Oogy The Dog Only a Family Could Love (9 page)

He is really going out on a limb for me, I thought. There’s no way he can guarantee this, is there?

Based on Oogy’s weight (thirty pounds), his size, and his breed, Dr. Bianco estimated his age at four months, confirming what Dr. Peters had told us.

“How big will he get to be?” I asked.

“Fifty to fifty-five pounds,” he told us with a shrug.

Much to my surprise, Jennifer said she would agree to give it a try. Then she left for work.

I looked at the dog. I said, “You’re coming home with us, pal.” He cocked his head. His tail repeatedly whapped the steel table. It was clear that he understood something was going on. I gently rubbed the velvet in between his shoulders.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Dr. Bianco explained. “We’ve already neutered him. He’s up-to-date on all his shots. Diane has been taking him home to foster him. She has two little kids and half a dozen different animals in the house. We want to make certain he’s safe around other animals and kids. Diane’s also going to crate-train him for you and make sure he’s housebroken. When she feels comfortable with his behavior, she’ll give you a call and make arrangements to get him to you.”

Then he added, “You’ve got yourself a great dog, Larry. The staff knows how much your family loves animals, and we’re really glad you’re taking him. We’re excited for all of you.”

“That’s great,” I told him. “Thank you very much.” I rubbed the leathery texture of the scar tissue and the softness where the scar tissue ended. I had a sense that the opportunity to compensate for what had happened to this dog would somehow, in as yet indefinable ways, add to the experience. I looked forward to the opportunity to make the dog feel secure and appreciated. I experienced his immediate willingness to trust us with his well-being, after what he had been through, as a special gift.

I said, “We’re the lucky ones, I think.”

After leaving the hospital, I considered the uniqueness of the weekend’s lessons. Facing the loss of a loved companion, we had started Saturday morning consumed by sadness, despondent, resigned to the unavoidable chasm that lay before us — and without any indication that anything other than bleakness would be our lot for the day, we had encountered a totally opposite experience. I knew the boys would appreciate the way in which events had unfolded. It represented a lesson one rarely had the opportunity to illustrate with such immediacy: life going out one door and in another. And then I started thinking about a name.

I laughed out loud. There was no way to deny it: This was one ugly dog. If his face had been a mask, no one would have wanted to wear it. Of course, I knew I could not call him that. I could not name a dog “Ugly.” And then my thoughts jumped to a term I had used when I was a teenager — “oogly,” as in, “Man, that is one oogly sweater.” And suddenly, just like that, I said, “Oogy,” out loud to myself and knew without a doubt that the pup had a name.

We mourned Buzzy for weeks, and to this day, I love to look at photos of him and the family. I remember Buzzy and the love he shared with tremendous fondness. But the gap in our lives was about to be filled in a sudden and decisive way.

CHAPTER
5

The Arrival

O
ver the next ten days, I prepared for the reintroduction of a dog into our lives. I went through the cupboards and drawers and found the water bowl and food bowl where I had stashed them. I found the retractable leash and the brush we had used for the dog we’d had before Oogy. I selected an old and very soft flannel blanket for him to sleep on in his cage.

I went to the grocery store and carefully considered the canned and dry dog food, perusing the lists of ingredients. I knew that a lot of dog food contained waste and chemicals and was of questionable quality. I examined the labels, trying to discern what would offer the most quality and nourishment. It was impossible to tell. I couldn’t have known it at the time, of course, but finding Oogy the right food would become an ongoing challenge that lasted years.

I also bought a green collar and a bone-shaped metal dog tag on which I inscribed “Oogy” and our home telephone number. I bought several different varieties of chews and treats to occupy him and to clean his teeth. I picked out some soft toys for him to tear apart. At home, I stashed these acquisitions in the kitchen’s corner cupboard.

One evening a week later, Diane called and asked if I was going to be around the next morning. Oogy was ready for transitioning. She asked if we had come up with a name for him, and when I told her what it was, she laughed and commented that because it was two syllables, like “Eli,” the name change should not prove to be a problem. There was a mild sense of excitement that evening; we were getting a new pet. None of us, of course, had any way of knowing that our lives were about to be changed in a fundamental fashion, just as much as if we had adopted another child.

That morning, after everyone was gone, I went outside and retrieved the newspaper from the curb near the mailbox. I sat on the couch in the family room, drank some more coffee, and read the newspaper all the way through. This was the only part of the day that was mine alone. I relished the quiet and the temporary lack of obligation.

When I was done with the newspaper, I put it aside for Jennifer to read that night, went upstairs and showered, then threw the laundry from the washer into the dryer and started that cycle. I was downstairs emptying the dishwasher when Diane’s station wagon pulled into the driveway a little after nine.

I watched her exit and open the rear lift gate and take out several shopping bags, and went outside to help. She removed a folded-up black steel contraption, which was the crate in which Oogy was to sleep and which I took from her. Oogy, who was not Oogy yet but still Eli, placed his front paws on the top of the backseat and stared at me, his tail wagging furiously, and began to bark. I didn’t know whether it was at me or at Diane. I carried the crate into the kitchen, and when I went back outside, I walked around to the back door of the car and opened it slowly. Oogy rushed forward like air escaping a vacuum seal, and I scooped him up, one arm supporting his butt; the other passed across his chest while I massaged his ear and the top of his head. He squirmed around until he was standing on his hind legs, the better to reach my face. He licked me unrelentingly.

Once inside the house, in the kitchen, I put him down by his water bowl. Oogy sniffed it and then followed me over to where Diane was unpacking the shopping bags. He leaned against one of her legs and looked at me. I had a sense that he was appraising me.

