NEBRASKAland Magazine is dedicated to outstanding photography and informative writing with an engaging mix of articles and photos highlighting Nebraska’s outdoor activities, parklands, wildlife, history and people.
Issue link: http://mag.outdoornebraska.gov/i/644631
MARCH 2016 • NEBRASKAland 49 I love dogs. I love dogs so much I wrote a book about them, A Life With Dogs. My friends have heard me say "Dog is god spelled backward, and kitty cat is ticky tacky spelled backward … almost" so often they don't even bother to yawn any more. I got my first dog when I was 6 years old and have been without a dog very rarely since, and have had at least one dog in the house for over 50 years now. In fact, I have always argued that just to be on the safe side everyone should make a point of always having two dogs, preferably big and ideally black: your basic number one main dog and a back-up dog just in case. For 25 years Linda and I have maintained a crew of two black Labs in the house, with the occasional golden retriever spare, every one of them a noble creature that we loved as much as we loved each other. Linda has always leaned toward naming dogs the obvious – Blackie, Goldie, Whitie, Brownie. I tend toward the evocative – Slump, Abigail, Thud (the name he earned with his head), St. Dunstan, Lucky (he wasn't), Black Jack, Pooter (the name she earned with her … oh, never mind.) I couldn't imagine life without a dog. Until last year when in a matter of a couple months we watched Dunstan and Abigail decline into old age far too quickly and then suffered the misery of watching them die. They did ok, passing out of this life with a usual canine dignity that has always suggested to me that they know a lot more than we do about the process. But their passing was not so easy on us. Over the weeks as they said their goodbyes, they seemed more sorry for us in our pain and despair than they did for themselves. Believe me, the person who comes up with the 100-year dog is going to be stinking rich, and deservedly so. We took the loss of Dunstan and Abbie pretty hard … we still expect to see them when we come into the yard from a trip to the grocery store … but we decided we just weren't ready to adopt a new friend and needed some time before looking for another dog. Linda was worn out from taking care of ailing, old dogs (when she says that, she looks meanfully at me) and I'm not sure there is enough energy for another bout of mourning in me, at least for a while. Thank goodness, we have friends with dogs and they are always welcome here. Mick's Handsome Joe loves life at the cabin, or as he prefers to call it "Stick Heaven," and Antonia's Evey just paid her first visit here to her Nebraska grandparents' home and seemed to have enjoyed her stay (aside from that one little accident on the living room floor). Both Joe and Evey have come to know Linda as "Cookie Lady" and me as "Grandpa Who Throws Like A Girl." Probably the least trouble of all of our canine friends on the place are the coyotes who regularly come down our cabin road, picking through gut piles left by hunters and the scraps I leave for the crow family that lives along the river. I always enjoy their moonlight serenades and the little gifts they leave on the river road. They too are "good dogs" but have never settled down beside my lounge chair for a good ear rubbing while I read the newspaper. Will Linda and I ever have another dog? It's hard to imagine we won't, considering the degree to which we miss them and how gleeful we are when we have canine visitors. Linda and I both anguish when we see images of dogs up for adoption at the local Humane Society. Especially the big black ones. We make a point of never visiting the rescue center because no resolve is strong enough to resist. At least not ours. Certainly not mine when it comes to a black Lab puppy with brown eyes. A man has his limits, after all. Sooner or later all resolve will disappear, I'm sure, and some little guy is going to make it clear that he belongs here and Linda and I will have no argument to offer to the contrary. ■ Roger Welsch is an author, humorist and folklorist. He has appeared in NEBRASKAland Magazine since 1977. It's a Dog's Life By Roger Welsch Living with dogs for more than 50 years.