Mr. Personality

Losing a dog is like losing a family member, and sometimes it seems almost as hard as the loss of a human counterpart.  It’s been a while since our Golden died, but it’s never been the same around our house.  I still look at the place in the hallway where he liked to lie, and my eyes go automatically to the site of his water bowl, the level of which I always checked.

Rex was our buddy, and any time he saw the car door open he hopped right in, ready to go anywhere with us.  When we got where we were going he stayed close, for fear of being left behind.

We tried to give him every advantage, including seven semesters of dog training at our local community center.  He had a wonderful time, but sadly, was always at the bottom of the class.  When the teacher saw him arrive, she shook her head and said, “Here comes Rex again.  He doesn’t know he’s at dog school.  He thinks he’s at a dog party.”

He loved the children of the family and wanted to be with them whether they liked it or not.  Too often when they played board games on the floor, Rex rushed into their midst as chips and counters went flying.  If he didn’t lie on the board he sat so close that his wagging tail swept it clean.

As for protection, he did not supply much.  One evening at dusk we found him close to the sliding screen door, staring out at an opossum poised against the shrubbery.  The opossum stood outside, playing possum.  Rex remained inside, playing chicken.

He loved to eat paper.  I had an envelope containing sixty dollars in my purse, and unfortunately, I left the purse open on the floor of my bedroom.  The money never made it to wherever it was intended to go.  On another occasion he took a big bite out of my nephew’s first paycheck.  Happily, that could be replaced.  One friend lost legal papers, another, her appointment calendar.

When guests arrived he thought they came to see him.  He ignored us and sat at or on their feet.  Whenever possible he snatched a pile of paper cocktail napkins for pleasurable ingestion and seemed to enjoy them more than the hors d’oeuvres, although he was known to snag a wedge of Brie.  He particularly enjoyed paper guest towels, and sometimes we heard the thump-bang-bang as he caught his head in the wastepaper basket in the bathroom.

When he discovered that newspapers were particularly delicious, we had to keep the gates closed to protect the neighbors’ reading matter.  As hard as we tried he could occasionally find a crevice to wriggle through for foraging expeditions.

Rex remained rambunctious into old age, and when he died we placed him in a sunny corner of the orchard.  I know it will never happen, but when we go, I wish they would put us there beside him.  One thing for sure, when we get to heaven, I know we’ll find the gates locked, not to keep us out but to keep him in.