Bob and me

"Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole." ~Roger Caras

Yesterday, I took my son to see the movie "Marley and Me." I hadn't read the book. But I wish I had. I might not have gone to the movie.

It was a very good movie. But it hit too close to home for me right now. My son, too.

Everyone had said that the movie was funny. Hilarious even. Then a neighbor stopped by before we left and told us the ending. I hate that when people do that. Especially when I just told him that we were going in less than an hour. So, for that, thanks Herb.

So, if you haven't seen the movie and plan to, please stop reading right now. I don't want to be a Herb.

The movie mirrored my life in so many ways. The greatest link is one I am fairly certain I share with millions of people. That is the bond of love between a human and a dog.

Dogs are amazing. They are the ultimate example of unconditional love. No matter how long you leave them at home alone, when you return they are there to great you with a big wet kiss and tail just a waggin. They truly make you feel like you are the most important person in their life — at least for that moment and maybe at feeding time, too. So for those moments, which happen twice a day each, I am the center of my dog's universe. And it feels good.

There is nothing that can make a person laugh and smile as much as the sight of a puppy licking a child's face. Or grandma or grandpa's face for that matter. Or my face. Or yours.

The only major drawback to having a dog is that their lives are too short.

I have three dogs. I really only wanted one dog — especially at over 70 pounds each. But two dogs were rescue dogs, so to speak. And, while I sometimes feel overwhelmed by the smell of wet dogs in the summertime and am always missing a shoe and sometimes can't find a place to sit on my own couch, I wouldn't give them up for anything.

They never talk back or get sassy. They always want to play but can be just as happy sitting on my lap and reading a book.

I talk to them like they are my best friends. They seem to understand everything I say. Except the part about "no shoes." They never give bad advice and seem to always agree with me in the end.

My dog Bob is nearing 15 years old. That is about 105 years old in dog years — if they still do that.

He is a big 95 pound black lab.

My husband and I brought Bob home a couple of months after we were married. Of course, we just went to "look" at the puppies. Who "looks" at puppies? If they look back at you, then you are sunk.

We drove over an hour to a kennel that had a dog with the bloodlines of our other dog, Zeke, who was getting up in years. My husband said no dog would ever be as good of a bird dog as old Zeke, so he wanted to find lines that may come close.

We looked at the puppies and Bob picked us out. He was the chubby one chewing on his sisters ear. When we walked in, he cocked his head first one way and then the other and then just jumped up on the little fence and stared me in the eye, wagging his tail like it could fall off if I didn't pick him up.

We took him home. And that was the start of our love hate relationship for the first few years.

Bob was wild. His middle name is "Rowdie." And I can't even remember all of his other legal kennel names. We just call him Bob.

Just like in the movie, Bob was kicked out of obedience school. He made it through puppy kindergarten with flying colors, but when it came time for on-leash training, he was walking me. I was asked not to bring him back, because he was disruptive in class.

In the first couple of years of Bob ate a lot. Not just puppy chow. He ate his leash.

He ate our phone. He ate our TV remote control. He ate one shoe from every pair of shoes I owned. Usually the left shoe for some reason.

He ate our coffee table. It was cherry wood. If there was anything left on the floor, he ate it.

And then he ate our wedding album.

He went through the back door. Actually jumped through the window. It was closed. It was glass -- not a screen. And that resulted in a $600 vet bill. He tried to go through the front door, but the mailman stopped him. We were put on notice by the post office.

He was bitten on the lip by a muskrat. Actually, the muskrat attached himself to Bob's lip. He tried to shake the critter off, but was unsuccessful. That was a $300 vet bill.

Most people wouldn't let us bring Bob to their homes. If we had to bring him, we were usually asked to leave him in the car.

He ate the car. Well, just the back seat.

Through the years, Bob stopped eating things, other than dog food. He ate a lot of dog food. But he settled down as most labs do around the age of 6 years old. He was still a handful and was not very good on a leash. Besides, he ate most of them in his early years.

He was very good with babies and little kids. They could crawl all over him and he didn't mind. Well, sometimes he looked to us to rescue him. But he never growled. When he had enough he would just walk away. In fact, that is how my son learned to walk.

