Dogs I Have Loved

I have loved three dogs. None of them were mine.

My history with animals, I would call disastrous. Starting in Paris when I was perhaps 5 or 6,

an only child, someone had the idea of giving me a puppy to keep me company. I have always referred to him as a German shepherd so that is what he must have been. My parents, Polish Jewish immigrants, both raised in poor urban families, didn’t have the vaguest idea of how to train a dog. I never heard them reminisce about animals of any kind.

Getting back to my puppy, all I remember about my unnamed pet is walking him on a leash and bending down to talk to him, urging him to walk. Passersby smiled. Needless to say my relationship with the puppy was a very short one. My parents gave him away.

Once we arrived in the U.S., there was no talk of dogs or any other pets. There may have been a small turtle in residence for a short while in my parents’ Brooklyn apartment. Nothing more.

When my husband and I became parents the chatter about pets began. People seeing our three children growing up without a pet, a travesty in American suburban life, sometimes offered us animals. Our neighbors tried giving us a pretty and somewhat valuable little dog, whose breed I have forgotten, but we gamely resisted.

One day a friend’s aunt arrived with an irresistible offer: a mostly Irish setter mix, already potty trained. The children were excited and they named him Prince. He turned out to be a Princess. I guess we weren’t paying close attention. Of course children never take care of animals, as they invariable promise to do, so my husband became the dog walker. A rambunctious female, what Princess particularly loved was to run. This began to worry me. Perhaps she really should not be in a small city in the suburbs but out on a large property in the country. She was still too young for obedience school, but I decided to consult the professional trainer. She said “Don’t worry. After she finishes school, she will be perfectly content living in your house.”

One day I opened the door as I tried to attach her leash. Princess couldn’t wait to go out. Before I was done with the leash, she bounded out, and too young to know street from sidewalk, was

immediately hit by a car. A neighbor and I got her into my car, I drove to the vet’s but she could not be saved. Princess was sweet, if irrepressible, and I mourned her.

Except for a cat, another tragic story which I will not go into now, our house was animal-free until my children married. The oldest, Michael, married into a family of dog lovers. As a matter of fact, his mother-in-law raised dogs. So of course he and his wife soon acquired Bonnie, a partial golden retriever. Bonnie was naturally maternal. She would station herself near the baby or the baby carriage and barely move. You couldn’t help loving Bonnie.

Later, when my daughter’s children grew out of babyhood, she agreed to get a dog. Kona, named after a Hawaiian coffee, was a black standard poodle. Tobi, my daughter, was his main caretaker and he became her passionate protector. Although Kona was friendly with everyone in his family, there was no doubt who his main love was. Kona spent much of his time sitting at Tobi’s feet as she worked in her studio. She in turn, took some time to educate him and teach him some tricks. Kona was a fast learner and he willingly performed his repertoire when she asked him to.

I called Kona my most polite grandchild. When he rushed into our house, he ran right into the kitchen to greet me and my husband, whereas our human grandchildren often lingered in the front rooms, the living room, and adjacent recreation room/library and then, often would forget to come into the kitchen at all. When Tobi went out and left Kona with us, he would station himself in front of the door leading to the street and not move until she came back. We all loved Kona.

But our most memorable relationship with a dog was early in our marriage in Cuernavaca, Mexico. When Marius, my husband, finished graduate school he decided he wanted to spend some time painting before he started looking for a job. We chose to live in Cuernavaca for the next three months. Soon after we arrived, we attended an art exhibition and there we met Irma Koen, a North American, living a life in Mexico she probably could never afford back home. I remember she said she came from a city on the northern shore of the Mississippi but I am no longer sure what city. She was perhaps in her sixties or maybe her seventies. She had a head of silver hair, and that is how I judged her age. We had told a number of people we were looking for housing, so she approached us and said she had a cottage on her estate that was for rent. When we visited we thought it was paradise. I would guess the property was perhaps 4 acres including a substantial house where she lived, a pool, and at least two cottages, one for the gardener’s family and the one she wanted to rent to us. Of course we accepted right away.

Miss Koen, owned a little mutt named Petie. He appeared to be partially terrier.

After a short while, Petie, who ran freely on the property, started to visit us. And little by little he stayed longer and longer. In the evening, Miss Koen would call in a high pitched voice, “Petie, Petie.” We did not feed Petie, except perhaps for little snacks, so why he stayed with us, I do not know. He was very sweet and we enjoyed his company and perhaps he felt that. When she called we would give him a little push and say “Petie, go home.”

One day Miss Koen approached me in the garden and said, “You’re Jewish, aren’t you?”

“Yes”

“Oh I am too, that is I was until I became a Christian Scientist.” She then invited me to come to her house for a get-together of some Christian Scientists. Wanting to be polite, I accepted. It was a very small gathering of elderly North Americans. Perhaps she asked me again, I do not remember, but I certainly would have told her, very politely, that I just was not interested in Christian Science.

Little by little we felt our relationship with Miss Koen seemed to cool. Perhaps it was Christian Science or perhaps it was because we were friendly with her Mexican gardener who lived on the property with his family. He had a couple of young children and when we used the pool we asked if the children go into the pool. He said, Miss Koen did not permit them to. Or, was it Petie?

Finally it was time for us to go home. At the entrance gate to her property, Miss Koen met us and said, “There are some things I would like to say to you, but you wouldn’t understand because you are Jewish.” We did not understand. We had no answer.

When the gate was closed Petie ran up to it and started to jump wildly up and down, barking and crying as if his heart would break. Up to this day I can see the scene clearly and my eyes tear up whenever I think of it.

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