Oliver, our golden retriever, was 12 when we said good-bye to him. Our hearts were broken; he had been part of our family since we brought him home as a puppy. He is in the background of almost every childhood memory, his happy, goofy presence at every birthday party, every holiday, every trip to the family cabin in the mountains. Furry blurs of a golden wagging tail brush the edges of photos, and especially in the later years, his sleeping form stretches out in the backdrop of family events. He was always there, a constant companion, calmly witnessing our lives, then jumping up to join us at even the spelled word w-a-l-k.
When he died, I missed him. In the grief though, there was also relief. I didn’t have to worry about leaving him home alone too long, or about his increasing pain and difficultly with daily tasks . Over the course of a few weeks, the tumbleweeds of golden dog hair diminished and the floors stayed clean. When the mood struck, we could leave home for a few days without having to make arrangements for dog care. I decided I would get used to the empty feeling the house had when the kids were away. I was a one-dog woman, I consoled myself. I had known one great dog love.
The kids, though, began to agitate for a new dog. We need a puppy, they told me. Even the kids no longer living at home joined the cry for a new dog. A dog exactly like Oliver. It doesn’t feel like home when there’s not a dog greeting us, they lamented. We can’t go to the cabin without a dog, they implored. I admit, I had looked at Golden puppies on the internet, just a quick peek to see what was out there. When the pressure came, it didn’t take much to persuade me. Before the excitement had a chance to mellow into reality, we were hot on the trail of a puppy.
Our little Tie came home two months after we lost Ollie. We named him for the tiny town our cabin is near, Tie Siding. He was adorable, energetic, hilarious–he cocked his head and perked up his ears and we were smitten. He reminded us so much of Oliver, but was so different at the same time. He charmed us with his love of snuggling, his ability to lay on his back and manipulate his toys with his agile front paws, and his eagerness to please. He was exhausting, though. The promises of help and commitment from the kids wore thin and all but vanished when school started in August. It was me and Tie, and he wasn’t lying down in the background.
Walks and exercise became essential daytime events, and missing one meant an unpleasant evening of diverting Tie from destructive chewing and annoying attempts to pull us into his slobbery games of tug-o-war. He loved his toys, and he loved putting them under the furniture and then digging and barking to get them. A tired dog is a good dog, so the adage goes. It was my job to do the tiring out, and I wasn’t very good at it. I began to question the wisdom of getting another dog. He was driving me crazy.
A neighbor who also had a puppy told me about a park up the street where neighbors with dogs met to let them play. A few minutes of frolicking with other puppies was much more effective than a long walk, he assured me. After trying it once and reaping the benefit of a calm evening, I became a regular. As often as I could, I went to the park, let Tie off his leash for his romp, and settled in to chatting with the dog owners who visit the park every evening. After a few weeks, I started seeing these neighbors around town, and inviting other dog owners I met to join the fun. Some evenings, the park was crowded with racing, wrestling dogs. Other nights, it was just a dog friend or two. Every time, Tie would come home happy and tired. A good dog.
Still, I wonder if it was a good idea to get a puppy. My fifth child left home to start college, leaving our nest nearly empty. One more remains at home for a few years, and Tie will be a sweet companion for him. The work of caring for a dog, though, could outweigh that on certain slobbery, busy evenings. I was ready to be done with that responsibility. He ties me down. Was our name choice a subliminal cry for prudence?
He also pulls me out, though–out into my neighborhood for some exercise when I would rather sit on my couch, out into my community to meet people I otherwise would have no connection to, and out of myself to see the world from the viewpoint of a purely happy, loving, excited canine. Tie is breaking into my one-dog heart. I can’t resist the look of expectation on his furry face when he rides in the passenger seat of the car, taking in the sights; his love for his blankie, and how he shows it to all visitors; the way he leaps in the air with all four paws when he sees me putting on my shoes for a walk; and his warmth on my feet when he follows me wherever I go and lies down near me. Whether it was a good idea or not, I think I love him.
The other day on a walk with Tie, I realized I don’t accidentally call him Ollie anymore. I’m not constantly evaluating Tie’s personality and behavior in contrast to Oliver’s, the only way I could make sense of him at first. My memories of Oliver aren’t quite as distinct as they were, now blending into general dog experience. That makes me sad, missing Oliver again, my first dog love, but also happy for Tie’s sweet company. I guess I’m not a one-dog woman.
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