My son grabbed on to Bob's back — he really grabbed two handfuls of skin and fur and pulled himself on Bob's back. Bob would start to walk away and my son toddled behind him. My son was 8 months old when he walked, thanks to Bob.

Moving up to the north country in the woods was the best thing for Bob. He didn't need a leash. But he is a very social dog and never really did respond to the words, "Come, Bob." Whenever he would hear kids laughing or smell food, he would take off. And just keep going.

Several times, he would walk half way around the lake visiting people and getting scraps of food along the way. He would eventually find his way home. Most of the time. Except for when he didn't.

The dog tag is one of the worlds best inventions. Someone would eventually call saying, "Um, I think I have your dog. Rather, your dog is at our house again. Can you come get him? Please? He is eating my garden." (Bob loves veggies.)

Or we would drive around the lake calling him, or whistling. And when he would see us, he would run to us with the biggest grin on his face as if to say, "Oh, there you are! Where have you been? You missed out on so much fun! You will never believe what I did today... first ...."

He was usually covered in mud, or had rolled in a dead fish, but he was always wagging his tail and very happy to see us. He looked up at me with those big brown eyes that seemed to say, "Oh, I love you so very much. All the time. Please scratch my tummy and can I have something to eat?"

Bob turned out to be "The best dog I have ever hunted behind," my husband now says. Some of his friends would invite him to go bird hunting and if my husband couldn't go, they asked if they could just borrow Bob for the weekend. We never let him go without "his Dad." It just wasn't right.

Bob always knows when "Daddy's home!" He can hear that diesel a mile away. Well, actually, everybody can, but Bob always knew before the rest of us. And he knew when it was time for the bus to bring his best little buddy home from school. Bob would start pacing and circling by the door until the bus arrived at the top of our driveway.

Fast forward a few years. Bob is quite grey around the face. His eyes are pretty cloudy. It is hard to see inside of him. And Bob can't see out very well anymore. And he can't hear very well. So, when he wanders off, he can't hear us calling. We rely more and more on us seeing him. Or the dog tag and a phone call.

But he is still happy and continues to make us laugh and smile. He is a very good, big soft cuddly foot warmer. He hunted his last time at the age of 12 and then he retired a happy dog. He is now allowed to have a nibble of pheasant now and then as a reward for his years of retrieving.

Now, he is 15 years old. He doesn't move very fast anymore and often forgets why he went outside. His legs freeze up and then he can't move. The week it was 20-plus degrees below zero I thought Bob was not going to see Christmas. But he made it.

It is sad to realize that your faithful friend of 15 years is not going to be around much longer. He has been a pain in the neck and the checkbook, he ate a lot of special stuff that I can not ever replace, and he has been a couch hog, but I am going to miss him more than anything.

In the movie, "Marley and Me," I cried for at least the last 20 minutes straight. Sobbing by the end. So were most of the people sitting around us. It was as though I was watching my dog die on the big screen in front of me. And I know I will be experiencing the real thing any day now. My son sniffed a lot, too. On the way home, he said, "I tried really hard not to cry mom, but I couldn't help it. At the end, I thought about Bob."

The seasons of Bob's life are almost over. He seems to be ok most of the time. He wags his tail. He eats. He drinks. He eliminates. I don't think he is in any pain. He is just very slow. While he can't jump up on the beds anymore, he can still make it onto the couch most of the time. And he has finally figured out what the dog bed on the floor is really for. He sleeps a lot. And he sleeps hard. He still has those doggy dreams — you know the ones, like he is chasing after a chippy and his four feet are all going and his tail is wagging. I have to jiggle him to wake him up in the morning to go outside. And every morning as I walk up to him I wonder if this is going to be the day that he doesn't wake up.

In the end, I hope that is the way he goes. Peacefully. In his sleep. In his own time.

I have complained about having 3 dogs and I don't think I will ever have 3 dogs at one time again. But I can't think of 3 better dogs to have.

They say, all dogs go to heaven. I know Bob will. I am going to miss Bob. Until then, I am just going to keep loving him and talking to one of my very best friends.

Peace.




"I talk to him when I'm lonesome like; and I'm sure he understands. When he looks at me so attentively, and gently licks my hands; then he rubs his nose on my tailored clothes, but I never say naught thereat. For the good Lord knows I can buy more clothes, but never a friend like that." ~W. Dayton Wedgefarth