As I look back on the struggles I had during college, I wonder if the lack of a canine companion compounded things. There's no way to know for sure, but I do know that my last year of college was a bit easier. Perhaps it was because I lived on a farm. While they didn't have a dog, they did have plenty of other animals with which I could share my problems. Unfortunately, chickens and goats aren't always keen on listening to people. And though some cats are quite welcome to lend an ear, Maude may not have been the best at it considering she was 22 years old and only seemed to interact with me when she was having grand mal seizures on my bed. But just as things seemed to be settling down, I made yet another crazy decision to cast everything I knew to the wind and move away. Not long after turning 20 and facing the big decision to focus my studies on one field, I chose to move over 1200 miles to Florida. With no car, no job, and nowhere to live and only a couple of suitcases packed with stuff, I set out on my own to a very uncertain world.
It didn't take me long to tick off those three necessities and my life began to settle into a routine. It also didn't take long for me to pine for the comfort of a four-legged, furry friend. Despite my ceaseless desire to welcome a dog into my life, I knew that my lifestyle was not welcoming. I had to work a lot to make ends meet. I spent long days on my feet, working first as a waitress and later as a bookseller. While the idea of a happy, wagging tail greeting me at the door was appealing, I knew that it would be a challenge to give any dog the attention they so rightly deserved. In the end, I decided that perhaps a cat would ease my familial needs. Thus entered a tiny, black kitten I named Indigo, more lovingly called Dingo. She was a sweet cat for the most part. She could be very cuddly, especially when I was eating. And she excelled at cleaning ice cream bowls, except when there was chocolate syrup. I truly did love her and yet she didn't quite fill the hole I had in my heart. Don't get me wrong, I love cats. Growing up, we also had several feline members of our family and I enjoyed their companionship. Each had a wonderful, unique personality that I enjoyed. But I never had the same connection with Shadow, Sam, Whiskey, et al that I had with Maggie and Kiska. In the end, I guess I'm more of a dog person.
I don't want you to think that my life was completely devoid of any canines. I had friends who had dogs. And in 1993, I started dating a guy whose father had two poodles, Gizmo & Tiki. I'll be honest, I had never been impressed with the breed. When I thought of poodles, I imagined delicate dogs with frou frou haircuts and painted nails. <<shudder>> That is NOT how I picture a dog. Though neither Gizmo nor Tiki looked the part, their personalities weren't very canine. Well, Tiki was adorable and she did try really hard to make everyone like her. But Gizmo's attitude overwhelmed both of them. Think of a true curmudgeon, the grumpiest old man you've ever known. Now picture him as a miniature black poodle and you've got Gizmo! He would growl at me even if I so much as glanced at him. Petting him was out of the question. I'll be honest, I was afraid of him. Others found his orneriness amusing, but I thought they were making his behavior worse by encouraging it. My relationship with him remained very strained for the next several years until one fateful, tragic morning.
We awoke very early to a phone call. My fiance's father hadn't come to work. When they had gone to check on him, there was no answer at the door. We rushed over and immediately heard Gizmo and Tiki barking uncontrollably inside. Our fears were realized when we entered the house. His father had passed away during the night. Though Tiki was a little easier to take away, Gizmo was nearly inconsolable. Finally, we were able to get both of them into the car and I sat there with them while first the ambulance and police came and then the coroner. I remember that Tiki eventually calmed down, but Gizmo continued to bark and remain restless. As I sat there, I worried about what would happen to them. Could we find them a home? Would we have to take them? In the end, it was obvious that they would have to come live with us. Unfortunately, this meant Dingo had to move into the spare bedroom. We couldn't trust her with them or them with her. I tried hard to give her the attention she needed, but I know I should have done more. One good thing was that, for the most part, the poodles were fairly low maintenance. They were both pretty old by the time we got them, so walks weren't as important. Plus we had a fenced backyard, so we were able to let them wander back there without much concern. Gizmo had been my fiance's dog when he was younger, a similar relationship to what I had with Maggie and Kiska, and they had remained close during the time before we took in the dogs. Yet something quickly changed when they moved in with us. Gizmo's attitude toward me did a complete reverse. It wasn't long before he was following me everywhere. If he wasn't sleeping on the couch next to me, he was sleeping at my feet. If I tried to get up quietly so as not to disturb him, he always woke and went looking for me. When I went to bed, he came, too. He would burrow under the covers and then emerge to lay down next to me with his head on the pillow. That was all it took. That grouchy, old pup burrowed his way into my heart, too. Don't think he was completely reformed. Oh no. Though he did allow me to pet him, it was always on his terms. Never try to touch him when he was sleeping. Yet now things were different. That growl that evoked unease in me now made me smile. I took to calling him 'ma bookie', a name I learned from the revamped Star Wars: A New Hope. Jabba the Hut calls Han Solo "ma bookie" which translated into "my boy." (Yes, I'm a Star Wars geek. A subject of a whole other blog.) For over four years, we were inseparable. Though his eyesight and hearing faded, his nose would still tell him where I was. Eventually, he began to have seizures and it quickly became apparent that his desire to please and be with us was much stronger than his body. Again, the decision was made to ease his pain and let him go. I still tear up when I think about him, ma bookie. My sweet Gizmo. He was the third, important canine relationship in my life. I wish I had had many more years with him, but I will forever be grateful for those brief years I was allowed.
Eventually, I would have no dogs in my life and I felt that familiar emptiness again. It would take nearly another decade and thousands of miles for my life to be filled with more canine love than I could imagine possible.
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