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Puppet


Rainy days with gray skies and clouds that meander, rather than scud, across the horizon are days when memories laced with hurt wend their way to consciousness.  Of course, there are triggers - a blog about the last day for a beloved Bernese Mountain Dog or a melancholy reference to a one time canine companion whose time gave way to a new dog rescued.  But the memory of loss has no strength.  Such memories cannot force the images of good times and loyal friendships to the deep caverns of mind.  

Today was like that.  In this photograph, the best dog ever stood in spring grass that had just regained its color from a winter's dormancy.  She stood and smiled the smile she always gave at playtime, nighttime, daytime, anytime.  Her name was Puppet.  

Frisbee was her game.  A retriever's core instinct is to retrieve - ducks or birds or sticks or balls.  For Pup it was a gnarly old, yellow frisbee.  She would chase it in flight and pounce on it nanoseconds after it landed.  She had mastered the technique of squeezing it between her front paws so that it would buckle just enough to get a good bite on it.  Once done, she owned it.  As a retriever, her duty was to bring it to the person who had launched the disc.  Every time that's what she started to do.  Yes, started to do.  Just when she got a few inches outside of arm's length, she'd turn.  You could see a little backward grin and a little skip to her step - labrador body language saying, "chase me if you dare!"  

Her weakness, though, was treats.  Any treat - a biscuit, popcorn or sirloin steak - it didn't matter because this was Pup's addiction.  She would dance in a circle, stand on her hind legs, and probably run through fire if there were a treat on the other side.  But she knew to take a treat gently, very gently.  You could see her eyes dance and saliva flow when a biscuit was within snapping distance but Pup had the strength of restraint (in humans we'd call it character).  Self-discipline made her mind her manners and wait.  When the treat was formally proffered she would take it with her lips - keeping her teeth from risking a touch of the feeding hand.  Of course, once she had the treat, it was crunched and swallowed before a second ticked away.

The greatest of her attributes was tolerance.  Tolerance and vigilance.  She was ever vigilant for home territory.  She protected her people even more - at least to the extent of erect shackles, bared teeth and a baritone bark.  Thankfully, she was never tested to the point where her canine fangs had to be used as weapons in the duty she threatened.  That's good for her and any interloper because her gentle nature would probably have prevailed.  Further action might have led to her trying to drown the culprit with licks.  Babies were safe in her care and even autism didn't make her flinch.  Our grandson could tug on every part of her, ride her back, step on her tail, pull her lip and do other things we never saw or imagined.  She did not shy; she was there for him; she loved him and everyone else just they way we are.

This may have been a rainy day and a Monday.  This may have been the day the blogs carried stories of loss.  But today I could see Pup running among the raindrops and through the puddles.  I could see the joy on her face and in her stride.  I could feel her tail hit my leg while she stood to get dried off and the patience in her eyes while I made her sit for her treat.  Mostly, I thought about the lessons such a good dog taught when her student paid attention.

-- td

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