Beloved Boo!

"Sometimes we simply have to believe."
-Enzo Swift

It was October 1997 when Dover B Riley Boo! entered our lives as a fabulously unexpected surprise to our children. They were 13, 10 and 7. Lexi, our first dog, was almost 4 and Dover would prove to be a wonderful and worthy companion to all.

Both of our dogs are female American Eskimos. The traits of this breed (by my own personal observation) are snuggly yet protective, loyal yet independent, proud yet obedient, and remarkably clean, intelligent and hairy. We love these dogs!

Dover B Riley Boo! was named, as was our first dog Lexi Mae Bailey Bud, by grand family compromise. Initially K, our youngest, clung stubbornly to the name “Darlene” but soon softened. After a week or so with no feasible agreement in sight, I began to use the universally rejected “Darlene” name as incentive to achieve a viable compromise. That strategy proved quite effective as the name Dover B Riley Boo! quickly surfaced and sailed through the family arbitration process. At the insistence of our children, the “Boo!” was included as a reflection of the fall season as well as a declaration of their surprise at the sudden arrival of a second dog.

The naming of dogs is an interesting process. It is so permanent and so personal. And I suppose that everyone has their own reliable dog naming “system”. Mine is simple. First, imagine yourself standing on the front porch of your house in your underwear with a need to get your dog’s attention. Then, under these most precarious conditions, shouting your dog’s name either melts away your last remaining shreads of dignity or it doesn't. I think everything becomes either black or white when you're shouting on your front porch in your underwear. There's not alot of room for graytones. After all, it’s your porch, your dog, your voice, your underwear and your neighbors who bear witness. So, this name you've chosen either works or it doesn’t. DOVER!! works. DARLENE!! doesn't. LEX!! works. TRIXY!! doesn’t. See? It’s simple.

The use of real names versus short names or nicknames is another matter. This is purely a function of affection, urgency and efficiency. “Dover-B” and “Lexi Mae” were very popular with our kids. “Bud” and Boo!” were less popular but still frequently used. Sometimes I’d use “LEXIMAE!!” or “DOVERTHEDOG!!" if I was really intent on attention getting. Those always worked for me. My personal favorite though was always “TWO-DOGS!!!!" That seemed to get right to the point. It also fit my “underwear scenario” nicely and I enjoyed the increased efficiency over the repetition of individual name calling.

In stark contrast to Lexi’s purple-ribbon show dog genealogy, Dover’s pure-bred roots were that of a farm family. She was born on a small farm south of Missouri Valley, Iowa. Eleven years in the city limits of Omaha has never really diminished her natural desire to lay in the grass or the snow or the sun or the rain and scour the horizon of our property for intruders. She loves chasing rabbits and once trapped an opossum on our deck railing. But her favored nemesis' are the squirrels. She can tree a squirrel and sit for hours in the shade below looking upward as an angry squirrel returns the gaze in disgust and scolds her…chik-chik-chik!!! To Dover, a bad day of squirrel treeing beats the best day of ball chasing, pole sniffing and house sleeping.

And Dover's propensity for the outdoors leads her naturally to her favorite indoor spot at the front windows, looking out in wonder at the nature and activity beyond the glass. And her reaction to visitors gives the impression of being fiercely protective of our family and home. Upon the arrival of guests, she will often stand off in the living room and bark and "complain" despite our admonishments. To differentiate her from Lexi, our guests often refer to Dover as “the mean one”. Although utterly inaccurate, this pseudonym is almost universally deduced with the notable exception of our trusted HVAC man, a good friend, who Lexi leapt up and nipped in the crotch once. Lexi has since been “the mean one” to him. But after a short warming up period, Dover graciously accepts guests as she does our children. She is indeed the most snuggly of dogs and will tolerate any discomfort for another minute of lap lying. She loves to be held close.

Two weeks ago Dover began to pant in her sleep. Last week we noticed a prolonged hesitancy during her “yard breaks” and difficulty climbing stairs. She immediately underwent blood testing and x-rays which revealed a growth on one kidney. Yesterday, fifteen days prior to her eleventh birthday and fifteen days after we ushered the last of our three daughters off to college, Dover underwent exploritory surgery for potential kidney removal which revealed a pervasive malignancy agressively attacking virtually every organ. She never regained consciousness. We miss her terribly.

What is it about a dog that so deeply touches the human psyche? They seem to have such a keen awareness of their surroundings and of their “Master’s” emotions. They know when we are coming and going or when we're happy or sad. They sense anguish and attempt, in their own way, to comfort it. Their propensity toward obedience and their resolute loyalty are stunning to behold. And these wonderful qualities never change or diminish over time or through circumstance. But the trait of dogs that cuts me the deepest, especially today, is their unfaltering trust in their “Master”. It’s a steadfast trust without need for proof or further resolve. It’s a trust that allows them to happily shadow your life without judgment or question.

And despite my knowledge that advanced warning and alternative options were unatainable to us, the fact remains that yesterday, blind trust in me would calmly and quietly lead my beloved Dover into a room without doors. My parting image as I turned to leave her for surgery, and forever seared into my memory like a wicked brand, is of two faithful black eyes looking up at me, searching, searching, searching and finally finding…more trust. How is it that yesterday’s trust can today feel so much betrayed? I hate that. Perhaps time forgives or forgets.

Some time ago I bought Garth Stein’s novel The Art of Racing in the Rain. I finished it two weeks ago, just prior to Dover’s turn of health. This is a charming, yet heart-wrenching story about the triumphant life of an aged dog named Enzo Swift and his family in Seattle. The story is narrated by Enzo in the waning hours before his death. Enzo believes that in the end he will return to another life as a man. This is a “life’s lessons” book that can teach everyone through Enzo’s observations and notable quotes. And if you love a dog, especially an older one, this is a must read. I bought this in part to begin to prepare myself for the inevitable declining health of Lexi. Little did I know that we would suffer the sudden unforseen loss of Dover, four years younger, just days after reading it. I suppose that it helps at times to think of Enzo’s prophetic words. And I like to imagine Dover dashing effortlessly through endless fields of soft cool grass under the brillient blue skies of her new home. And somewhere, I'm certain a squirrel is climbing.