A Dog for All Seasons

I thought, “I wanted an all-brown, female dog. This dog is not only male, he is mostly black.” As the puppy began gnawing playfully at my hand, we bonded. The dog I named “Teddy,” because it resembled a teddy bear, would become my best friend throughout the next seventeen years.

“Give ‘im time to get used to ya,” said Dad when I expressed my concerns. “He’ll come around.” Soon Teddy was taking me for many walks around the neighborhood as he learned about his new home.

“Don’t worry,” comforted Mom. “You know that one of us is always home. Teddy won’t be lonely. He’ll be right here waiting for you.” Indeed, Teddy came to the door to greet me when I came home. All through those beautiful, cool fall afternoons, he and I played ball in the backyard.

Several years passed before the spring our family cat, Amber, had kittens. All of us were concerned that Teddy might become jealous of them. On the contrary, he became their best protector, as I discovered one day when I saw him lying in our upstairs hallway, surrounded by several sleeping, rust-colored kittens.

“What’s wrong?” asked Mom as she came rushing to the scene.

“Not for a collie,” Mom pointed out. “You see, collies are bred to protect and to herd. Those kittens are part of Teddy’s herd, and he feels obligated to protect them.” Mom grinned. “Amber must be happy to have such a reliable baby sitter.

“I doubt Teddy can feel their claws through his thick fur,” reassured Mom.

“Okay Fred,” said one of them with that false cheerfulness that good paramedics project. “I’m going to insert an IV now. Hold on, you’ll feel a little…” Just as the paramedic began to insert the IV needle something nudged his hand away from his patient.

“Teddy!” Mom said in exasperation.

“No problem, ma’am,” replied the paramedic. “I can’t fault the dog for trying to protect his master.”

“Let me try, Mom,” I piped up in my childish way. I had been standing by the door to the room.

As Dad’s visits to the hospital became increasingly frequent, both Mom and I noticed a decided change in Teddy during his absence. Instead of sleeping at the top of the stairs (so he could be between the family and anyone who might break in) he slept right by the front door. Yes, when his master was gone, Teddy was the man of the house.

“I know,” I answered.

I felt my world beginning to spin, as I always did when confronted with situation I couldn’t control.

“You’re right,” I signed after a long moment of silence, during which all the times that Teddy and I had shared together flashed before my eyes. Soon, all the walks we had taken, all the times he had protected us, all the times Mom carried him up the stairs to bed because his arthritis made him unable to walk, would be just memories.

“Dr. Meerhoff’s office,” the receptionist answered.

“I understand,” the receptionist answered. “”Bring him over at five-thirty.”

At five o’clock, my mother and I set out for Dr. Meerhoff’s office. Because Teddy was so weak, I carried him into the waiting room where Mom and I took seats. I was all nerves.

“This is it,” I thought. “I can’t believe it.”

“We’ll stay,” I said.

The next day, I tried not to think about Teddy, but as I prepared for my daily morning run, on which he had always accompanied me, I couldn’t deny the emptiness that once had been his place in my family.

I still remember my friend, Teddy, though he’s been dead six years. He was a playmate, a protector and a comforter. He truly was a friend for all seasons.

The guest author of this piece, Barb, is a member of the former Foothills Writers Group. She also wrote for the Fay-West section of the Greensburg Tribune-Review.