sludgo’s Mile Markers: Mile 211

Ten years quickly passed for everyone, including Shadow. By then we’d moved from our salt-box on the numbered streets to sludgo manor, a lovely hillside home with an expansive yard she could roam at her leisure. As old dachshunds go we thought she was doing fine as she lazily snoozed in the sun or dug around in the garden looking for God-knows-what, but she was definitely slowing. In the meantime I’d started to feel bad she was spending most of her days in that giant house alone, what with the kids at school and the Redhead and me downtown at the office sunup ’til sundown so one night I took the Redhead out for dinner. A nice one. Ordered a spendy bottle of champagne then settled in and after a sip or three popped the question. Asked if she’d be cool with getting another dog. Reminded her how the ‘new puppy trick’ had rejuvenated Moon and said it might do the same for Shad and now that we had a larger place we could get a larger dog. Maybe another Sheltie, in honor of Moon. I was going to keep making my case but she interrupted me with a bubbly giggle and a nod that made me grin big. Puppy Time, sludge.

The first thing I did when we got home was get online. Did a search for ‘Shetland Sheepdogs for sale’ and was delighted to discover a breeder only fifteen miles away. Was even happier to see that there was a fresh litter available. Champion bloodlines in both dam and sire. Scrolled through the pics of the pups. There were seven of them, four tri-colors, two sables and one blue merle, all roly-poly chubby and cuddly and cute as could be. All expensive too but, oh well, it’s only money. Called the Redhead and the kids over to the computer and we oohed and aahed at the photos and the hook was set. I picked up the phone and called the number. Got an answering machine with a pleasant voice on the greeting then left my name and number after the beep. Didn’t hear anything back until the next morning, a Saturday. The gal introduced herself as ‘Tammy’ and said she’d be around all day if we wanted to come and see the pups. Told me the terms were cash only, then warned me she’d already had several calls about them and they’d likely be going fast. I told her we’d be there within the hour and she laughed. So did I.

I hung up the phone and yelled for the Redhead to hustle the kids out into her RAV4. Said we had to get going if we wanted one of the pups. Went to my underwear drawer where I kept all the cash and grabbed a couple handfuls and in ten minutes we roared out of the driveway. Tried to follow the directions Tammy had given me and after making a couple wrong turns on the unmarked country roads at last rolled into the graveled driveway of our destination: Superior Shetland Kennels.

We all boiled out of the car as Tammy met us warmly at the front door of her tidy ranch house and I immediately got a good feeling. A matronly gal in bibbed overalls over tartan-red flannel, she made some quick chit-chat then led us around back to the kennel, a smallish but well-appointed facility with wash bays and grooming stations and play-spaces and even a surgical room. She pointed us into the holding pen, large and bright and airy and filled with seven little yappers, and the kids both squealed with joy. The blue merle was a beautiful boy but had one pale blue eye and one black and the Redhead said it was creepy in a Marilyn Manson way so he was out. The tri-colors were just as beautiful but one of the pudgy sables caught my eye—a little girl that seemed playful enough, but was calmer than the others, the perfect temperament for a certain old dachshund’s new pal.

It was a good pick. On the way home we decided to name her Scout after Atticus Finch’s daughter in To Kill a Mockingbird, because we thought she had the same spunk and resiliency of her namesake. Kind of looked like her too. At the very start Shad dealt with Scout’s arrival by totally ignoring her but sooner than later they became fast friends, chasing each other through the house and tearing around the backyard trying to catch squirrels. But then came a twist in the tale, so to speak.

It was a Sunday afternoon about eight months after we brought Scout home when I got a phone call from her breeder who said she had a favor to ask. Explained that since we’d seen her last she’d had another litter—Scout’s cousins—and had chosen a tri-color female to be her next champion contender but there’d been an unforeseen problem. One of her adult canine teeth had come in backwards and even though that wouldn’t affect her health any and was fixable via doggie orthodontics or just pulling the tooth it was a genetic defect that prevented her from being successfully shown or ethically bred so she was just wanting to find her a good home and she’d thought of us. Said we’d seemed like good people when we’d picked up Scout so she was wondering if we’d like her to have a new partner-in-crime.

