Dogs
Josh, Maile & I saw “Marley & Me” last night down at Downtown Disney. It is a beautifully sweet movie about a couple’s life with a big dumb dog. One scene in particular sticks in my mind. John (Own Wilson) takes the still-puppy Marley down to a sidewalk café on Miami Beach to meet with a friend and co-worker. A couple beach bunnies stop to pet the puppy. The friend is a letch and starts flirting with the girls. Suddenly, Marley stops a flock of pigeons on the sand. It’s ON!
What we see shortly after is this beautiful shot of this big white puppy hauling ass down the beach, right along the water. To a dog-lover like me, it’s almost heartbreaking. It’s the perfect picture of Pure Joy.
It makes me think of all the dogs that have come and gone in my life.
As small child, we had a pair of German Shepherds, King and Ginger. I have hazy memories of King, but Ginger I remember. She had a sort of nobility that only a Shepherd can pull off. She is famous for stealing the Thanksgiving turkey right off the table (Not really noble, but funny looking back). From what I’m told, she also didn’t like cops and tried to take out the front door trying to get to one once. During a camping trip in the bus (my father once bought an old school bus and converted it to a redneck RV; I can’t even begin to explain…) Ginger snuck off and died in the woods.
When I was about 7 or 8 my big brother brought home a big dumb white Labrador he called Gandalf (I didn’t get the reference for about 6 years). Gandalf was a big dumb dog, but filled with unconditional love. He would love to jump on me, planting his huge front paws on my shoulders, and lick my face. When he was up like that, he was taller than I was at the time. The first time he did it was terrifying. After that, it was pretty much the only direct expression of affection I received (aside from Mom, ya know).
My brother moved out and took Gandalf with him, so I don’t know what became of the big dumb dog. Next came my sister Grace’s dog, Lady. Lady was a tiny thing, perfect for a young girl. I don’t remember any wackiness with Lady, but she did have one litter of puppies. 3 puppies running around our house. Pure bliss. I remember staging puppy races with my sisters in the living room. We gave the puppies away, so I don’t remember much about them. I remember one was named Charlie (named after the family ghost, another story).
For many years after that we had no dogs. Hell, we had no home (yet another story that you will have to ask to find out). When we finally got a house, as I was starting High School, we had cats. Dozens of cats. I shit you not. Then Grace got Butch. Butch was a Pit Bull/Black Lab mix. I’d thought Gandalf was dumb. Butch ran into walls. I’d swear there was not a brain in his thick head. The greatest thing was learning that I could control him with just the sound of my voice. I remember days, sitting in the living room, watching a little TV, and hearing my sister in the kitchen. Butch was supposed to be a outside dog, but he was rambunctious. I could hear her yelling at him: “Butch! Butch! Get out! Butch! Butch!” Then a long pause. “Joe…”
“BUTCH!”
Followed by the sound of the dog scurrying out of the house. Grace would always, begrudgingly thank me. Comedy.
When I left home after High School, I moved to Bakersfield with Josh. We moved into a house that belonged to a friend’s grandparents. The house came with two dogs. A Boston Terrier named Tiger, that Josh immediately re-named “Spud” and Butch (popular name apparently) an ancient Wolfhound. That Butch was an amazing animal to me. He was huge. Lumbering. Grand. But, very, very old. He’d slowed down (I assume). Spud would leap around yapping at him incessantly. Then, every once in a while, you’d just hear a yelp. Butch’s big-ass paw would be on top of Spud’s head. Butch never bared a tooth, Spud was just an annoyance after all.
Josh told me later that one day, after I’d moved out, Butch just left. The side gate was open and he was gone. We assumed he’d just decided it was time. Dogs just do that.
More than anything right now, I want a dog. I want a puppy. I want a big house with a yard. And something that will love me unconditionally…
What we see shortly after is this beautiful shot of this big white puppy hauling ass down the beach, right along the water. To a dog-lover like me, it’s almost heartbreaking. It’s the perfect picture of Pure Joy.
It makes me think of all the dogs that have come and gone in my life.
As small child, we had a pair of German Shepherds, King and Ginger. I have hazy memories of King, but Ginger I remember. She had a sort of nobility that only a Shepherd can pull off. She is famous for stealing the Thanksgiving turkey right off the table (Not really noble, but funny looking back). From what I’m told, she also didn’t like cops and tried to take out the front door trying to get to one once. During a camping trip in the bus (my father once bought an old school bus and converted it to a redneck RV; I can’t even begin to explain…) Ginger snuck off and died in the woods.
When I was about 7 or 8 my big brother brought home a big dumb white Labrador he called Gandalf (I didn’t get the reference for about 6 years). Gandalf was a big dumb dog, but filled with unconditional love. He would love to jump on me, planting his huge front paws on my shoulders, and lick my face. When he was up like that, he was taller than I was at the time. The first time he did it was terrifying. After that, it was pretty much the only direct expression of affection I received (aside from Mom, ya know).
My brother moved out and took Gandalf with him, so I don’t know what became of the big dumb dog. Next came my sister Grace’s dog, Lady. Lady was a tiny thing, perfect for a young girl. I don’t remember any wackiness with Lady, but she did have one litter of puppies. 3 puppies running around our house. Pure bliss. I remember staging puppy races with my sisters in the living room. We gave the puppies away, so I don’t remember much about them. I remember one was named Charlie (named after the family ghost, another story).
For many years after that we had no dogs. Hell, we had no home (yet another story that you will have to ask to find out). When we finally got a house, as I was starting High School, we had cats. Dozens of cats. I shit you not. Then Grace got Butch. Butch was a Pit Bull/Black Lab mix. I’d thought Gandalf was dumb. Butch ran into walls. I’d swear there was not a brain in his thick head. The greatest thing was learning that I could control him with just the sound of my voice. I remember days, sitting in the living room, watching a little TV, and hearing my sister in the kitchen. Butch was supposed to be a outside dog, but he was rambunctious. I could hear her yelling at him: “Butch! Butch! Get out! Butch! Butch!” Then a long pause. “Joe…”
“BUTCH!”
Followed by the sound of the dog scurrying out of the house. Grace would always, begrudgingly thank me. Comedy.
When I left home after High School, I moved to Bakersfield with Josh. We moved into a house that belonged to a friend’s grandparents. The house came with two dogs. A Boston Terrier named Tiger, that Josh immediately re-named “Spud” and Butch (popular name apparently) an ancient Wolfhound. That Butch was an amazing animal to me. He was huge. Lumbering. Grand. But, very, very old. He’d slowed down (I assume). Spud would leap around yapping at him incessantly. Then, every once in a while, you’d just hear a yelp. Butch’s big-ass paw would be on top of Spud’s head. Butch never bared a tooth, Spud was just an annoyance after all.
Josh told me later that one day, after I’d moved out, Butch just left. The side gate was open and he was gone. We assumed he’d just decided it was time. Dogs just do that.
More than anything right now, I want a dog. I want a puppy. I want a big house with a yard. And something that will love me unconditionally…
