Then There Was, A Dog

Apparently, grief is not just reserved for humans. On around his tenth birthday, my best fur friend became gravely ill. He had been losing weight and I knew something was wrong and, in my heart, I also knew there was nothing I was going to be able to do about it. I do not want to write about one of the most painful things we go through as human companions to our angel fur babies but more the beauty and how much they can enrich our lives. Let me tell you “bout my best friend.

So, I grew up with dogs in and out of the house. We had numerous bird dogs over the years. Some were pointers, those were our outside friends. Dad kept them in a lot, which surprises me now that I am grown and understand his absolute love and passion for dogs. Buck was my first memory of these bird dogs. We actually had two… old Buck and new Buck. As you might be thinking, one was old and one was, well, not old. I paid them little attention other than finding myself bored and in my little girl ways of self- entertainment, I dressed them in clothes. I found a chest of drawers in our basement full of old man pajamas. I believe they were my grandfathers but at this point I have no idea and no one to verify. But they would be dressed in the summertime in long sleeve flannel tops and bottoms for what great purpose, I have zero recollection of, nor do I recall ever actually UNDRESSING them from their newfound attire. In addition to these bird dogs which I assume and cannot remember that my dad used them in hunting, I was too little to be interested or care we also had labrador retrievers. Always. Usually, they were black but later would come the blonde versions of these amazing creatures. We had Leroy and then Bo. Bo was short for, of course being the southern redneck family that I had no idea that we were, Bocephus. They were all a part of the family and would provide us many memories of our redneck ways. We once took Leroy to the beach with us… Hilton Head- yes, the Clampet-Hamiltons meet upscale private beach thanks to my father’s rich silent partner, tee hee. Anyway, we decided it was a great idea to tie a kite to Leroy’s collar and then let him run freely down said private beach. Along comes the biker. On the beach. Leroy, in his doggy bliss zig zagged in front of the biker and guess what? Somehow his kite string passes along the biker’s front tire and becomes entwined. Long story short, biker loses control, the tire pops from friction and now The Clampet-Hamiltons have themselves in a mess. All was well and no one was seriously injured except the kite string I imagine and the deflated bicycle tire, but we could quite possibly be the reason there are restrictions on when you can bring your dog to the beach now.

