I suppose it looks like we are dwelling on the sad and the
unsavory exclusively in Flash’s last days.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
There were so many good times. He
always was a cheery animal, happy to wake up in the morning, glad to accompany
you on a walk or a ride, or just sit beside you when you were resting.
The Christmas mornings with the children.
The glee with which he devoured a dropped morsel in the
kitchen. It was so much fun, you would
start intentionally dropping bits to the floor, facetiously admonishing him not
to eat it, because that was part of the game.
The times where he would catch you laying in the floor and
burrow in so close, if he’d been any closer, he’d be in your D.N.A. You could lay down in a white tee and white shorts
and stand up looking like a Yeti.
When the kids were small and running through the sprinkler
on a hot day, Flash could be counted on to be just as entertaining as the
chubby babies in swimsuits. Biting at
the rising streams of water thrilled him endlessly…us, too.
After one such day in the sprinkler, Kath got the bright
idea to take Flash to her parents’ house.
The Joneses live on Crooked Lake in South Lyon, with their own small
beach. The kids could be counted on to
jump in the water and stay there virtually all day from Memorial Day to Labor
Day. Despite some misgivings, I agreed
to take him along.
Lucy and Dan did what they always did…they got into their
suits and hit the water. When I let
Flash off of his leash, he actually stopped and looked at me for a second, as
if to say, “You serious?” But he didn’t
wait for a response. He hit the water
right behind the children, leaping around them and enjoying this thing he had
not known existed. A GIANT puddle of
water! What a concept! When he ventured far enough that he was no
longer able to touch bottom, he discovered that he had always known how to
swim, and did so with enthusiasm.
Occasionally, he would climb out of the lake and shake
himself off. He would take a quick look
at Kathy and me, give a glance to her parents, and then leap into the water
again, eliciting paroxysms of laughter from the kids. I think it was the best
day he ever had. If I had any concept of
how much food got passed to him under the picnic tables, I could probably confirm
that. I’d drop the occasional morsel for
him…I think Aunt Marilyn was willing to make him a sandwich.
He was soaking wet at the end of the day, sporting that
familiar wet-dog scent mixed with the earthen lake smell. There was only so much we could do with a
hose and only so much he was willing to endure.
When we got him home, he collapsed into his bed and slept for a good
twelve hours.
We never took him to the lake again. It was mostly my fault. I hated encountering other animals on the
beach and most of the lake folks let their dogs roam free. I also didn’t want MY day at the beach taken
up by tending to a pet. By the time Kath
mentioned taking him back this year, I was afraid he would go nuts like he did
the first time and have a heart attack in the sand. I regret not getting him back there at least
one time in all those years, but at least he had the experience once.
We speak of ‘Doggy Heaven’ to make ourselves feel better
when our long-eared friends expire. I’d
like to think that Flash’s afterlife would be a beach and small children, on an
endless, sunny afternoon, where a pang of hunger is met with a burger dropped
from the grill, or a kindly aunt that asks, “Would you like a sandwich?”
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