I was five years old when our family brought “Weinnie,” a delightful Bench Beagle, into our lives. He was lovable and frolicked with us in the backyard of our home at 4008 Fauquier Avenue in Richmond’s northside. We loved this pup, but unfortunately, he had an early demise. It was sad.
Soon we had a new puppy, this time a larger-sized Beagle we named “Pepper” for the black diamond near his tail. We quickly fell in love with him, and he with us. He loved hopping up in our bed and we loved cuddling with him. He was a kid’s dog for sure. And when our parents were hard to communicate with, Pepper wasn’t. He always had a lick and a pleasant look that let us know that as far as he was concerned, my little sister Gayle and I were his best pals. Pepper loved to play and was always at the center of things. I recall that he had a particular attraction to scotch and soda, not a concoction one would expect a dog to like. But one evening when my dad was enjoying that libation on our backyard patio and set down his glass near his chair, Pepper sampled it. Pepper soon found it necessary to take a nap. My dad noted and said, “Yep, he’s a Virginia dog for sure.” In time, Pepper grew tired of urban life and went to live on the farm of our family house-keeper Nelly, where we would occasionally visit in our early teens. He too would pass on, but left us with wonderful memories.
In the interim, we had a number of cats, all fun and loving: Tuffy, Leo, and Mao. But not much into fetching. They left the fetching up to us. Cats prefer that. It was a long spell before I had another dog.
In my college years, pets were not a priority, nor were they suitable for a military officer who found himself travelling the world. And even after marrying Shelley, we were not predisposed to pets. It was enough to keep up with one, then two, then three kids.
It wasn’t until 1990 that we decided to reenter the dog world. The Christmas before I deployed to the First Gulf War with the 1st Infantry Division, I went into Manhattan, Kansas near, Fort Riley, to purchase the cutest Cocker Spaniel on earth. We named him “Gunner” since I was an artilleryman and it seemed like an appropriate appellation. Besides, since I was departing for combat, I thought leaving a puppy behind would be a happy distraction for the kids. I was wrong. Somehow, I forgot the part about housebreaking, training, and the penchant hyper Cockers have for nipping people. Nonetheless, when I returned to a then neutered Gunner, he became a wonderful addition to our family, and we absolutely loved him. He was with us fifteen years until age took him over the rainbow bridge.
At that point I was resigned to put pets behind us, since I was very much involved in politics, Shelley was teaching Kindergarten, and two kids were away at college. But in his senior year at the Virginia Military Institute, our son John announced that he wanted a Yellow Labrador Retriever, because they were, as he put it, “interactive.” He wanted a pal, and he picked an adorable yellow puppy that he named “Sonny.” We all fell in love with him on day one. And when John was commissioned into the Air Force, we agreed to keep Sonny with us and take care of him. With John away in the military, our youngest son Paul was happy to have the pup at home. By then it was an impossible notion that Sonny would be anywhere else. He was a remarkable retriever, smart, affectionate, and the best friend ever. He was with us until he was thirteen and passed away at my feet at home. I wept bitterly. For days I could think of nothing else and resigned myself to the idea that I would never have another dog like him. I was wrong.
That fall, we found ourselves picking up a new Yellow Labrador Retriever, who was in Sonny’s line. Woody came into our lives. And like Sonny, he is remarkably bright and finished his AKC Senior Hunter competition before his third birthday. As was Sonny, he is a wonderful friend and companion. Moreover, he lives to do what retrievers do, fetch stuff. And he’s very good at it.
Dogs are remarkable creatures. It is as true as it is trite that they are “man’s best friend.” President Harry Truman knew that to be correct when he said, “If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog.” Besides, dogs are better, nicer, and wiser than the politicians of our epoch.
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