Friday Follow-Up: Welcome to The Dogist Stories
Something for all of you...
Hello fellow Dogists! In this Substack, I want to build a community not only of dogs and their people, but also of questions and answers. For starters, I’ll provide the questions and you guys can provide the answers. Because this week is the first week of The Dogist Stories, I want to start at the start. What is the first dog you remember in your life? Maybe it was your family’s dog. Maybe it was a dog in your neighborhood. Maybe it was a dog on TV. You can provide a short answer or write a few sentences. Attach a picture if you want. If it’s your dog, don’t forget to include its name, age, and (if applicable) its breed. I plan to look through all the answers and get in contact with some of you to hear the full story as a special feature. This new platform should serve as a great way of letting me get in contact with people and dogs who I haven’t (yet) run across in the streets.
To get us started, I’ll go first. This is me and my first dog, Ruby. I’m guessing I’m about 12, so Ruby would have been about four. She was an (admittedly overweight) English Labrador Retriever who was probably my best friend growing up. She would escape to swim in the ocean in the summer, and she got skunked on more than one occasion (pro tip: tomato sauce bath in the outdoor shower). I credit her, in no small part, for helping me establish my love of dogs, my sense of humor, and putting me on the path to become The Dogist.
Queenie, a black cocker spaniel, was with me from infancy until she, deaf and blind, lie down in the sun on the warm cement of our driveway to take the final sleep when I was in my teens. She birthed a litter of 10 puppies during the war. As they squirmed and wiggled through the uncut grass of our defense housing, they soothed the fears of a young girl who saw her parents cry the morning of Pearl Harbor. She was the ballast to our family, never missing a camping trip or a sing along with grandma at the piano, her silken ears available to stroke for comfort. At 86 the only the photos I have of her are in my heart.
I was about 5 when we got two boxers. Rebel was mine and Mitzi was my sister’s. When I started first grade, Rebel visited me often at school, which was a mile away. He was big and brawny but pure sweetness. My fellow 1st graders were afraid of him so I opened his mouth and stuck my arm in his mouth and said, “see, he won’t hurt you.” If he came in the morning, they let me walk him home alone including crossing a busy street. If it was the afternoon, he rode the bus home but wouldn’t get off the bus because he loved it. So we had to open the back door and push him off the bus. Rebel started my love of boxers. I have had various dog breeds but boxers have always remained my favorite breed. We have our 4th boxer now but Rebel was truly a special boy.