GONE TO THE DOGS -- And Loving It!

This is the beginning section of my new book about my nearly forty years with three dogs. The manuscript is finished and I’ll add chapters from it regularly to this blog. Please don’t steal it, but if you can help get an agent or publisher interested in it, I’d be eternally grateful.



GONE TO THE DOGS
-- And Loving It!

by Walter Oleksy


Introduction: That’s Love

Why is it when I kiss someone’s puppy, I feel like I'm cheating on my dog? It must be because I love my dog so much, and she loves me even more. A gooey answer? Yes, but true.

Some years ago I told my older brother, who was not a dog person, that my beloved dog Max, a big black Lab mix, loved me so much, he often licked my face. I took that as his way of kissing me.

“He’s not kissing you, he’s licking the salt off your face,” my skeptical brother replied.

So I asked my veterinarian about it, and he asked, “Does Max sniff you first, and then lick you?”

“No, he licks me without sniffing.”

Dr. Jim replied, “That’s love.”

And I believe it.

When Max died four years ago, my second dog to live to more than 16 years, I took care of a neighbor’s dog for six weeks while they were out of the state. It was another big black Lab mix, but with a longer coat than Max’s. Would you believe? Its name was Maxine.

I would wait until I finished caring for that dog before looking for another dog of my own. I would definitely get another dog, because my philosophy is, when your dog dies, you can’t do any more for them. But you can get another dog and pour all the love from the dog who died into a new dog. They get my love running, without proving themselves, without earning it. They get my love as unconditionally as dogs give us their love.

When the six weeks were up and I returned Maxine to her owner, friends asked if I would take care of their dog for a week while they were away. I said yes, and postponed a search for my own new dog for yet another week.

Meanwhile, I had asked local police where I could look for a stray or abandoned dog. They said they take those to an animal hospital near my home. I thought I’d go there in another week, after taking care of my friends’ dog, a tall black standard poodle. He was called Valentino because they got him on Valentine’s Day.

Driving home to my empty house after feeding and walking Val, I heard a message in my head. I’ve never had a more intense message come to me from out of nowhere in my whole life. More than a message, it was a command:

“Go to the animal hospital now. There’s a dog there that needs you, and you need that dog.”

Where was the intense message coming from? I had no idea then, but did later.

I passed up the block where my small ranch house is, and drove on to the animal hospital just a half mile away.

A sign on the hospital’s front window said: CLOSED FOR LUNCH. I was about to turn away and come back later, but some girls working at the front desk waved to me to come in,
so I did.

“My dog died recently after sixteen and a half years,” I told them. “And my dog before that also had lived to sixteen and a half years. They were both black Lab mixes. I want to get another dog. Do you have a stray or abandoned dog for adoption?”

“Yes,” a clerk replied.

“Do you have a puppy for adoption?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a black Lab for adoption?”

“Yes. Would you like to see her?”

Her? A female black Lab puppy? My first two dogs had been females and they were wonderful. How could I get so lucky, my first time looking for a new dog?

I said yes eagerly.

As I waited and lunch break ended, a young couple came into the reception room with two healthy, active golden retrievers who were going to be boarded for a few days. Then the puppy who was up for adoption was brought into the
room.

It was a good-sized puppy; I thought maybe not quite a year old. Her short black coat was so shiny, she looked like a panther cub.

The puppy immediately began playing with the two golden retrievers and also with the girl clerks. With other dogs and women around, she didn’t know I was in the room.

“Wilmette police found her wandering the streets a few months ago, without any tags,” one of the girls told me. “No one has claimed her while we’ve cared for her here.”
Another girl said, “She’s healthy and has had all her shots. We’ve even had an IV chip put inside her, in case she gets lost.”

I could see the puppy was friendly with both people and other dogs. She finally came to me easily and without fear. And she was beautiful, with big expressive eyes.

“I’ll take her,” I said, making my mind up faster than I’ve bought a pair of penny loafers, and those shoes all look alike, so it’s a no-brainer to buy them. It was a no-brainer to take this new dog into my life.

Thus began new doggie adventures with my fourth darling. But what would I name her?

When I was caring for my neighbor’s dog for six weeks, while walking it I thought about what I would name my new dog. I decided if it was a male, I’d call him Charlie, after a friend’s golden retriever who loved to play with my first dog.

If my new dog would be a female, I’d call her Annie.

As it turned out, Annie was a most fitting name. Having been abandoned and adopted, she was a rescue dog. She was my Little Orphan Annie.

This book is not about one dog, it’s about the four dogs I’ve had for nearly forty years. And it’s about their dog and people friends, and even some cats. At times, you will probably see yourself in me. It is even more certain you will see your dogs in mine.

I write books, but am not a famous author. I also am not a veterinarian or dog trainer, nor do I hold a degree in human or animal psychology. I just happen to be a dog lover who has owned four dogs over nearly forty years, so I think I know some poop about dogs.

None of my dogs ever had a chance to be a hero, such as save a baby from a burning building, although I’m sure they would have been up to the job. They dug in the back yard, but never struck oil. They were just dogs, doing things dogs do, sharing their lives with me, and mine with them.

My dogs guarded me and our house, fetched tennis balls and sticks, wagged their tails for treats or play, barked at the postal carrier and all delivery persons, caught tennis balls and Frisbees on the fly, turned in circles before bedding down for a nap or the night, and their hind legs walked a little sideways.

Most important, they did what all dogs do best... give us their never-ending and unconditional love. Each of them, more than once, rescued me by being there for me with their love when things weren't going well.

Without question, I admit I love dogs. I go to garage sales every weekend and if a dog’s there, it’s the first thing I go to. I’ve never met a mean one, always a loving one.

Of course, I’m not alone in the world for loving dogs. About 52 million dogs live in 35 million homes in the United States alone, and I’m sure the owners love their dog or dogs to one degree or another.

I love some people, too, but you can wonder about people, even those you love most. You wonder if their love is going to be there for you, every day or tomorrow.

With your dog, you never wonder about that. You need only to look it looking at you to know that you have its love not only every day, but every moment of every day. And you’ll have it tomorrow and the day after that and all the years after that you will be together.

You can never lose your dog's love, because you never earned it in the first place. It is a gift to you, from your dog and whoever created them and us and this planet.