Of Dogs

Before I continue the stories about our dogs, I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell the story of Jigger, Dorothy, Mary Ann’s mother’s last dog. Jigger was a Wirehaired Terrier. Someone once said to me: “When it comes to terriers, it’s not the size of the dog in a fight that matters, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.”

Before we married in 1967, Dorthy, who loved terriers, adopted Jigger as a puppy. Mary Ann remembers Jigger as a cute puppy, but as he grew older, he grew to be ornery and possessive. Jigger took possession of ordinary things and was more than willing to defend his possessions. My moment of destiny came one Christmas eve. Mary Ann and Dorthy went shopping leaving Jigger at our house. Our kids, Beth and Michael were in grammar school and decided to play knock hockey on the living room floor.

Their laughter, dialogue and the loud sounds from the game attracted Jigger. He took possession of the board and wouldn’t let anyone near it, including me. He actually walked onto the board and growled if we came near.

Enough was enough. I disliked him and I decided to shut him down. I grabbed a broom from the garage and started up the stairs toward the board. Jigger stood his ground growling and making feints as I banged my way up the stairs. I forced him into our kitchen securing the exits. There he stayed until the women retuned and I announced that he was banned from our house. My edict was probably overridden, but my recollection is that Jigger died soon thereafter.

Back to the Delach dogs, Jumbo was our fourth Golden. He had a peculiar marking The lower portion of one of his ear’s was jet black as if it had been dipped in an ink well. The breeder thought that at some point. A Newfoundland Retriever had stopped by for a roll in the hay. Jumbo was supposed to be a gift to Michael for his 21st birthday, but the policy at his college changed to: No Dogs Allowed.

Michael did bond with Jumbo enough to teach him to drink beer out of a bottle. Funny thing, if you offered Jumbo a beer in a can or a glass, He’d ignore it. It was only beer from a bottle that made him salivate.

Both Harry and Bubba were with us when Jumbo arrived. Harry had turned ten and he was worn out. Let me share with you two good things from his senior years. One time, I came home from a business trip to find Harry asleep on his perch overlooking our living room. In my bag, I had a soft-toy of a Golden Retriever baby. I unzipped my bag and placed the puppy on the living room floor.

I walked away and watched Harry’s reaction. All of a sudden Harry raised his head, saw the puppy, got up and came down the stairs. Translating his thoughts, “OMG, not another puppy! I already raised three others.”

When Harry reached the stuffed toy, he sniffed it. Realizing it wasn’t alive, he flipped it over with his snout before returning to his perch.

My last Harry story happened on the last Father’s Day that we still had Harry. His ability to take walks with us had diminished to being only when necessary to relieve himself.

Michael was home from school so I asked him for a special Father’s Day gift. “Michael, Mom and I will take a walk to the beach with access to the Long Island Sound. Harry can’t make that walk so I want you to drive him to the beach so he can join us.

Harry had a great day and, for a little while, swimming in the Sound, he was young and agile again. After we finished, Michael picked him up, put him in the back of his GMC truck and  drove him home.