DOG DAY AFTERNOON

Time in a hotel gives one time to think, about the day, and about the DAY. It's Barkley's 8th birthday tomorrow and I think back to one hot day, when he was about seven weeks old and . . .

Barkley meets his new "Mom".

I can't believe he was ever that small. And he's probably saying, "I can't believe Mom picked me up wearing 'Daisy Duke' shorts (hey it was ninety four that summer day and I was smaller too).

I really didn't need a dog, but I was at a spot in my career where I was home more and would be there to train him. A coworker whose lab was a National Grand Field Champion, sired a litter and I was allowed first pick. When it came time to select one, there were 8 of them, all cute, all cuddly. How to pick? Some of them came frolicking over to me, mindlessly entertained by the smell of new shoes. Barkley just sat and looked at me, as intent as I've seen in a puppy. It was a look of hesitation, not through fear, not physically but in his little doggy spirit, that profoundly sober alertness you see in someone of quiet intelligence as they size you up.

After assessing me carefully he came over and sniffed my hand, then sat at my feet, ignoring the other people there with me, snuffling at my shoelace, while the other pups, losing interest, went off to eat a bug or something. Barkley didn't leave me the rest of the time I was there. Where I went he went. And simply sat and looked at me with satisfaction.

I told myself I wasn't going to get another dog, not going to lose my heart again. Their lifespan is too short, and my heart still ached from having to put my Samoyed husky down too soon after another death in the family, the soft release of his spirit in his last breathe against my hand as the doctor slipped the needle into his furry body.

That day, the pups too young to be separated from their Mom, I raced that 50 miles back home down country roads in an old BMW, my heart joyful for the first time in years. In a couple of more weeks I was able to fetch him, and that night as I slept, a little black lab puppy lay on my chest, soothed by the sound of my heart, still reluctant to get far from me.

I've owned several dogs in my life. All large hunting/retriever dogs or huskies. Barkley was my first dog after several years without one, living in a small citified condo while I put some dreams in shambles back together again, finishing my doctorate and saving for a new life.

He faithfully waits for me each day that I'm out working. When I'm gone for lengthy periods, I have a friend or two who will stay with him at home, so he knows no other life than that of his "pack", be they blond, brunette or redhead. When I come home, he's either on a couch looking out a window at the wildlife, or sitting right by the back door, alerted to the sound of the big 4 x 4 coming up the drive.

He's pretty patient. I don't usually take him out to play as soon as I get home, needing time to unwind myself, especially if it's been a long day or one that's high stress. He'll just sit and look at me and wait, knowing that like the regular phases of the moon, I will soon put a Bass Ale or a Guinness in the fridge to cool for later or brew some tea if I'm on call. Then it's time for running with him around out back and throwing his two favorite toys, a plush bone on a string that I can throw far, or a big heavy rubber hammer, that he just likes to haul around in his mouth. If there's snow, he can't wait to go out, and even if I've been outside all day in arctic wear, I'll join him for a few minutes, his face from the porch just too hard to resist.


Dogs come and go in the course of our lifetime, yet they always stay with us. I have good memories of duck hunting with my first lab, of romps in mountain snow with my two huskies. Three dog nights, in the big old bed, a mountain storm wrapping itself around a cabin like a dark blanket. He's got some flight time under his belt, barking at moose and cows both, window popped open in a Piper Cub.

I probably get too attached. But Barkley is family to me. Not a substitute for a relationship with another human being, but an outlet for the warmth I harbor in my soul, seeking a place for the waters of love to go when all else is damned up. He's my confidant, he's my fashion critic (jeans and t-shirt again? Well if you insist Barkley), he's the soft coated Kleenex if I cry.

He's given me renewed hope in the capacity of a heart, as his ability to love is boundless. He'll stay on alert, face aching with a grimacing growl, keeping that squirrel at bay while I'm at work. He's been the soft nuzzle of concern on my neck after a coughing fit during a bad winter cold. I know that even when he's old, muzzle flecked with grey, woken by my movement into the family room where he snoozes in front of the fire, he'll move to my side as swift as strong as ever. Looking at me with brown eyes more humorous and honest than many humans, above the blunt black nose, content simply to be by my side because I'm there.

He's taught me that money doesn't matter, he's as happy with a stick as a $15 toy; satisfied with a sleeping bag in a tent with me more than a luxurious pillow top mattress. Life is simple, someone to love and something cold to drink, a well loved toy to play with and water.

It's no longer the plush life of an upscale suburb, but a quiet existence, with less bills and more values. Life out here has taught us both a lot, myself to be more self reliant (and also not to try and quietly look for predators with night vision when there is a pond with ducks close by. . . SPLOOOSH!)

But I love nothing more than sitting in the bed of the truck, Barkley by my side, as the night envelopes us. Some folks say they don't like the silence, needing either people or a TV around and on all the time. Perhaps it's just because silence leaves space open for the truth.

Barkley and I love the silence, nothing but our breathing in these open spaces. A tromp out into the corn fields with the old Belgium Browning, maybe a pheasant for dinner if we're lucky. This is all we really need, not a fancy house or 3 cars or designer clothing. We have food, family and something in the distance to chase. . .

. . .a bird or perhaps a dream.

That's all he and I need for now.

It took him a moment to size me up before he selected me, but that first night together, his little doggie heart beating against mine and his tongue licking my cheek, I was the one tasting the finiteness of life, and the inestimable chance we have to connect and love again.

Some things are just to precious to pass up.