This week I had to say good-bye to my friend, Mort. Mort is a dog, a Basset Hound to be specific. I am a little surprised about how much he is on my mind. I guess it's because he was my dog. There's no question that it was a hard thing to do, but like most difficult decisions it was one that had to be made. He had begun to snap at kids and what at first seemed to be a random behavior became more frequent and unacceptable.
My son, Carson, is an extremely social 12-year-old 7th grader. Over Christmas break it felt like we lived in a frat house for middle-schoolers. We also have 3 young grandchildren and we love for them to visit. Mort's snapping seemed to become more frequent so we found another home for him. He is in a quieter, less active home with a really nice guy that loves dogs and can focus a lot of love and attention on Mort.
Mort deserves this because 85-95% of the time he's a good dog. That is my favorite and strongest memory of Mort. It is also the reason I was able to accept the fact that he needed to live with someone else. Our home was just too stressful for him and I didn't want people to think of him as a bad dog. Let me add that Mort was a "good dog", but he was not perfect.
I keep listening for the click-clacking of his nails on our hardwood floors, the jingle of his tags as he shakes himself awake, the wining noise he made when he wanted to be let out, and the deep yawp of his bark when he was ready to come in. I think it will take me a while to get used to the quiet spaces that have replaced his movements. I also miss the way he would hover around me whenever I was home--that is when he wasn't sleeping on a couch or bed somewhere. Thankfully, I have the following memories to fill those gaps of stillness and silence:
The Loyal Hound
One time the boys, Mort and I spent the night at my Mom's house. It was a Friday night and I went out to run an errand. When I got back my mom told me that he had lain by the front door and whimpered until I came back. It made me think of Argus, Odysseus's dog. Odysseus returns after his 20 year odyssey and Argus is the only one to recognize him. He licks his master's hand and dies at his feet. I think I'll name my next dog Argus.
Dispenser of Karma
One recent New Year's we hosted a party with another couple. There were a number of couples we met that night. One couple brought these really good bratwurst sandwiches. They were quite tasty and I was hoping to have seconds, but this couple had another party to attend and they took their sandwiches with them. I don't know if it was a breach of party etiquette or not, but let's just say that when I saw them heading toward the door with the tray my taste buds sank. The wife sat the tray on a chair so that she could get into her coat. Mort is a hound, and if he can smell something that he can get at then that is what he will do. He got at least two or three of those sandwiches before they knew what hit them.
The Cookie Incident
I have been a public school teacher for more than 17 years and let's just say that my favorite day of the year is the Friday before Christmas Break. For a time, several of those Friday's were half days and there was a tacit understanding that rooms weren't going to be checked to see if the teachers were busy working. Many of those Fridays found me having a long lunch at Taylor's Pub.
During one of these lunches I received a phone call from my wife and let's just say she was not feeling the love for Mort when she called. My phone rang and the following conversation ensued:
"Hello," I said.
"Do you know what that @#$%ing dog of yours did?" Beth said.
"No."
"He ate the 3 dozen chocolate chip cookies that I made for Carson's class party. I used all the Mrs. Fields batter."
"Did you call a vet?"
"Oh, I called the vet," Beth replied, "but I'm not sure why."
"What did he say?"
"He said the dog would be okay because it was milk chocolate and not baker's chocolate. I hate that @#$%ing dog."
"Did he say any thing else?"
"He told me that he should stay outside for a while. I told him, 'Oh, he'll be outside.' I hate that @#$%ing dog." (I wanted to say I heard you the first time, but a moment of lucid thought saved me).
"When are you coming home?" Beth Asked.
"I don't know."
"ARE YOU DRUNK?!?" Beth snarled.
"Not any more," I said.
To be fair, Beth loves Mort too and she cleaned up way more than her share of messes. Beth knew that Mort and I had bonded and she never forced the issue about finding another home for Mort. She was patient and I guess she had enough faith that I would make the right decision. Yeah, there can be no doubt that I married up.
Thanks for stopping by and to Mort, thanks for the memories.