Later would come the blonde labs. J.R. would be our next buddy. Yep, you got it… named after J.R. Ewing of Southfork, Texas. Smart, savvy and ruthless I imagine was my father’s motivation for this name. Not redneck at all. We have evolved to our upscale naming. Our J.R. was smart and savvy and only ruthless to farm varmints like skunks, especially skunks and groundhogs. He once cornered a racoon in the Lakehouse porch that was caught stealing his Dog Chow and dad had him hold the poor thing hostage all night in the corner of the ceiling I suspect to teach the little guy a lesson. This giant of a labrador who looked more like a polar bear than labrador would gain the privilege of riding with dad in his John Deere cab tractor. Upon mowing hay or bushhogging the fields, if dad came upon a groundhog tearing up his ground, J.R. was released and had been trained by the Bill Hamilton bootcamp for farm/hunting dogs to search and destroy any such villain. And… he did. Bill couldn’t have been prouder. That is until J.R. got into his silver years and we got his cohort, C.J.- short for Carleigh-Jake, another blonde lab. J.R. would take it upon himself to train young C. in his vicious, savvy and ruthless ways. Together, they would take Bill’s training to new levels which went beyond making their master proud but horrified and perhaps out of control. Once, a skunk somehow made his way into the barn room that housed these two compatriots while the farmer had business to tend to that did not require the use of two street savvy hounds. Upon Bill’s return to retrieve them to go home for the day, he discovered a stench that emanated directly from the barn room. He instantly knew the odor. He would spend the rest of the evening pouring ketchup and lemon juice and dawn soap multiple times over these two trying to remove the odor the skunk had left behind. Ruthless they were. C.J. had become a spectacular hunter— in my dad’s mind. He took him to South Dakota pheasant hunting. Oh, how proud could he have been to realize that his prize hound had an innate ability to “point” birds. Was it an ability or a fluke, no one will know but on this particular day, I feel sure dad would have preferred neither. Dad was hunting with his buddies and suddenly C.J. “pointed” a bird! Except it wasn’t. Bill starts hollering at his buddies to “LOOK! He’s got one pointed!” Oh, the pride just emanated through his voice! Until they heard him exclaim… “Oh, hell no, it’s a skunk!” Again, ketchup and lemon juice and dawn soap. We won’t even talk about the cat “C” chased down in the Dakotas against my dad’s wishes. I am certain you can still hear him calling “CCCCCCCCC!” through the plains as C.J. disregarded his owners’ pleas to stop, to this day. Long stories as short as possible, my father loved his dogs. They were our family. Mom, too, had a love for them. But, in true Carol fashion, she liked “little dogs”. I say “little dogs” because that was their breed but not necessarily their actual physique. This would be my father’s doing. He once told me. “Do you know how to make a friend?”. as he fed them gravy from his finger. “Gravy cured more people than Jesus Christ, you know”. I heard that more than once, in reference to a dog’s wellbeing and introducing solid foods to toddlers. Mom had always loved Pomeranians. As I write this now, recalling the demeanor of these creatures, I hear the word, Iranians. They always seemed to turn into little terrorists…apologies if there is any offense taken. Although, the first one of these I remember, was Spunky. She was the fattest little sausage on four – 2-inch legs. She was a kind soul though. I would also dress her in the finest… and largest baby doll dresses I could find. She even would let me brush her teeth until bubbles came rolling from her nostrils. I found this very gratifying knowing that I had cleaned her teeth to the max. With my father’s toothbrush. I also know not when her fashion attire was removed. Then we gained a stray, Boomer. He was some sort of poodle mix that dad found hanging around a barn so in his compassion for dogs that exceeded his compassion for humankind, he brought the poor soul home to us. Boomer was more my nemesis than friend. By now. it had been several years, and I was a teenager sleeping in until noon on a Saturday. He would relentlessly bark at the builders next door until I would rise from my slumber, stomp downstairs, open the door and drag him into the house by his crooked tail. Cruel, I guess? Well, he stopped his, “Roooooo Roooooo Roooooo Roooooo Roooooing”.

What in the world could all of this have to do with my best friend, Gauge? My history. With dogs. And how I had become to not love them as my father and mother did. I could not sit in the floor because I would become covered in fine labrador hair. Black ones on my white sweats and scrunchy socks and reeboks with the strap. White ones on my black stirrup pants. Oh, the struggle was real. The little “poodle” with his absurd, obnoxious bark. My Lord. I was not a fan. I had not developed this passion that was so evidently displayed by my parents. Then along came Nala. The tiny pom my mother fell for hard. Again, she turned into not the tiny, cutesy little precious angel my mother saw but a fat, overweight, panting demon Pirahna that would bring blood with her teeth if you did not retract your fingers fast enough upon dropping food or God willing, you tried to give her a bite, making.
“friends”. So, dogs. No. Not a fan. Then, I was bitten by a Rotty, buying Vol tickets one evening from a fella who had multiple Rottweilers enclosed in a six-foot-high chain link fence. Duh, what was the fence for? Stupid Julie screamed when approached by this massive “fur friend”, he bit my leg and I jumped into the back of a pickup truck in a mini skirt. Thanks for my redneck farm training… he only got one bite. I did manage to get those tickets for free anyway. However, this would begin my journey of FEAR for dogs. All dogs. Beautiful golden retrievers made me sweat and panic. Pit bulls? Oh, forget it. Near breakdown. Now I had nothing but contempt for these four-legged things.