Diane called him, fondly and interchangeably, “knucklehead” and “goofball.” She said he was wonderful with her two kids and her pets, and that her dog would be relieved now that she was the only dog in the house again. Diane had housebroken Oogy (well, mostly, anyway, as we would learn) and crate-trained him as well. I had never used a crate before, but everyone I had ever talked about it with said that his or her dog felt safe within its steel bars and equated the crate with security. I had no reason to anticipate that Oogy’s response to being confined would be any different.

The contents of the two shopping bags were a testament to Diane’s thoughtfulness and attention to what a young dog needed and what would occupy him and make him happy. She brought out several soft toys, flea and tick protection, heartworm pills, and a five-pound bag of dry food, explaining, “I’m not a big proponent of canned food. A lot of it is fatty junk.” She told me to give Oogy the heartworm pills and apply the tick lotion every thirty days. We talked about how much food I should give him and how many times a day he should be fed. We discussed how much exercise he would need. Diane told me that riding in a car seemed to upset Oogy’s stomach. She presented me with some powdered medicine in case he developed diarrhea, as he had been prone to during his adjustment to real food. She took out and handed over a package of gauze pads and a blue antibiotic lotion that also served as a moisturizer and explained that I needed to wipe Oogy’s scar tissue twice a day to minimize discomfort by keeping the scar tissue from drying out. Finally, Diane asked me where I wanted the crate set up. We walked down the hall, Oogy trotting along with us.

“I picked up some dog food as well,” I told her. “Has Oogy eaten today?”

“I fed him before I brought him over,” Diane told me. She asked where his new name had come from. I told her about my flash of inspiration.

The largest amount of open space was in the living room at the end of the hall. The only furniture in it was the baby grand piano my parents had given us, a coffee table between two small camelback sofas from Jennifer’s mom, and my old stereo equipment and speakers. The turntable, tape deck, tuner, amp, and preamp had not been hooked up or plugged in since we had moved in nine years earlier, victims of technological advancements that had left them in the dust — literally and figuratively. In fact, I could not recall anyone ever sitting in that room other than me. Occasionally on a Sunday morning, I would do the crossword puzzle in there just to get away from the jabbering on the TV where the boys were in the family room.

Diane showed me how to unfold the crate and tighten the fasteners that held it into place. If I wanted to take it down and pack it, all I had to do was reverse the process. I took an old beach towel and spread it out on the floor, and we moved the box onto the towel to protect the floor and keep it from getting scratched up. I put Oogy’s blanket in there and folded it carefully to provide maximum cushioning for him. I went back into the kitchen and found a plastic bowl from when the boys had been toddlers. Some long-forgotten form of superheros were cavorting inside. I put some water in it, and placed a section of newspaper under it in the box. Then Diane, Oogy, and I walked back into the kitchen.

“Thanks so much for everything, Diane,” I said.

“I’m happy to be able to do it,” she replied.

Just before Diane left, she knelt and gave Oogy a big hug and a kiss. When she stood, she rubbed her hands over the top of his head. “I love this guy,” she said. “He’s an amazing dog, and because you’re an animal person you’ll understand and appreciate what this dog is all about. He is really very special. He and your family are perfect for each other. You’ll have a great time, and your boys are going to have a best friend they’ll never forget. In six months, we’ll drop you a reminder to bring him in for a checkup.” And then she was gone, and Oogy and I were by ourselves for the first time.

Somewhere outside, a truck beeped in reverse. Then the sound stopped, and it was still and quiet except for the humming of the dryer over my head.

I leaned against the dishwasher and looked down at Oogy. He stood, his head slightly tilted expectantly, his tail wagging. Did he have some sense that things would be different from now on? Having gone through what he had, and never having known anything else, what did he think was awaiting him?

“Hello, Oogy,” I said. “From now on, that’s you. You’re Oogy. Oogy, Oogy, Oogy. Oogy for the rest of your days. Oogy ever after. You’re in our family now,” I explained. “There’s me, I’m Dad; Jennifer, who is Mom; and Danny and Noah, who are twelve. You’ll like the boys. They’re lots of fun. They’re in sixth grade and go to school up the street. We have a cat, Martha, who is upstairs at the moment. I’m not sure what she’ll think of you, but we’ll work something out. She’s kind of old and set in her ways. Too bad you never got to meet Buzzy. He was the cat who died the weekend we met you. In fact, he’s the reason we got to meet you. I think you and he could have been pals.” My back against the dishwasher, I slid to the floor and started to pet him gently. He began to lick my hands and arms, then started on my face until I pulled back. “We’re going to take good care of you,” I told him. “You won’t ever have to worry about anything again. You won’t ever have to be afraid of anything again. You will never be hungry or scared again. That’s my personal promise to you. Will you trust me on that?”

Oogy did not answer me. He did not acknowledge what I had said in any way. But his chocolate brown eyes seemed to be taking me in.

“High-five?” I asked.

I gave him a moment to comply, and when it became apparent that he would not, I said, “Okay, then. Here’s what we’ll get started with.”

I stood back up. I took his new collar, picked up the ID tag I had purchased and the rabies tag Diane had brought along, and then reached into the tool drawer and pulled out needle-nose pliers. I pried open the steel piece on the collar, slid on the tags, and closed the steel back over them, securing the tags into place. Finally, I sat back down, reached over, and lifted Oogy into my lap.

“This makes it official,” I said. I kissed his nose, and he licked me. “You now have your name and our phone number. So now there’s no excuse for not calling if you run off or get lost.”

I crossed my ankles in front of me and settled Oogy onto my lap. Experimentally, I placed the collar around his neck and clicked its plastic prongs into place. The collar was a tad large, so I removed it, tightened it up, and snapped it into place again. I took comfort in the fact that Oogy was now identified with our telephone number, confirmation that he belonged with us.