A Good Dog Life

Cody
May 17, 1995 – May 8, 2011


You were always there when we came home, smack against the front door, so we had to slide you over and slip in sideways.

You were always there when dinner was served, right at our feet, alert for any fumbled morsel.

You were always there in the kitchen when we were doing your favorite thing, preparing food, and you were doing your favorite thing, tracking food. There you were, a large, furry lump that we would goose-step over as we went from refrigerator to sink.

You were always there, building fond memories for us, one dog day at a time.

You came to us as a round, fuzzy double-handful of puppy love. Your little legs could barely pull your round tummy up the front step. Your arrival was the result of the most mature decision your girl, age ten, had ever made in her life. She promised to take care of you. And she did. In turn, the whole family did their part. In many ways, you brought us closer and grew us wiser.

For years, you slept on your boy’s bed, with your hind legs and front legs stretched out straight. But as you grew, you took up most of the bed. Your boy, too, had grown. But he still slept around you, squished onto a sliver of the bed.

When your boy went away to college, you would go up to bed with Mom and Dad, sleeping on the floor so close that if we got up during the night you would know, because we would step on you. You never minded.

You were one of the few dogs with an imaginary playmate. We called her Tinkerbell. She would appear when the sun glinted off a wristwatch and she would dance on the ground. You would spot her shimmery image, and leap and lunge and bite thin air. You never minded that you could never catch her. We became your gods after the sun went down, when we turned on our flashlight and summoned her back.

We never thought you were the smartest dog on the block, but you had an uncanny sense of gamesmanship. Do you remember the stare game? We would lock eyes, without either one moving a muscle, to see who would break first. Then, at the first flinch or flicker of an eyelid, your tail would wag and the chase was on, circuiting around the couch or looping through the rooms of the house.

You had a beautiful howl. You would hear a siren, lift your chin, eyes to the sky, and let out a mournful, wild and soaring howl. Dog song. It was pure canine music.

As in all good lives, you had some once-in-a-lifetime experiences. One autumn day, the whole family loaded into the car and went to a beautiful park. Mother, father, daughter, son and dog clustered and posed for Suzie’s camera. Every time, you would get so excited about the camera, you would break the scene and bound forward. Finally, we temporarily gave up, and it was the luckiest moment of your life. You spotted a treasure, a huge beef bone. God knows how or why it got there. One lunge and you possessed it. Horrified by all the festering bacteria invading your mouth, not to mention the unseemliness of a family picture with a gruesome bone hanging out of your mouth, the whole family chased after you in hot pursuit. What fun! This was a high-“steaks” game of tag and you were up for it. We all raced around the park, and finally outsmarted you with a rear flank maneuver. But you still had the upper paw. With a primal growl, you put every ounce of your energy into your big jaws, and locked your jaws tight around that carnal pleasure. It took two adults and a strong teenager to pry that bone out of your mouth. Never mind that you didn’t get to keep that raunchy thing. You had had the thrill of your life.

You were in your glory when you were naughty, and somehow I love you for this, too. AWOL was your other favorite game. You would see your chance when a back was turned or a door left open, and off you would trot, down the street, around the corner, and to see your dog friend, Woody. Long after Woody had passed away, you would still go and sit by his gate. You made many neighborhood friends that way, who would keep you safe and call the numbers on your tag. Except for one day. It was a rainy day, which made the manure on the neighbor’s lawn all the more aromatic. Oh, how you rolled and rolled and relished the pungent odor. It was earthy heaven. Then Animal Control spoiled the fun. For hours, you performed a public service by residing in all your smelly glory in the jail cell adjacent to a slightly intoxicated law-breaker. Once he came to his olfactory senses, that fellow was probably reformed by nightfall. You never lost your wanderlust, even when you were over a hundred dog years old.

In your golden years, you found doggie love. It happened the day Daisy bounded through the door. Daisy, the prettiest little golden you’d ever want to see. Someone to eat with, flank by flank. Someone to lie down with in the afternoon sun. Someone to butt shoulders with and mouth on the neck. Someone who was never far away. This was simple bliss.

So, Cody, you’ve had a good dog life. You have watched children grow into adults, and you have watched two adults progress all the way through their middle age. These have been good years for you and good years for us.

You have been there for us every time we have opened the front door, every time we have gone to bed, or made coffee in the morning. You have been with us when we have been sad, and with us when we have been happy. You have known it all.

We are here for you today. You have us lie down next to. You have us to rub your neck and smooth your ears. You will drift off in deep peace today. You have lived a good dog life.