Upon marriage, we had labradors too. And stray bird dogs. The stories are endless here. In my attempt at “loving” dogs, I got one of my own. A blonde lab pup from my brother’s labs litter named – Angel, thanks to Carleigh. And she was an angel. But she did not use her special dog powers to win me over. It was always a struggle, but I did try. Then she got pregnant, and BOTH of my kids wanted to keep a pup. GREAAAATTTT. Now let me tell you. one dog is enough, two is a lot and three, well, that becomes a PACK. I might as well have had wolves as far as I was concerned. In the meantime, my father, in his farmer ways, had gotten my children pygmy goats. Well, one that had two babies shortly after arrival. They were cute, but very stinky. It wasn’t long that our farm no longer was home to said goats. I will spare the details of THAT particular trauma. The kids had also gained some chickens from the county fair. Now these, I loved. So much joy watching them each gain an identity from a tiny ball of yellow fluff to beautiful birds each of their own colorings, markings and gender. Out of the bunch, we got one rooster. Did you know they aren’t born with the knowledge of the proper 6 am sunrise “crow” we have all come to know? No. He had to practice daily. All hours of the day. Morning, noon and night that lil guy, Rooty, was a crowin. I always wondered how did he know when he finally got it right? I believe the hens were all standing around as he got it wrong,” RRRRrrrrRRRRrrrrrr” saying “nope, that’s not it!”. Until one day he did it! “Cocka dooodle dooooo!” and they all applauded him and THAT’S how he got it right. At any rate, I loved these birds. Then one day, my “pack” decided that it was their duty to rid this community of my birds. Upon my entry into the world one morning, I ascended from my back door to find my Pack chasing my chickens! Now, I like to sleep in my daddy’s old V-neck white tee shirts and always had. So here I am, in dad’s old white V-neck, chasing dogs away from my chickens. I asked my daughter to get me some hot sauce from the fridge. She would remember this differently, retelling it that I maniacally screamed this instruction. As a good obedient child, she brought it to me where I proceeded to spank my dogs with a paint stick from Lowe’s and attempt at putting hot sauce on their tongue to teach them NOT to chase my “prize hens”! Then, I realized. We aren’t in Kansas anymore Dorothy and the notion just hit me that I now have neighbors. Classy neighbors who live bordering my property line in … the Ridges. I am frantically after my pack of wolves with hot sauce, a paint stick in my fathers oversized ratty tee shirt and granny underpants. And that is all. I retreated to my house, again reconfirming my failure at loving dogs. The stories continue over the years. There was Lola, the completely anxious and nervy chihuahua a friend gave to Carleigh. She only knew that carpet was the place to shit. How about Mr. Baggins that we adopted from the pound, paid to have neutered only for him to give me the finger as he absconded from our home shortly after giving him the home of his dreams, never to be seen again. I tried. I really did.

Carleigh then wanted a husky. Jack. A husky. Well, she’s my baby child. So, we got a husky. There was still no “connection”. I’m trying! And here is where my life changed forever.

