Column: Remembrance of a good dog, a good friend

Staff

Published Wednesday, February 28, 2007

By Al Batt, Tales from Exit 22

I miss her.

I don’t deny that I loved her.

She was young when we first met. Long-legged and a bit awkward, she came from a large family. What she lacked in manners, she made up for with her youthful enthusiasm. She partnered in all my endeavors. She was happy when I was happy, sad when I was sad.

I walked down to get the mail the other day. There was something missing. I filled the bird feeders. Again, something was lacking. It was her footprints in the snow. She always accompanied me as I performed such tasks. She had determined that I was not capable of such chores without her assistance.

The missing footprints were a reminder that my dog had died. Her body had given up on her.

It’s hard to lose a true friend—one who believes you are greater than you ever could be. I once asked my bride how many great men she knew. She replied, “One less than you think.” Towhee thought I was a great man.

There were days when my life reflected the words presented on a sweatshirt that my wife had given me. “Things to do. Let dog out. Let dog in. Let dog out. Let dog in. Repeat as necessary.”

Towhee was always willing to give someone the fur off her back, shedding enough fur that my wife could have knitted a new dog each week. Towhee put the “fur” in furniture.

Towhee had many conspiracy theories— most of them involving owls or cats. She didn’t trust the meter reader. She thought him sneaky.

Towhee was the official greeter at the Batt Cave. Always on the verge of forming words, her idea of a welcoming handshake was a goose. She loved visitors and never played hard to pet.

I looked at some photos of Towhee. When there were people in the photo, they were smiling. Towhee made it easy to smile.

Towhee loved sharing the recycling duty with me. She enjoyed begging a bit of my breakfast of peanut butter on toast and black cherry-flavored yogurt. Towhee was a teacher. She taught me the simple truths. She taught me that contentment could be found in a hike. The length or location of the hike made little difference. Towhee showed by example that there is no bad time to take a nap or an occasion too small to celebrate. She liked old bones and old chairs, no matter what their condition, because they were remnants of experiences worth remembering. She shared gloomy times as well as happy times. Her head always found its way onto my lap when she sensed I was feeling sad.

I could use her head on my lap now. I feel an emptiness. I shall miss her welcome as I enter the house. If I were gone for a week or a minute, her greeting expressing unconditional love was the same. Towhee was our faithful canine companion. Her pedigree was mixed, but her love for my wife and me knew no bounds. Every married man ought to have a dog. Every member of the family could be unhappy with poor old Dad, but his dog would be there saying with her eyes, “Don't ever change. You’re perfect just the way you are.” Those beautiful eyes that refused to see evident flaws.

Eugene O’Neill wrote about his dog, “Whenever you visit my grave, say to yourselves with regret, but also with happiness in your hearts at the remembrance of my long happy life with you. ‘Here lies one who loved us and whom we loved.’ No matter how deep my sleep I shall hear you, and not all the power of death can keep my spirit from wagging a grateful tail.”

Years ago when an adored dog died, a minister told me, “You must always remember that, as far as the Bible is concerned, God only threw the humans out of Paradise.” Will Rogers said, “If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went."

Towhee was a great friend. Her love had no limits. She had all the traits of a good dog— forgiving, accepting, encouraging, and loving.

She lived a life without expectations, criticisms, or complaints. Her friendship brought me immense joy. I will miss her companionship. She gave so much and asked so little in return.

I am left with memories. A memory is like time travel. With a little effort, I am able to conjure up recollections of a puppy full of energy and me full of time.

Towhee may have led a dog’s life, but I am so thankful that she shared it with me.

Hartland resident Al Batt’s columns appear Wednesdays and Sundays.

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