Monday, April 20, 2009

In Which The Dog I Left Behind Me Is Lamented


When a child leaves the "paternal nest," as it wer
e, to strike out on their own (whether for college or whatever), the expectation is that there will be some amount of homesickness, and to a greater or lesser extent, that's usually the case. When I first arrived at college (what seems, by this point, a lifetime ago), I spent the time between unpacking my belongings and rushing off to orientation activities (yes, I went to them) missing my family, my friends from home, and the way of life I had hitherto lived. Luckily, I learned to enjoy college so thoroughly that this initial homesickness didn't last very long.

Over time, as I have gotten older and grown into my less family-centric life, I have come to miss them less and less; I can talk to them whenever I wa
nt through the multifarious communication technologies available to us (which, with my siblings, more often than not means text messaging). Even the desire to go home, to the house and city in which I grew up, has grown weaker over the years, especially since my father's preparation and subsequent (ongoing) execution of selling our house. But there is one separation that has never gotten less difficult for me, and one that I think we seldom regard as legitimate: that between me and my dog.

We got Bagel, our Boston terrier, in August of 1999, when I was 13 years old. I remember driving out to Kent (Ohio), to the breeders', to pick him up. He was five months old and weighed a whopping 12 pounds. He has been a focal point of my life ever since; anyone who has known me during any point in the last 10 years also knows about Bagel.

Bagel is, to put it lightly, an unusual dog. He doesn't bark. He can - we've heard it - he just chooses not to. He's probably the laziest creature I've ever seen; while most dogs run to greet their masters when they hear the door open, Bagel barely opens an eyelid from his perch
on one of the pillows on the couch, which are now permanently indented from years of his napping on them. He sleeps 20 hours a day, and at night, sleeps in someone's bed with them. He also insists not only on sleeping under the covers, but cuddled up next to the person he's sleeping with, which can make for a rather cramped night in a twin bed. (My dad, in his infinite wisdom, says this need for closeness is Bagel's pack-animal instinct manifesting itself.) Due to his pushed-in nose, Bagel is also a chronic snorer. He loves tennis balls, but not playing with them: he likes to suck on them; like a baby with a pacifier he holds them in his mouth, leaving a large drool spot on whatever surface is beneath him (usually the couch). We don't give him tennis balls often.

For these reasons and a million others, the intensity with which I miss Bagel has never lessened since the day I left him for college. For propriety's sake I like to think that the reason I miss my dog more than my relatives is because I can't talk to him on the phone
. But in my heart I know it's more complicated than that: as any pet (especially dog) owner can attest, the affection that exists between a human and their animal is unique. It is unconditional. It is irreplaceable.

Since going away to college, I have only seen Bagel two or three times a year. Since he just celebrated his 10th birthday in March (or, rather, my father and I realized the day after his 10th birthday that we had missed it), it is even more troubling to me that I so seldom see him. Luckily, for an old dog, he is in perfect health - his eyesight excepted. A year or two ago, we began to notice a cataract forming in his right eye. Then one started up in his left eye, and they have grown progressively worse ever since. Today I talked to my father, who told me he thinks Bagel has officially gone blind - but infor
med me, upon my inquiry, that he still exhibits the same "vigor" for life that he always has. I think the loss of Bagel's eyesight is harder on me than it is on him - a fact for which, assuming it is true, I am grateful.

I don't know when I'll next see my dog. If my work sc
hedule allows it, I may be able to spend a few days in Cleveland at the end of the summer, which will be the first time I see him since December. My dad, in a not unusual moment of wry humor, assured me he (Bagel) would know me by sense of smell.

How handsome!
(Note cataract in right eye)