I was in Maui with my brother on a trip of a lifetime thanks to Tennessee Farmers’ Cooperative and my brother in between girlfriends at the time ~lucky for me. On my trip, my precious baby child sends me a photo of the cutest thing I have ever seen in my life and said, “Don’t be mad, I got another dog.” He was the one sent to change me. One look in his soulful eyes and that was it. He had won my soul. I have no idea how or why. He slept with me during the day since I had begun my career as a night shift nurse. He would sit and look right into my eyes and give me something I had never understood before, an understanding of the power of the canine. As Carleigh and I navigated through life in unknown waters together, Gauge became the man of the house. He was the boss. Oh, we got the name Gauge because, redneck… his full name was Ten Gauge Goebel Hamilton. I’m not sure it was ever documented or recorded but that was the name my mind gave him. Can’t take the country out of the girl, I guess. He was going to be our dove hunting and retrieving lab. He was a labrador/redbone hound mix. Turns out he was more redbone that lab. He looked the part of a lab, all but the ears. He had the best floppy ears. He was to me, the most beautiful dog ever put on four legs. He was strong, stately and regal. Hunting dog, he was NOT. He didn’t just run from the sound of a gunshot; he hid underneath the four-wheeler. Fetch? Lord, no. If you threw a ball for him, he just looked at you like, “Well, now you gotta go get it don’t you?”. Get a gun out of the closet and he would start sweating like I did when I saw a Rotty. Worthless. He was useless as a worker. Nope. Not doing it. He took his man of the house job seriously though. He was a helluva watch dog. He could hear the train 5 miles away. He could hear my brother whistle for him across the fields feeding cattle. He had the greatest howl a redbone could have ever asked for. He slept on my bed with his head on the pillow as if he bought the thing himself. And he was mine. Along came Lexi, our mix we fought the humane society to keep. I’ll save that story for another time. And thus, my love for dogs was cemented for a lifetime. Jack had an untimely meeting with his rainbow bridge, sadly, which threw Gauge into sudden manhood. He grieved that dog like I have never witnessed in an animal before. Over those next few weeks, Gauge lost his puppy demeanor and became the Man of the House. Then, my baby child brought Athena home. Her first great Dane. Sweetest dog ever to take a breath. She is a princess and she full well knows it. The other two babied her, cleaning her face and snuggling her even though she towered over them both. Gauge was too distinguished by now for their silly puppy games. He was the man, and he knew it too. He comforted me on long, dark nights where wine and song overtook the evening, and he would glance over at me as I would speculate whether his glance was approving or disapproving of my singing voice. All in all, I took it as approval or at the very least, tolerance, to get through some rough moments in my life. Carleigh moved to Nashville with Athena and Gauge, Lexi and I were empty nesters together. We missed them both but were happy they were spreading their wings and had one another as well. He and Lexi would start making the long journey 721 miles to Michigan and back. He never did like to ride in a car but by golly he did it- for me. Then we started making the journey alone, just the three of us. We went everywhere together. We would visit Carleigh together. We would get Starbucks pupcups on our trecks. He was in a league all of his own. He had distinct likes and dislikes. As manly as he was, he made sure he always knew where I was at all times. He changed my soul forever and to this day, I don’t know why it was him. But I guess that is God’s way. He knew I was going to need something other than a human to get me through times when nothing else would do. And he did just that. I cannot explain the love I had/have for him. But I can tell you this. He has departed this life having done his job. He gave me something that was transformative to me. He spoke to me silently as only I could understand. I knew him as much, I think, as he knew me. When I would have a down moment, he would get down off of his bench… that was ONLY his to perch on in front of the window to keep watch over the farm and me and Lexi, and saunter over to me to absorb some of my injuries. He would give me back warm love and then leave me to myself. He knew I didn’t need to be hovered over or bothered but just a gentle, “You doing ok, bud?” was all I needed.

Since I can recall him coming into my life, I have dreams with him in them. I take dreaming pretty heavy since Jake passed and I started getting “visits’ from him. I have come to believe that God allows those visits to the ones you need. And so, I dreamt of Gauge again last night. Ever present by my side as I voyage through my slumber. I think of him constantly during the day too. I miss him. I miss his steady demeanor. I miss his presence.
A Dog. A canine. But my best friend. I finally got it. The love. That now transcends to all dogs and furry pets. An undying, unwavering conversation of silence between me and any critter I meet. All. Because. Of. Him. I never see a dog I don’t like now. And I speak to them in the way I was taught by my best friend. And I love them instantly. Because of him.

I still have dogs. Lexi still carries on some of the traits she learned from Gauge, not hovering over me and bringing me love when she sees fit. I also inherited my parent’s dogs. Jake and Simba. And while I do not share the same connection with them as I did Gauge, there is still a bond. A silent one. And I have learned a new language only spoken between the “I get it’s” and a dog. Lexi will always be my thread to Gauge and the lifetime we three shared healing. Jake, an eternally happy soul, bounces down the hall in the morning when I rise and Simba who gives me a one lick kiss on the back of my calf first thing out of the bed are reminders of my parents who gave all their hearts to these creatures only God can send. Bittersweet really. But they are now a part of my family, like it or not and yet, another lesson in retrospect of How God is ALWAYS preparing and caring for us throughout our lives. None of how I can care for them now would have ever been possible without… my best friend, Gauge. Rest in peace my friend. Rest so easy.

Hug a dog. It just might change your life today.

JHW+