Photo of a dog

I don’t know why it’s true but it is a fact that people who love dogs tend to define their lives through the dog’s eyes.

There’s a photo that’s been sitting on my nightstand for just about ever. It’s the snapshot that a guy from work took of “Bruno” so he could bring the photo to work. See, he and his wife had rescued the mutt from the pound but found they couldn’t keep him and now were leaving for a vacation in the UK.

Bob was frantic to find a home for Bruno, because the pound from which they’d rescued him was full beyond capacity and Bruno had already been slated for euthanasia when they’d adopted him. Admitting defeat and returning him to doggie jail was simply not an option.

Bob and I weren’t particular friends and while Mary and I loved dogs, it wasn’t the best timing for us to take on the responsibility of a new pet. But, well, the picture said it all.

Bruno is standing there next to Mrs. Bob, his tail down but not as a cur – he’s simply not sure of what the future brings. He’s holding some unidentified toy in his mouth in a way that suggests he’s not at all sure that if he puts it down, it won’t be taken away. So he just holds it. And waits patiently.

He’s asking a question but not about himself. The question is whether I, the viewer, am up to the task of guaranteeing his future. Bruno is as ready as ever a dog has been to be loved by a family that will return his trust.

Swear to god this is not me waxing poetic. It’s all there in the picture. If you’re a caring person, the decision to take home a dog that will be with you for – in this case – a decade has more to do with judging oneself than with judging the dog.

I took him home for what was to be ten days and of course, became ten years. In his first hour with us, ‘Bruno’ became Sam and Sam he would be until the early morning years later when Daughter Two would cradle his head while he drew his last breath.

When I look back on the years he was with us, so many of my memories revolve around him. I recall the big earthquake when I was alone writing with Sam at my feet and he was calmer than I during the rock-and-roll adventure. There was the big November snowstorm that involved all the neighbors coming together to help each other through six days with no power but for which the defining memory for me is trudging for blocks around the neighborhood after the escaped and frolicking Sam until he tired of the game and not being able to really be mad at a dog delighting in his first big snow dump.

I frequently call to mind the image of Sam trying to bury a live squirrel and the look of disgust on his mug when he realized I did actually expect him to let the poor thing go.

And of course, I can’t let go of the look he gave me that let me know I had to man up and wake the family for his last ever trip to the vet. We didn’t think we’d have a dog for awhile after that night but it wasn’t long before ‘Midnight’ came home with us and became Odin, followed by ‘Daisy’ who became Zoey.

And our lives today are defined in large part by how we interact with these dogs. Our rhythms are defined by their needs.  Feed them, let them in our out, put them in the run. Building the run was a project that represented our largest expenditure that year in terms of both money and physical effort. It involved cutting down and stumping out three major trees, digging out and laying a foundation of the rubble left over  from our friend Bjorn’s erstwhile patio, installing the fencing, shoveling eleven tons of pea gravel, building the deck for the doghouse and the house itself. In short, a big job. You do what you need to do to keep your canine buddies safe and out of mischief.

We’ve learned not to leave oven mitts out lest Zoey chew them up. And we have to mop up water after Odin drinks and drools water like a dredge clamshell as he walks away.

It’s not all labor and annoyance. The dogs provide security when a daughter is home alone and guard Mary’s bed each night when I’m on business travel, which is often. And they’re ready to play or be patted at a moment’s notice.

Dogs can be a real pain in the caboose. And I can’t imagine a life without them.  They’re part of the fabric of our lives.

The photo on my nightstand gets covered in half-read books and spare change until I get industrious and straighten up. And every time I see the picture of then-Bruno emerge from the clutter, I see the question in his eyes and I know we passed a test as a family.