Borrowing from the movie, "Love Story"...What can you say about a dog who died... that she was well behaved, devoted, gentle, a superb watchdog? She was all these things and more. My son acquired her as a pup. He was a young bachelor and she an adorable tawny pit bull. As a young man, he had some demons to fight. He was lucky to have a lot of good people in his corner and one especially wise dog with adoring eyes. The responsibility of dog ownership did much to keep the young man on the straight and narrow. The dog took the welfare of her human very seriously.
My mom was still alive when Veruca became part of our family. When she heard that my son had adopted a pit bull she was beyond alarmed. In her defense, all she knew of pit bulls was what she had heard via the media. We had always been cat people so all dogs were considered potentially dangerous and pit bulls, pretty much lethal. Mom was pretty upset when she learned I had plans to travel to AZ to visit my son and his new dog. "Don't stare at her. Don't be alone with her. Don't touch her or let her get close." Mom had lots of advice for me prior to my departure to AZ. She succeeded in making me a little apprehensive about meeting my new grandpuppy. After all, I too had seen the frightening articles about these dogs from Hell.
I truly believe that dogs have a sixth sense when it comes to dealing with humans. They can tell if you're sick or healthy, young or old, strong or weak, friendly or threatening and they treat you accordingly. I was 50 years old when I first met Veruca. I was not sick or especially weak, but I had had a hip replaced and I certainly wasn't as young as I used to be. She was a lady. We immediately had tremendous respect for each other. It was almost as if she knew I had heard the rumors but was willing to overlook the bad press regarding pit bulls. Once I had put my luggage away in my room and sat down on the couch, she jumped up next to me. Still apprehensive, I was a little cool at first. It didn't take long for Veruca to win me over. She seemed to know that if her master liked me, I must be okay. That afternoon she wriggled her way into my lap and also into my heart.
On the second day of my visit, my son had to go to work. I assured him that Veruca and I would be able to amuse and entertain each other in his absence. We got along very well. I was able to find the coffee and figured out how to turn on the TV. We were having a great time right up until Veruca stood in front of the door and commenced to whine. I knew what that meant! One cannot ignore an animal who is hearing the call of nature and I had no problem with walking the dog, however, the apartment was on the second floor and the only way to ground level was via an outside staircase. As I mentioned earlier, I had an artificial hip and that made me a bit leery of any activity which might cause a fall. I pictured this extremely strong dog on one end of a leash and myself on the other. This situation seemed to have the potential for disaster. I had to dismiss my own misgivings because the needs of this poor dog were far more important at that moment. I located the leash and snapped the fastener to the ring on Veruca's collar. Then I took Veruca's face in my two hands and almost pleadingly explained to her that I was not nearly as agile as her master and I would need to go slowly down the stairs. I had seen how my son fairly flew down the stairs with his dog. With enormous hesitency I opened the door. Veruca stepped out. I stepped out. We got to the top of the steps and Veruca turned and looked at me. Her eyes told me she understood that I was not able to race down those steps the way my son did. I still smile when I recall that beautiful dog going down two or three steps and then looking back at me as if to say, "Is this slow enough?". We had a lovely walk, she relieved herself and that afternoon, we bonded.
People who think animals are dumb, are, themselves dumb. I've taken many trips to AZ since that one where Veruca and I first met. I could swear, she always remembers me and we always have a silent acknowledgement of that moment when we decided that we loved each other.
My sweet, beautiful Veruca...I hope that by now, you and Barley are frolicking in doggy heaven and you have even managed to win over my mother.
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