I love dogs. Big Dogs. Little Dogs. Black and White Dogs.  Dog Dogs Dogs.

DISCLAIMER: Just because this post is about dogs does not mean I do not like cats.   It’s just, growing up we only owned dogs so I really don’t have any cat stories to tell.   Let’s face it, it’s a rare occasion to just run into a cat.  You hardly ever see anyone on the sidewalk walking their cat.  People don’t bring their cats to the park or to their kids’ soccer games. In fact, sometimes you can know someone for years and one day you are at their house for the 100th time and they say something about “the cat” and you stop in your tracks and say, “YOU HAVE A CAT?!?”

Actually, my kids would love a cat but my husband is (supposedly) allergic to them even though we have told him they now have hypoallergenic cats.  This is a man who grew up with a pet bird who did not live in a cage so I’m not sure what the issue with cats is.

Moving on.  I am dog obsessed. If I see a dog there is a good chance I am going to stop what I’m doing and go pet it.  I will probably ponder what breed it is out loud and in my head pretend I am with the American Kennel Club.  And if I know you, there is a good chance I am going to rile up your dog which will annoy you. I don’t care. I like doing it.

Growing up we had several dogs.  Not all at the same time.  One after another. You know how you just think something is normal growing up and it’s not until years later you revisit it and you realize Hey that is kind of weird and no one else I know did that and maybe I shouldn’t be saying this out loud and what if PETA sees this and then I am in trouble?  This might be one of those times.

As I said, I can remember several dogs from my childhood.   The first one was George the schnauzer. And then when he was gone we got another schnauzer.  He was also named George.  I don’t know if my parents were just trying to pull the wool over our eyes like you do when your kid’s hamster dies and you just run out while they are at school and replace it, but there were definitely two.  (In truth,  my dad just really liked the name George.  My mom once said they almost named me Georgia or Georgiann and then changed their mind which is good because I don’t think I’m a Georgia kind of gal. Also, I would have been named after a dog.  Which is not as bad as being named after a horse which is what actually happened.  Not a Joke. )

After George I and II there was Rex.  Somewhere in there was Silky.  By the way, have I mentioned this was all before I was three?  So although it seems as if we had these dogs forever and I can remember them all, we couldn’t have had them for too long.  Honestly,  I don’t even know where we got all these dogs.  Probably “the pound” as my dad called it.  What’s even more curious, I don’t know where all our dogs went.  I mean, I can give it a good guess, but I don’t think I will put that in print all over the interweb.  My mom’s answer was always, “they got stolen.”  Now, there is a good chance this is not true.  Unless dog thieves were on a perpetual stake out near my house focusing on the highly desirable and rare breed of “Mutt.”   (She probably thought I wouldn’t notice they were gone what with my bad eyes and all.  Hey, maybe this is why she waited so long to get me glasses!)

My theory is that they all ran away.  This hypothesis is based on two facts.  First, we lived out in the boonies on a couple of acres that backed up to some woods.  There was lots of room to run wild and no fence to keep them from wandering.   The second reason was the way my dad “trained” our dogs to stay in the yard.  He would put them on a leash and then walk them around our property line.  Any time they inched over the line he’d yank them back.  He did this one time for the dogs.  This was Sam Savas training at its best.  The dogs did not learn.  Neither did my dad.

I don’t remember when we stopped getting dogs.  But I do know that I wanted one desperately through grade school and that it had been a long time since we’d had one. My dad would consistently say “no.”

Here comes the part where I start to remember things more clearly.   It’s around the late 70’s or early 80’s and The Golden Boy starts asking for a dog.  He is 5 or 6.  I have been asking for years. I am 11 or 12, clearly more responsible.  One day my dad arrives home with a dog.  For guess who?  It’s a smallish, Beagle-ish, brown and black mutt.  My brother is ecstatic. I am upset but not shocked. My mother is FURIOUS.  F-U-R-I-O-U-S.   She did not see this coming.  She is not furious about the dog.  No, she is furious because this was not presented as the family dog, or my dog; my dad announces that this dog is specifically for The Golden Boy.

So what does the average Greek woman do when the very man who has been saying no to his daughter for years suddenly without warning brings home a dog for his son?  She retaliates passive-aggressively by going the next day and getting a rival dog.  For me. (I’m thinking she did not think this one through. ) These dogs could only be described as WILD ANIMALS.  They ran in a pack around the property.  They destroyed things.  They made noise.  I am sure at some point my mom looked back and wondered if this was really a victory for her.

No one stole these two. They did not run away.  We did not have them for long.

That is all I will say about their end.

Which leads me to Jynx.   Some time around high school we got Jynxy Baba Savas.  Yes, that was her full name.  Acquired on April Fool’s Day, we called her Jynx and added the Baba because she looked like a fluffy sheep.  When she was in trouble we called her “Jynxybaba!!” But she was never in trouble.  There has never been nor will there ever be another one like her.  She never wandered off.  She hardly ever barked.  She listened.  This is a dog who when I was locked out of the house once jumped so high with excitement (as my best friend and I egged her on from the other side of the door) that she landed on the door lever consequently unlocking it for us.  She slept at my feet each night.  She was quite simply the best dog ever. We loved her. And though many came before her, SHE is the dog of my youth.

When my mom died Melissa took Jynx back home with her to live in Rhode Island.  I wanted my dad to keep her as she was 10 or 11 and it just seemed right she should keep him company and live her remaining life out with him.   But my dad’s immediate reaction to his grief was to get rid of everything of my mom’s.  He didn’t want any reminders.  And I think maybe that’s what Jynx was.

She was still around when my dad passed away 6 years later.   She lived until she was almost 19.   I remember Melissa calling me the day she had to put her down.  Her grief seemed inordinately intense.  But Jynx was the last tie to our old life.  The house was gone, my mom was gone, and my dad was gone.  When we let go of her, we let go of the last remnant of our childhood.

Bottom left: Jynx on my bed.  Bottom right: Jynx and me apparently trying to match our hairdos and hair bows.

Top picture: Athena, our current dog.  Who I hope and imagine will be the dog of my children’s youth.