Man's best friend

There’s a reason they call dogs man’s best friend. And I didn't fully understand it until a few years ago when we brought home our curious six-week-old golden retriever Sulley. As we’ve spent the last six years together, I’m embarrassed to admit that he’s dealt with more than his share of neglect. Yes, he gets plenty of food and water and sunshine and an occasional bath and a good round of frisbee, but when it comes to lovin’, I’m sure he could use some more.

This morning we received a disappointing phone call. Joy’s mom and her husband, who live in Charleston, South Carolina, were on the way to the vet to put their dog Bengie to sleep. I took the call, got the news, and then reluctantly handed the phone to Joy.

It was unexpected, but inevitable. He was 16 years old. That’s 112 in human years! He lived a great long life that was full of love from Joy and her mother and everyone else who knew him.

But still, it’s tough. He’s been with their family through thick and thin, always listening, always smiling, and always ready to snuggle.

I remember about 5 years ago, driving to NYC to visit Joy’s relatives. Fourteen hours in a car is enough to drive anyone berserk, but with a dog too… “you’ve got to be kidding?” I thought. Well, there Bengie sat. Sprawled out on the front seat between the driver and the passenger. Never a peep, just happy to be along. And to be honest, when it came my turn to take the wheel while everyone else slept, I rather appreciated his company beside me.

Then we hit one of New York’s infamous tollbooths. While the attendant meticulously made change, she looked at Bengie and said, “poor dog, what happened to him?” She was referring to his severely noticeable under-bite framed with two skinny teeth extruding from his lower jaw. Always the protective master, Joy’s mom snapped, “that’s how he came.” The rest of us laughed at the exchange.

Then a couple years later we moved to Florida. They were visiting and we came home one afternoon and Bengie was sitting in the middle of the dining room table. It wasn’t an exceptionally nice table, but it was our furniture and I was furious. But Bengie didn’t care. He was sunbathing. I yelled at him and he hopped down from the table and into the middle of the room where he laid down and returned to his nap.

Several years ago when I worked for the university, I was writing a magazine feature on faculty members and their pets. I remember very distinctly one professor stating, “I’ve never been so frustrated as I’ve been with my dog. But no matter how angry I get, he still loves me.”

He continued, “God obviously didn’t give dogs the ability to keep time because whether I’m away for 10 hours or 10 minutes he comes racing to the door with a toy in his mouth and a smile on his face. When it comes to personality my dog is everything I wish I was and more.”

Dogs weave their way into our hearts like very few things can. While humans sometimes become hateful and hardened, a good dog remains loyal for life.

That was Bengie. Happy. Satisfied. Loyal.