Tuesday, Oct 14, 2008

My dog, Dinah, died yesterday. She was a good dog. She was a beautiful dog. I lost count of the number of times strangers would stop us as we walked in the park and say "What a beautiful dog". She was a classic German Shepherd. She was black with tan legs. She had enormous pointy ears that she used like radar. She had reddish brown splotches behind her ears and tan spots above her eyes that looked just like eye brows. When she was young, her face was all black, but as she got older her chin became speckled with gray. She had big paws, that she didn't like anyone to touch, and a long fluffy tail. A really long tail. So long, that when she stood still, her tail dragged on the ground. On her back, just behind her shoulders she had a small white ruff. The only white on her back. The white hairs (and only the white hairs) stood up when she was alerted. We got Dinah as a puppy, for my son Caleb's 10th birthday. I wasn't sure I wanted a dog, and all the responsibility that went with it. We were moving that summer, and my wife, Barbara, insisted we get the boy something to hold onto. Dinah was the cutest little puppy with over sized paws. She was so young that one of her ears couldn't stand up on its own. I slowly became Dinah's caregiver. I walked her, I fed her, I cleaned up after her, I fell in love. I walked Dinah almost every morning. We'd walk from our house down to Jenkins's Estate Park. Amongst the rhododendrons, around the roses, across the fish pond bridge, down the primrose path, under the two redwood trees, and through the tiny bit of old growth forest that was never logged right in the middle of Beaverton. As far as Dinah was concerned, it was her park. She never minded the early morning maintenance workers. She knew they belonged. Many of them knew

her name, and would stop and pet her. But strangers, especially strangers with dogs, that was another matter. Many a poor dog walker got a stiff scolding from Dinah before she'd finally relent and share her park. I figure we made that walk close to two thousand times in Dinah's ten and a half years. At an average of 1.5 miles a loop, I figure Dinah and I walked across the continental United States, 1 day at a time. Not a bad journey for a "Dad" and his dog.

Dinah was never happier than when we walked in the park. In the last year or so I could see she was slowing down. I told her the walk was as much for me as it was for her. I needed the exercise. She didn't seem to mind. I thought she might have a touch of arthritis, she was 10 after all, a grand old lady. She'd muster up the strength, and by the time we got ready to turn back, you could see she was back to her old self. We took the walk for the last time on Monday, 1 week before she died. I knew something was wrong. It was that walk that made me take her to the vet. I took the same walk this morning alone. I don't know if I can do it again.

She was a great dog. She and the boy grew up together. From fluffy puppy & rosy cheeked boy, to 75 pounds of guard dog & 6 feet 5 inches of incredible young man. If I was Dinah's caretaker, Caleb was Dinah's soul mate. He could get her to do anything, Sit, Shake, Lie down, Speak, Rollover, Crawl, Cry. He'd rile her up, she'd jump and bark and chase him around the house. Even last summer, Caleb could get Dinah to act like a puppy again. When she was young, Caleb would chase her down the hallway, corner her at the end, and then he'd lie flat on the ground. Dinah, would charge down the hallway leaping three feet in the air over the prone boy, and the chase would begin all over again. She loved her boy.

She loved everyone. Our home was teenage central. There was always a half dozen or more of Caleb's friends at our house. They'd congregate in the garage and Dinah would let everyone know, long before they got to the front door, that someone new had arrived. She'd sniff, approve, and take one more young person under her protection. She'd lounge on the floor, with her ears alert, watching everything with those deep brown eyes that missed nothing. No one ever left without saying goodbye to Dinah, scratching her ears, telling her she was a good dog.

We have a summer home in upstate New York. It is the true home of my heart. I try to spend a month there every summer. I haven't missed a summer visit to the lake in 51 years. When Dinah was young I'd hire dog sitters to watch the house when we were gone. Bill, Walid, Emir, Nathan, Willy, Ingemar, Chris, Brad. Students of mine, neighbors, friends of Caleb's. Dinah remembered all of them. Even after years, she'd get excited when one came to visit. The last three summers, I took Dinah with me to the lake. Dinah was in her element at the lake. She didn't like the water, but she sit on the dock and watch everything in that way of hers. A group of Caleb's friends have come to the lake the last few summers. 9 last summer, 13 the year before. For her it was like reunion, all those young people she knew and loved. She'd crawl up on the couch and squeeze between Caleb and whoever was in her way, and lay her head on his lap.

She climbed three mountains at the lake last summer. At home Dinah was never outside off leash, but in the Adirondack Mountains, twenty miles from the nearest town, she'd run free. From the head of the climbing group, back to the tail, she'd guide us along. I guess she wasn't a shepherd for nothing. I think, Dinah with her head on Caleb's lap, or Dinah surveying her world from the top of the mountains, is the way I will always remember her.

Caleb is 20 now, a Junior in college. Because my wife travels alot, in the last two years, I have often been home alone with just Dinah for a companion. She would follow me around the house, she would sleep at the foot of my bed, and she'd pick up her leash in her mouth when she wanted to go for a walk. She would never fail to greet me when I arrived home. She never whined, barked without reason, begged, stole food off the table, or chewed anything (well, maybe a greasy napkin or two if she could sneak one). She was there when you needed a hug, and she never complained. She was a good dog, a great dog.

When Dinah was young, when I first started taking her on daily early morning walks, I would talk to her. I told her that everyone had a job, and that her job was to love her family, to guard the boy, and to keep him safe, to see that he grew into a fine young man. Dinah, in case you never heard me when I told you, I loved you. Your performance far exceeded the expectations of your job description. You lived with unmatched love and devotion to your family. I will miss you.

For more picture of Dinah, see Caleb's face book pictures