There Is An Emptiness In Our Household

Petey the dog was found roaming the streets in Jefferson County, the county south of where we live.  This means he had been dumped --- or that he had run away from a bad situation.

A woman with the St. Louis Australian Shepherd Club took an interest in Petey, and declared that he was part Australian Shepherd.  I think this was a leap of imagination --- she told a little white lie because the Australian Shepherd Club had an excellent rescue dog program, and she wanted Petey to be in that program.

We met Petey at an adoption event at the American Kennel Club’s Museum Of The Dog.  We adopted him.  

That was 12 years ago.

Petey gained a lot of karma. I had him trained as a therapy dog, and he helped psychiatric patients connect with the world.  He was good at killing squirrels that set foot in our back yard.  He surprised us by swimming across the Meramec River chasing a deer.  He did not catch the deer, but he once presented us with a woodchuck.

As Petey grew older, his hunting days were over.  His rear legs grew weaker.  He always wanted to be near his humans, and he began struggling to manage stairways as he followed us around the house.  Petey's favorite part of the day was when we went to bed, and he could lie in front of our bedroom door, guarding us as we slept.

Old age was unkind to Petey.  He had trouble standing still over his food bowl.  He started nagging us to go to bed.  Continence became an issue.  And the rear legs could get him up stairs, but could no longer get him down stairs.

Petey’s quality of life, Petey’s happiness, and Petey’s pleasure in living were all diminished.  The fact that he could not go down stairs meant we had to carry him.  He weighed 39 pounds, and carrying him put us in danger.

Time for a decision.  

A decision made easier by knowing that we had given him 12 years of good life: we had taken Petey to San Antonio for Christmas; we had taken Petey to Vermont for a wedding; we had taken Petey to South Dakota for Harley Week in Sturgis.

I took him for a final visit to the vet.  The procedure was peaceful.  And now there is an emptiness in our household.

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A wonderful song from John Hiatt, in a 3-minute video:

     So, it’s over that ridge for one last mile,

     ‘Til we’re fast asleep by the fireside

     Dreamin’ these dreams for free

     Just my dog and me.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9E6THLLBLE8

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  Send an email to ParadiseDouglas at gmail.com to find out how to purchase a copy by mail.

There Are No Mongrels Here

When I was visiting Santa Fe, New Mexico, a friend and I were walking along a road on the outskirts of the city and a van stopped and offered us a ride.  We hopped in the van, and I turned to the dog sitting in the back, and said: “Hello, Ralph”.

The dog wagged its tail and the driver expressed his amazement: “How did you know my dog’s name is Ralph?”

I said: “All dogs are named Ralph.  Just ask a dog what its name is, and it will say ‘Ralph! Ralph!’”. 

I did not go on to explain that I learned this fact when I was a teenager and a big fan of Pogo, the comic strip.  In the strip, all the dogs said “Ralph! Ralph!” instead of “Woof! Woof!”

I have always wanted to name a dog Ralph, so that I could get a chuckle out of asking my dog “What is your name?” and hearing it respond with “Ralph!”

I moved to Nigeria in 1975 to teach at the Advanced Teachers College in Sokoto.  I got a puppy and named him Ralph.

The name became problematical.  Nigerians had difficulty pronouncing Ralph --- it came out as “Raouf”.  OK, so I switched the puppy’s name to Raouf, the same name as the cheerful pot-bellied Arabic teacher at the college where I worked.

Now the name became even more problematical.  I found out that Raouf is one of the names of Allah.  It  (الرؤوف) means God The Kind One.  It is definitely uncool, if not blasphemous, to give a dog one of Allah’s names.

I was at a loss, and mentioned to some Belgian friends that I had a problem and needed a name for my puppy.  “What kind of dog is it?”  “Oh, he’s the typical Nigerian mongrel.”  I got scolded.  “Oh, no – no, no, no – the dogs here are not mongrels; they are sloughis.”

To drive their point home, the Belgians got out their illustrated French dictionary and showed me a picture of a sloughi.  I came to two quick realizations:

    1. Sloughi must be the French word for saluki.

    2. My puppy looked nothing like the dog in the illustrated French dictionary.

I wondered if the Belgians were playing a prank on me.  But, never mind, my problem had been solved.  

I anglicized the French word, and called my puppy “Slouggy”.  Nigerians could pronounce the name, the name had no connection to the Muslim religion, and I always got a chuckle out of knowing that my mongrel dog had a pedigreed name.

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Here is a 2-minute video of a saluki singing along with Eva Cassidy:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d0h25RVd5LI

Here is a 7-minute video of Eva Cassidy (solo) at the Blues Alley.  Four years after her death, this woman, virtually unknown outside Washington DC, climbed to the top of the charts in Britain and has sold over 10,000,000 CDs worldwide.  A history of her career is at the end of the video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nzFdlLzhVhM

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com