it and bringing to mind even more than usual our own much-loved and now departed animals.
Comment by Glenye Oakford — July 25, 2010 @ 2:03 pm
A beautiful and touching post. “Just five more minutes” really hit home for me. Our Nicky is battling a life-threatening pneumonia right now. He loves to have his crummy old hips rubbed and will back up to anyone he thinks will indulge him. He frequently does that as I’m trying to get out the door to work. This morning, I missed my usual morning ritual where I tell Nick “I can’t pet you all day, bub. Gotta go earn some kibble!”
What I wouldn’t give for some assurance that there will be another morning where his wiggly little butt backs up to me and makes me late for work.
Comment by Melinda — July 26, 2010 @ 9:42 am
I have been trying to post on this wonderful story…but tears come fast and I sign off… but my heart dog was with me the shortest..just shy of 3 years. His name was Harry..a beautiful quirky golden destined to be mine. I adopted him and his littermate Lucy just 6 weeks after our first golden, Barkley, had passed due to cancer at age 13. Not easy to lose Barkley, but we had a wonderful life with him. The silence of the house was deafening my hubby said so Harry and Lucy entered our home Labor day weekend 2005. He had a rough start—giardia and whip worm causing a swollen belly and “starvin”pup…but we got thru that…and when at 16 months I felt a stick-like lump on his neck—I never thought that tiny lttle thing would be able to bring this “scared of feathers and water” dog down…Despite aggressive treatment, we lost him April 2008 as the cancer was more aggressive than the treatment was available. It was during his treatment that my two kitties were stricken with ARF in Feb/March 2007 so his illness took a backseat, believe it or not…so when we found out that one year after radiation the cancer was back, this two health care member family was surprised. What followed was the realization that I could truly enjoy my pal Harry despite the fact that he was to leave us soon. I learned to “smell the roses” as the saying goes..I would be lying if I said every day was good—but those were the ones I spent “talking” to my pals on itchmoforums. I still am able to use what “Harry taught me” as I do look at the days very differently than I did prior to Harry…Tears still come, but more smiles come to this family…because Harry taught us that…to enjoy each and every day..and to laugh as he had us laugh at him…He did not know he was sick I was told by his oncologist so that is what I tried to remember…and in those days that I did…laughter and licks were plentiful.
A quick peek at my Harry—a you-tube was posted by one of the itchmo members..it was posted with the song Into the West but no longer is due to copyright stuff…but if you want to see the quirky golden …here are the pix my friend chose! He is the one with the beautiful to the floor ears! :)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cOnfUHt2SOA
Comment by Carol V — July 26, 2010 @ 2:56 pm
Oh Carol, what a beautiful remembrance of another very special Harry (I say that because I believe I have the current most special Harry). Thanks for sharing your memories and the video of a Golden boy.
Comment by David S. Greene — July 26, 2010 @ 3:50 pm