We have a new dog. Our last dog was lost about nine years ago. I say lost. It died. The reason I said lost was because we went out of town to a surprise birthday party for my oldest brother in Mississippi and had to board Rusty at the vet. When we returned home there was an urgent message on our answering machine from our vet, “Mrs. Algood, please call us as soon as possible.” That was back in B. C.; before cells. My wife picked up the phone and hurriedly called the vet. I was listening to the conversation.

“What do you mean you lost Rusty? Have you looked for him?” Silence. “Oh…” More silence. Awkward silence. “Okay. You say there’s no charge for boarding him?” She had tears in her eyes. That got my attention. This was serious.

Evidently poor Rusty had a heart attack shortly after we had dropped him off on our way out of town and had been dead for days. They were very nice. They boxed him up and put him in a freezer awaiting our return. Rusty was old, but his death was unexpected. I was thinking, “Good. He didn’t suffer. You can’t beat an old fashion heart attack.” Heart attacks are quick. That’s the way I want to go. Quick. I don’t want to linger around and suffer. I’ve lived a good life. I’m ready. Heart attack… boom it’s over. Just don’t put me in a freezer when I’m gone. I hate being cold.

Have you ever tried burying a frozen dog? It isn’t easy. It hadn’t rained in weeks, and the ground was as hard as rock. He wouldn’t fold, bend, or contort. I had to dig a larger, deeper hole. I put some of his toys down there with him. My wife and daughter were in attendance for the graveside service. They were crying. I was sweating. A neighbor saw us out by the blackberry bushes and came over thinking we were picking berries. She cried, too. I secretly hoped Rusty liked blackberries. I didn’t. The seeds get stuck in my teeth.

My wife said that’s the last dog we’ll ever have. She was done. Dogs are like children. They’re needy. You have to feed, bathe and nurture them. There are vet bills, dog toys strewn around the house, you have to let them in and out at all hours, in all kinds of weather. No more dogs. I said, “Okay.”

I’ve hinted around for a long time that I’d like to have another dog. “No. No more dogs.”

“Okay.”

Then came Spanky. Spanky is a white version of Rusty. Rusty was red. I think Rusty was a Cockapoo. Spanky is a Multapoo… or something like that. I just know he has poo in him somewhere.

Spanky’s owner passed away and he went to live with the owner’s daughter who already had two other house dogs. Twos’ company. Threes’ a crowd. Spanky needed a new home. Oddly enough my wife and daughter learned of Spanky’s situation and brought up the subject of rehoming him. Even though I liked the idea of getting another dog I didn’t push it. They made all the contacts and we drove over for a meet and greet. Spanky liked me. I liked Spanky. He recognized a sucker when he saw one. I like that in a dog. He came with food and a leash. He’s had all his shots and everything. A free dog! A nice dog. He likes to go for rides and take walks – right up my alley.

For two hours after we brought him home he inspected our house. I was thinking, “I hope he approves, but he appears to be picky.” After everything had been thoroughly sniffed I guess it passed his inspection, and he settled down. We watched television together while I scratched his ears. He liked that. After The Blind Spot was over it was bedtime. I put a blanket in the kitchen for him to sleep on. He looked at it then he looked up at me. I swear I think he shook his head. Then he followed me around as I turned out all the lights. That was when I discovered during all his sniffing and inspecting he had put dibs on the dining room carpet. We cleaned it up. Then I found another spot in another room. Evidently while he was doing all that sniffing he was marking out a few of his favorite rooms.

“We definitely need hardwood floors,” my wife said.

Free dog? I don’t think so.

He was confined to the kitchen during the night. Linoleum. You can’t go wrong with linoleum. I left a night light on for him. I figured it was a new place and strange to him. He might like a night light. It would be comforting. My head had barely hit the pillow when I heard something. “Owwwwwwwww.” Once, twice, thrice. He cries. I got up and we had a talk. He seemed okay, so I went back to bed. “Owwwwwwwww.” Twice, thrice and then silence. “Good. He’s alright,” I thought. I was almost asleep. “Owwwwwwwwww.” I was staring at the ceiling thinking, “This is why she didn’t want another dog.” I crawled out of bed and went into the kitchen. We had another long talk. “Goodnight.”

Four o’clock in the morning… “Owwwwwwwwww.” I’m thinking he needs to go out. It’s raining and I wasn’t dressed for the occasion. My wife sliped on some shoes, grabed the leash and took him out. “Did he go?” I asked. “No. He just marked his territory.”

I think out loud, “This is good. He may prefer grass over carpet.” She shook her head.

Seven o’clock I wake up, “Owwwwwwwww.” Twice, thrice, and I’m up. The white shadow followed me everywhere. I shave. He’s there watching. I shower. He’s there watching. I make coffee. Yep, he’s there watching. I sit at the computer reading the news, He is in my lap staring at the screen. I’m wondering if he can read or if he just looks at the pictures. Does he prefer Trump or Hillary? Then he hops off my lap, stakes a claim on the couch in my office and watches me until he nods off to sleep.

My wife is at work, but I have a strong feeling she will stop somewhere on the way home to pick out new hardwood flooring. I hope Spanky approves. He seemed to have fallen in love with our carpet.

P.S. Night number two. I awoke in the middle of the night to find Spanky asleep at the foot of my bed. We both slept better. I think he has just about got me trained. I have since learned he knows how to carry on a conversation and sit up. I wonder if he knows how to lay hardwood.

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Rick Algood
May 18, 2016