I can’t believe that this month marks 6 years since my two dogs, Reese and Roscoe, became part of my life. And as I think back on the events that brought us together, it’s hard to believe that our paths even crossed.
Ironically, I wasn’t there for the first meeting. My wife, son, and granddaughter were headed home from a quick spring break trip to the lake. Instead of driving back on the normal route, they decided to take a different way.
After a few miles, they spotted them on the side of a two lane highway. A black and white pup with his brindle colored running mate. A pair of dirty, stinky, skittish dogs. Not a collar between them. It was obvious they had missed a few meals. One of them had a dime sized tick below her eye. Normally, curs like these elicit a collective sigh, and are forgotten by the next mile marker. But not today, because the black and white stray could have been the twin of my beloved, departed bird dog, Precious.
Precious was special to me in so many ways. Considering what was going on in my life at the time, she was undoubtedly my emotional support dog. The joy and love that pup gave me can’t be put into words. So when I lost her, it hit me hard, so hard. Even though she’s been gone a few years, the wound still hasn’t healed. Honestly, it never will. On several occasions I swore I would never have a dog again, because I already had the best one I could ever have.
And I don’t like the concept of a “replacement dog,” getting another one soon after the loss of a beloved companion. To me, that dishonors the memory of the one you lost. I have to grieve for a while, a long while. Even now, I get teary-eyed at our lake house because it was such a special place for me and Precious.
People close to me told me to get over it and get another one, because there are so many dogs that needed rescuing.
Rilynne, my brash, insightful granddaughter, recognized the similarity between the two dogs immediately, and issued a command. “Dad! You have to turn around! That dog looks just like Precious! We have to show him to Granddaddy!” A tap on the brakes, a three point turn, and within 5 minutes, I’m getting a FaceTime call at my office showing a little girl playing with two nasty pups.
The audio is my wife crying, “We just can’t take one of them and leave the other one behind. We just can’t.”
What could I do? No sane man can say no to a sobbing wife and a happy granddaughter. I nodded in agreement. Within minutes, my son was herding the pups into his car. Once I hung up, one of my office buddies who overheard the entire call, smiled and said, “That was the most expensive trip to the lake you’ll ever have in your life.”
He was right about that.
In another two hours those dogs were in my back yard, lapping up huge quantities of love and hamburger. Once I came home and met them, it was official: they were strays no more, but members of my family.
So, goodbye clean house. Hello, dog hair and carpet accidents. That’s OK with me. I’m a dog person. I prefer dogs to most people.
I guess it was time. I wasn’t ready, but they sure were. And six years ago on the side of a little county highway it happened. A pair of strays found me.
It seems that every couple of months we hear about someone who wins millions of dollars in one of the big Powerball lotteries. But I know two dogs that hit a lottery ticket a few years ago that’s worth more than that to them.
And if I’m being honest, it’s worth more to me, too.
Happy Gotcha Day, Reese and Roscoe!
