Poochie Woochie

I will never forgot the first time I met my dog.  He wasn't even my dog...yet.  Nor was it my intention for him to EVER be my dog. 

I was a first year teacher, crying pretty much daily, and wondering why the hell I had decided to help mold the youth of America.  This was too hard.  Too tough.  Too much work.  I was crumbling, and it was only October.

The end of the school day had arrived, and I forced myself into the office, to make yet, another set of 33 copies.  As soon as I walked in, the Principal, Mariann, turned to face me with the most adorable, fuzzy, cub bear looking dog, you ever did see.  Well, the FLEAS leaping off of his belly, were the first thing I noticed, really.

"Michelle, look at this guy,"  Mariann gently coaxed.  She was known for her animal rescuing gifts, having taken home 3 stray dogs already,  as well as her kick-ass approach to disciplining kids with raging hormones.  "Just look at him...Michelle, he needs a home."

"No Mariann, look at those fleas.  Gross."  I tried to walk towards the copy machine, dismissing her.  But I swear, it was like a cue from a movie.  As Mariann gently layed him down on the carpet, he wrapped his little cub bear puppy paws around feet, and looked up at me.  I thought to myself, "Oh shit, this dog is so going home with me." 

Did I call my husband, and ask his opinion about bringing a stray dog into our home?  No.  Was I thinking clearly?  Absolutely not.  I think I must have been transported to another time, place, and planet, as I drove my '68 Mustang home, with this little flea bag asleep at my feet.  Little did I know then, how that dog would save me on so many different levels.

Quietly, I snuck into the house, carrying the small, brown bundle under my arm.  As I opened the door to my daughter, Katie's room, I said, "Look what I have!!!!!"  She was 9, and I was like, 29.  But it so didn't matter, because our reactions were exactly the same!  "We have a dooooog, we have a dooooog.  Who cares what Dad says?  We have a dooooog!"

Just then, Tom walked in through the front door.  Deciding to put out the fire, before it really got going, I calmly said, "Honey, guess what?"  In fact, looking back now, those were the same exact words I used just a few months ago, when I shared the "surprise" news of our unplanned baby.

"Look what I got," I said, kind of squinting, with tense arms outstretched, holding flea bag, unsure of what his reaction would be.

"Oh my stars,"  Tom replied.  Now, anyone who knows my husband, knows these are his true words of affirmation.  Of acceptance.  Of giddiness.  Of pure awe.

We decided that Bear was part Chocolate Lab or Chesapeake Bay Retriever, mixed with some Golden.  A perfect mix for a family dog.  After losing several shoes, pieces of furniture, and books to Bear's puppy teeth, he was enrolled in Obedience School. 

Bear came everywhere with us.  The beach.  Our annual Houseboat trip.  The grocery store.  It was official, this dog was part of our family.  Often times, when we would arrive at family functions, people didn't care to give US a hug first.  They were looking for Bear, who would leap out of the car, and come bounding towards the group.

 Bear developed into a very loving, gentle, and mellow soul.  Sure, he jumped off the back of the Houseboat a few times, in the middle of Lake Shasta.  Let me assure you, hauling 80 pounds of wet dog back into the houseboat, was not a pretty sight.  And yeah, he caught a squirrel with his teeth once, and brought it into the house to show me his trophy.  There was even one time when the front gate was left open, and Bear saw an opportunity he just could not pass up:  attacking the mailman.  Poochie then proceeded to get maced by the mailman.  Poor poochie woochie.  The post office refused to deliver mail until Tom went down to the post office and signed an oath that said something like, "Your savage dog will never attack our negligent postal worker ever again."  But with age, he just mellowed.

While in his prime, Bear was a regular fixture on my daily 4 mile walks, as I pushed the triple stroller.  And I swear, every time he saw me with an emerging pregnant belly bump, he thought, "Oh man, here we go again.  More little people to climb all over me."  But he never nipped.  He never growled.  He always remained calm, cool and collected, which is more than I can say about my parenting skills.

How do you say good bye to a family member?  A dog that has been with us for 14 years?  A poochie woochie who once jumped on my chest to lick my face, but now, can't even get up? 

 I layed down next to Bear last night, and whispered to him, "You can go Bear.  You don't have to stay here anymore.  We'll be okay."  I know it may sound crazy, but I wanted to give him permission to die peacefully.  Let him know that he doesn't have to suffer for our sake anymore.

He actually raised his head, and looked deep into my soul.  He understood exactly what I was saying.