Man's Best Friend
(Buckley, pictured by the author)
It is safe to assume that, for the most part, we all love dogs. I can reasonably make this statement because the movie Marley and Me has been sitting atop the "highest gross" list now for the second week in a row. I am a dog owner, and have been for pretty much my whole life. I would now like to share a few of my stories about my best friends.
Well, first off, I'd like to share a story about my daughters and the first movie that has actually made them cry. Over the holidays, my wife's mom comes and stays with us. This makes for good family time while also affording us a live-in babysitter. The other night we all went out to the movies. Susan and I went into one movie (Valkyrie) while her mom took the girls in to see Marley and Me. Valkyrie got out earlier, so we sat and waited for the girls. It was quite a sight to see almost everyone come out of that movie with tears streaming down their faces, including my little girls. We all went out to dinner afterwards, and their tears didn't stop for a good half-hour. For any parent reading this, you will understand the complexity of trying to soothe your child while also observing them trying to deal with a new emotion. I understood enough to let this kind of "play out" instead of trying some "parent" explanation.
I had a yellow Labrador like Marley. Her name was Chloe. I got her just after GN'R finished Appetite for Destruction (1987). She was a gentle pup, and as a result I did not get her spayed. . . I couldn't bring myself to have a doctor do ANYTHING that would hurt her. Well, girls will be girls, and Chloe was no different. I didn't actually know the difficulties a dog will go through when they are in heat. Chloe actually broke down a fence to get out one night to the loving pants of a large black stud (I found this out only later from the looks of the pups. I never actually met the dog, that coward). Chloe not only got pregnant, but she had a huge litter of 14 puppies! Luckily for me, my older brother Matt had just started teaching at a large school in an affluent part of L.A., and helped me out by asking the kids if anyone wanted a new puppy. Done deal--we found nice homes for all the little guys.
Chloe was different after that. She transformed from a lively young lass to a kindly port grandma almost overnight. Now instead of lunging into the pool headfirst, she would just walk to the first step and wade there all day long, coming out only for her meals and naps. She would look at me as if to say, "I've had my puppies and now it is time to rest." She became a world-class rester after that.
My life was in a lot of turmoil during those times, what with touring, drugs, alcohol, a bad marriage, and more drugs. Chloe never held me accountable for all my shortcomings during this period. She was always just there for me. I would come home from a tour and she would be faithfully waiting at the front door (she would get really sad when she saw me pack my bags to leave again). When I got sick in 1994, an illness that actually brought sobriety, Chloe nursed me through it and rejoiced at the new and sober me. When I met my would-be wife Susan a couple years later, Chloe told me to stick this one out. Chloe loved Susan. When Susan got pregnant, Chloe hung by her side the whole term, literally (they were inseparable). When our first daughter was born, Chloe would stick close to the baby wherever she was. Chloe made a new bed right underneath the crib, and would gently play ball with Grace as she became a toddler. It was truly an astounding thing to witness. By the time we had our second daughter, Chloe was really slowing down. The veterinarian said that she had cancer of the liver and would have to operate. It was my turn to nurse Chloe. The old girl tried to hang in there for me as her pain was obviously getting worse and worse. I told her that I would be OK. I had to put Chloe down on a fall Monday morning in 2001. It was one of the worst days of my life and I miss her.
There is a saying that "with death comes rebirth." Our family's K-9 "rebirth" started a few years after Chloe passed when Grace started to pine for a pup of her own. Susan and I shook our heads "no" for a couple of years, but finally relented two Christmases ago. We travel a ton as a family, as well as splitting time between L.A. and Seattle. I had crated Chloe on flights enough times to know that it is simply no fun for the pets that must endure the shock. If we were to get our kids a dog, we would have to get one that could fly with us in the cabin. Of course this brought with it a dilemma--I am not the biggest fan of little yip-yap dogs. We started to pore through dog breed books, feeling ourselves getting excited again about the prospect of a new little guy in the house (it was decided that we would get a boy dog to at least try and even out the estrogen/testosterone ratio in Casa McKagan). Every small-dog breed we found, though, always had a warning about small children and the breed. That is, until we found a picture of a breed that we fell instantly in love with--the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel: They were reported to be great with kids and they don't "yip"!
So the next step was to go online and find some breeders up near where Santa lives (my loving daughters do at times read this column). Has anybody seen the movie Best in Show? Well, I came to find out that most of that film was straight depiction, as opposed to farce. Breeders of small dogs are freaky for sure! I would get pictures of a respective puppy dressed in a pink dress that matched their owner's, for instance. One breeder didn't have a computer and didn't know anybody who did, but I was more than welcome to meet her at the K-mart just outside of Granite Falls and follow her the 60 miles back to her farm. Listen, lady, I saw Deliverance! Luckily for us, Santa pulled through on Christmas morning. The girls went wild with excitement and instantly named our new dog Buckley after one of Santa's elves that they had e-mailed with on NORAD's "Santa Tracker" Web site the day before (Christmas Eve).
The adventures of Buckley and our family have already become legend in the just 26 months that he has been on this planet. His demeanor is as perfect as his food-getting tactics are coy. His marathon sleeps have been clocked in at nothing short of epic (on his back, spread eagle). His flatulence? Walloping! But more than all of this is that this little dude has brought so much joy to us while demanding nothing. He really is the perfect dog.
At this point I could go on and on about dogs. I have owned four in my life. I can easily see, writing this piece, how John Grogan wrote a whole book about life with Marley. The 1400 words that the Weekly gives me are nowhere near enough for me to even START to describe one full story on either dog I've written about herein. Jeez, I didn't even get to mention my first dog of 17 years, Moo (I may just have to write more on dogs!). I think dogs make this world a better place, and perhaps some of you do too.
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