I paused, then gave a soft sigh.

“Well, what would you need for her, cash-wise?” I said, prepared for the gut-punch.

“Nothing. You can have her for free if you want her.”

I didn’t have to think twice.

“Yes, please.”

The Redhead—always the English major—suggested we name our new girl ‘Tess’, as in Tess of the d’Urbervilles. Told us she thought the little pup’s devaluation and rejection from her society and culture based solely on circumstances beyond her control was analogous to the plot of the novel. The boys and I had never read the book so we just blankly nodded at all that stuff and ‘Tess’ it was and she turned out to be a great addition to the crew. A bit livelier than Scout and far more athletic, she could run faster than any dog I’d ever seen. I loved watching her get up to a certain speed then lay her ears flat and shift into hyperdrive. Reminded me of a Road Runner cartoon. She also liked to kid herself that she was the new alpha of the pack but Shadow never really let go of her throne, holding onto it gracefully until the ripe old age of nineteen when she mercifully died in her sleep, lying in her forever bed and wrapped in the first blanket she ever knew. We should all be so lucky to go that way.

And then there were two.

I was typing away on this Mile Marker when the Beehive came toddling into my office. Regular readers know she’s been crashing with me here in the McBungalow while Big Sis and I get her transitioned to assisted care and I suppose I should be used to having her around, but she still startled me when she swung open the door. She excused herself with a broad smile then asked how the writing was going. I mumbled “Fine,” but she furrowed her brow. Moms always know. She shuffled her walker over to my desk and peered over my shoulder.

“What’s the article about this time, sweetie?”

“Dogs, Mom. All the dogs I’ve had in my life, and I’ve been surprised at how it’s hit me, in many ways, but especially since I’ve realized Scout and Tess should probably be my last. After all I turn sixty-five this year and Google tells me average life expectancy for a guy like me is seventy-six. Well, that’s eleven years away so if I bought a new pup now there’s a good chance it might outlive me and then what? I’d certainly never want to burden the boys with an old dog and as certainly never want the damned thing to end up at the pound. And to be real? At my age I’m beginning to want to do some traveling. To lock up the house and load up the TT and head out to wherever the wind takes me for weeks at a time. Maybe months. See places I’ve always wanted to see. Exotic places like the Taj Mahal. The Coliseum. The Parthenon. The Great Wall. Difficult to do that with a pup in tow. Sure, I could kennel it but I’ve never kenneled any of my dogs and I’m not about to start now. And beyond all of that, Mom, we both know that dogs are a big hassle day-to-day with all the feeding and the walking and the upkeep and…”

Suddenly she silenced me with a wave of her hand, the same way she’s silenced me ever since I was a little boy. Slowly turned her walker around then sat down in it and looked at me sternly before delicately clearing her throat.

“sludge, I’m still your mom and can still give you advice, so here goes nothing. I want you to know if you’d’ve told me back when I was your age I’d live to be ninety I’d’ve laughed in your face but, here I am, twenty-five years later and one thing I’ve learned is that you can’t live today fearing tomorrow. You’ll be dead soon enough no matter what and while I’m sure postcards and photographs and memories of faraway places would be nice to have, they’ll never greet you at the door each night like a dog will. Or comfort you when you’re feeling sad or make you laugh when they’re being silly. And just so you understand, after your Dad passed I considered getting a dog so I wouldn’t be alone but decided against it using the same basic reason you’re using—that I’d be dead soon—and, you know what? Of all the regrets I’ve had in my life, that’s been one of the biggest. Not getting myself one more dog.”

Just then the cosmos intervened and my phone rang. I saw it was my good friend Jason so I picked up and he immediately cut to the chase. Told me he knew I’d been going back and forth about getting a new dog but that he’d just gotten a hot lead from a friend on a fresh litter of purebred mini-dox pups available soon and wanted to know if I wanted the guy’s number.

I laughed out loud at the timing. Then grabbed a pen and found something to write on.