Puppy Love

Well, we did it again.  After more than three years getting acclimated to a new locale in that heretofore unfamiliar state called retirement, my wife and I let our emotions overrule our better judgment and pulled the trigger on an investment that could well take us through the end of our days. We bought a dog, our fifth canine companion since we tied the marital knot over 50 years ago. They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but what can new dogs teach old dog owners?

I guess both of us must have a bad case of puppy love. It has now lasted more than three weeks and appears to be growing. Not to be compared to the infatuation that Paul Anka made into a hit song in the Fifties, the object of our affection is a rather smallish cross between a toy and miniature schnauzer. At first we debated what to call him, even considering one from our family’s heritage we both like, Cooper. But upon seeing him in person—or in dog I guess you would say—our new little package of fur and paws gamboling about the front yard, yipping in his high-pitched little voice, our second choice name, Sparky, seemed a more perfect fit. 

We’ve been down this road before.  Four times, in fact, since we were married, and each of “the boys” as we called them occupied a very special place in our hearts while leaving a mark on our homes far more lasting than the occasional mark they left on our carpets. In the picture below you can see them all, each different from the other yet all sharing that distinctive schnauzer attitude we find so endearing.

Starting clockwise from the top center, a wizened Fritz, our first dog, is captured helping me write a sermon. Then his successor, Max, alertly assumes his “I’m in charge” pose as we go on our morning walk. Our daughter’s dog Odie shares the couch with Max, followed by the alert Champ, who joined us after Max’s passing, guarding our back porch. Then two more shots of Champ and Odie, who lived together with us for nearly ten years, pictured here in their youthful cuteness and later as two old men enjoying a photo op in our backyard.

All told our lives were enlivened for more than three decades by these four-legged, chin-whiskered friends, adding as much to our lives as we hope we contributed to theirs. Why then would we have any hesitancy to add a fifth canine companion to our family? There are several reasons, all of them good.

First, pets add a significant amount of work to one’s life, dogs maybe more than some of the other creatures who might live in aquariums, terrariums, or bird cages. I speak from some experience when I say this, having welcomed turtles, frogs, fish and parakeets into my home at one time or another. And while I admire a cat’s self-sufficiency, cleverness and feline beauty, I’ve never developed any bonds with any of them that made me want to start fresh with a creature so independent and aloof. And I can’t say I ever felt the same kind of emotional return from the reptilian, amphibian or avian boarders who shared time and space with us. Dogs without fail manage to give more back to their owners in both affection and playful delight than most any other of our animal companions. Yet their appeal does come with a price, forever changing the routines of one’s day, the management of one’s house, and the line items on one’s expense ledger. These are costs that must be counted before embarking on dog ownership, a fact that apparently inclines too many folks to abandon their pets when the going gets rough or unpleasant.

That being said my wife and I were eager to assemble the small stockpile of supplies we would need—from beds to leashes to special recipe foods and treats and the bowls to properly serve them—all to make our Sparky feel at home. So far it seems to be going well. We’ve also reworked our daily routine to include those several scheduled outdoor moments necessary to get a pup into knowing when and where to do you know what. This kind of work is not without its rewards, yet it is a trial-and-error process that will probably occupy our attention every day for the first year. And after this house-breaking-in episode, we trust that Sparky will bring us both joy and daily exercise. Like most retired folks we no longer live according to the artificial chronometer of work schedules and calendars. But bringing Sparky into our retirement means that the soft and flexible routines we had created for ourselves will now be punctuated by new ones that we will impose on him, and he on us. For it is certainly true that dogs train their owners as much as the owners train their dogs. The next few months will test how easily each of us adapts and adjusts to the other.

Dogs are not only a lot of work, they make demands on one’s budget too. Those of ACK lineage don’t come cheaply in purchasing and securing. Their food, their supplies, their toys, not to mention their medical care and kenneling all have an impact on one’s budget too. So many shots, the necessary and unexpected surgeries and veterinary treatments over a lifetime are just the most obvious bills one can expect. Whenever you travel far from home there is the question of what to do with fido—board him somewhere, which can be quite pricey, or take him with you. Already this new member of our family has inspired us to cancel plane flights in favor of driving the 3,000+ miles back and forth from the East coast for Christmas. But why not? He’s now one of us, and his well being must be factored into plans originally conceived for just the two of us.

Perhaps the greatest drawback we faced in getting another dog was the inevitability of the sadness we will feel in caring for a dog in its declining years. The threescore and ten—or twenty—years we humans can reasonably expect of each other is tightly compressed for our dogs. And while there are those who occasionally make it to 15 or 20, most are lucky to live with vitality beyond a decade. Caring for them as they bear the afflictions of old age that dim their eyes, diminish their hearing, or cripple their legs is a reminder of our own mortality that often hits too close to home. And their senility can be a mirror into which only the strongest of us care to look.

Half-a-century ago, while visiting the National Cathedral in Washington, DC, I stumbled on a cloth banner inscribed with words that have never ceased to bring me solace when weighing the balance of joy and grief that inevitably comes when we care about someone else. It spoke to me once again as we were weighing the pros and cons of taking on the responsibilities of buying another dog.

There is no living in love without some sorrow…but the greatest sorrow is not to love.

This sentiment has wrung true for me in describing our relationships between children and parents, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, and among the truest of our friends over the years. But could it be that it extends to how we feel about our pets? Some would say no, since love is conceivable only between humans, the loftiest measure of our affection and commitment. But if it isn’t love that connects us in feeling and devotion to a dog, it must be something nearly as deep-seated, motivational and enduring as is love. For it inspires, sometimes even compels us to direct our sentiments and priorities to thinking about and caring for a non-human being as much if not more than we do for ourselves. And in an era when life gives us so many good reasons to shun such attachments and protect ourselves from investing our time and affection in anything other than ourselves, perhaps, in some small yet revelatory way, what we express for a dog, and feel in return, is the opening of a door through which the animating and sustaining presence of so much that is good and faithful and enduring must also walk into our lives. Perhaps that is the price and the condition by which any of us can truly grasp the presence of God, the One in whom we recognize love in its purest and truest form.