My family has always been a dog family. When I was first born, we had Crystal. My dad bought her when he was in his 20s. We put her down before I was even a year old, so I have no memories of her. My childhood dog was Chelsea. We got her in 1991, and she was my trusty companion throughout my entire childhood. We had to put her down when I was in high school, and then Luke came along. Luke is now four years old, although he acts like more of a puppy than anything else.
Now, I do not mean to rain down on cats, I just have never owned one so I have little to say about them. The joy of having a dog in my home, however, is a favorite part of my childhood and one of the things I have missed most since coming to college. It is remarkable that a furry 80-pound animal that does not even talk can have such an impact in someone's life. Anyone who owns a dog knows that even though they can't actually talk, they sure do know how to communicate.
Luke is unbelievably expressive. For example, he knows that suitcases and packed hampers only mean one thing — somebody is moving away. Luke is not having that. When I was packing up to come back to school, he would follow me everywhere I would go. He would sit and stare at me with the saddest expression I have ever seen. I would move to another spot in the house, and he would drag himself behind me.
The absolute worst is when I drive away. I can see his tiny little tan face peering out from the window, begging me to come back inside and play. It was so bad this last time that I had to bribe him with a bone to get him to stay away from the window so I could actually go on my way.
When Luke is happy, his tail swishes at a speed that could generate electricity. When he feels bad or guilty, he stares at the floor with his ears flat against his head and his tail between his legs. When Luke is scared, his eyes get huge. When Luke wants to race (whether it's outside to my dad when he comes home from work or into the backyard to chase the birds), he makes a small crying noise until you let him out.
Speaking of Dad, that is one of the trigger words. If we say "dad," "walk," "treat" or "snack time," Luke will go into an absolute frenzy. The idea of going for a brisk walk around the neighborhood, chewing on a savory treat or playing with his best sidekick is enough to make him the happiest dog on the planet. That's another great thing about dogs. You want to see pure happiness? Look at a canine.
Even when you are having a horrible day, a dog's excitement about just waking up that morning can put a smile on your face. Luke can be the most compassionate soul when you are having a bad day. If I cry, he will come over to me and push my hand or arm out of the way until he gets his head right next to mine. He will lick my cheek and lay with me until I feel better. It is the same story if I feel sick. He will curl up at my legs and stay there for as long as I want him to. Unconditional love — that's what a dog offers. That is not the only service he has, either.
Luke is the chairman of the crisis clean up committee. Crumbs from lunch? He whisks them away before you even notice. Spilled lemonade? He is on it. Don't feel like finishing the end of your ice cream cone? He has it covered. There have been many times where I was somewhat sloppy when cooking, or I just could not finish what was on my plate. Luke is there to make sure that I do not feel guilty about whatever situation I am in. He takes care of the evidence before anyone else finds it.
Luke is an alert system. No one is sneaking up on our house without us knowing. No animal is going to run across our backyard without a full interrogation. Mom is not making it into the house unannounced and Dad is not pulling up to the driveway with no one knowing. If dinner is ready, Luke rounds up the crowd. If it is time for bed, Luke alerts you. He is a dog on a mission — that mission is to keep the Dales household calm and under control.
Now, before I say the next part, let me preface with the fact that I know it is incredibly nerdy for a 21-year-old to listen to books on CD in the car. Okay, moving on. I was listening to "Marley and Me," and the author made a comment about how death is a part of owning a dog. I thought that was a cold thing to say, until I realized it's true. For many children, the death of a pet could be the first time they face death in their lives.
That was not the case for me. I do not count Crystal's death in this equation because I do not remember her at all anyway. All of my grandparents passed away before we put Chelsea down. Chelsea's death, however, was still horrible. Three of my grandparents passed away when I was in elementary school. Even though they were all sick, I was not old enough to really understand what that meant. My last grandparent had more of an unexpected death. Chelsea was the first time I can remember that someone I loved was sick and was dying. It was just a matter of waiting for the day she could not go on anymore.
That was the worst morning I can remember. I cradled her head and kissed her nose, knowing it was time for goodbye. It was a very hard but very real part of life. I miss Chelsea a lot, but I learned a lot about death in that process. Luke is only four years old, but I know that one sad day will come when I will have to say goodbye to him as well. The years of joy that Luke will bring, however, will shine in my memory forever. This may sound like an exaggeration to some of you, but those of you who have dogs know exactly what I am talking about. After all, they are called a man's (or woman's) best friend for a reason.
