THIS IS MORE THAN PUPPY LOVE
A Widow Bit – Oct. 5, 2008
By Mary Koch

             “What would John have thought about you adopting a puppy?” a friend asked. I immediately recalled one of my favorite old movies, “Topper,” in which the stodgy banker is physically pushed around by a couple of whacky, invisible ghosts.

            I’d felt a nudge from somewhere when I first heard about a litter of black labrador-golden retriever pups. Then, when I went to look at the puppies, there was a definite shove.

            “Do it,” I heard. Not a voice from beyond exactly, but encouragement from somewhere, countering my doubts.

            John and I shared a love and need for dogs; they were a significant thread in the tapestry of our marriage – admittedly, a thread that was chewed or peed upon on occasion. We almost always had dogs around except for one short spell, when we’d lost two in succession to old age.

            “Let’s wait,” we told each other. There would be such freedom. We could take off anytime without having to board the dogs or find someone to “dog-sit.” We could work late at the office without worrying about hungry dogs waiting for their supper. John was freed from the never-ending task of shoveling “doggydoo.” (Once, when we were on vacation we drove past a dogfood factory and John exclaimed, “Look! There’s where they make dog poop.”)

            Then a friend called to tell us of a young springer spaniel who needed adopting. Would John and I at least look at her? We said, “But we’re not ready for another dog!” Reluctantly we got in the car and as he drove, John glanced at me and said, “I’m hooked.”

            He hadn’t even met her yet, but that was Sadie I. Just weeks before his stroke, John wrote a column about welcoming her into our home. In those few weeks he turned an undisciplined juvenile into a well-behaved companion.

            John understood dogs and the dog-human relationship. Dogs were never our surrogate children, but like children, they required rules and boundaries. He was firm and consistent in setting those.

            Sadie I was obediently curled up by John’s chair the morning of his stroke. She was abruptly removed after I called the ambulance. In the following months, there would be no room for a dog in our lives; friends found an appropriate new home for her. Eventually we decided there was time, space –and need – for another dog, a springer, of course. She was named in honor of the dog who’d been summarily dislodged from our home.

            Sadie II is aging now, and John would know that I cannot be without a dog. Daphne, the puppy, has been in residence for two months. It’s been hard work, trying to measure up to John’s standards of discipline. I plan to bring in a professional trainer, just to make sure.

            As of today, though, we’ve completed six consecutive, glorious days of no “accidents” in the house. I’m beginning to see an endearing personality, beyond mere puppy cuteness.

            A nudge, a shove, and I’m hooked.