Zimagal Monthly Magazine - Volume One, Issue Four

Every once in a while,
A life becomes blessed.
Not by a mere smile
Or a gentle caress
From another of our race,
But the unswerving devotion
And look of love on the face
Of something seemingly incapable of emotion
Yet so full of it.
A mirror of our happiness,
With the ability to intuit
Our needs, our weariness
Our sadness and our joy,
When we seek a hug or kiss
Or simply to buoy
Our spirits when something is amiss.
Of what miraculous creature do I speak
That knows when we are strong
And when we are weak,
That never imagines we might be wrong?
I end this monologue
With an answer to that query
The creature of which I speak is the dog
For me it was my Gary.

I had always been afraid of dogs, and remember countless times crossing the street to avoid one. I had only a pair of goldfish when I was young; growing up in a small apartment in the city precluded getting anything more active. And we all disliked cats.
After moving to a much larger house with a yard, we had an unfortunate incident which caused the necessity of a guard dog. I was terrified of our new, fully-grown, Rottweiler. I decided that the way to get over my fear of dogs was to get one of my own. I adopted a Cocker Spaniel puppy from one of my Grandma's nurses. The little buff furball was immediately named Gary. There was no big significance behind the name; I did not have an old flame named Gary, nor did I know anyone special with that name. It just seemed to fit. I registered Gary with the AKC as Garamond Frederick: the first name being the name of a font ( I was then studying to be a graphic designer); the second being the first name of my favorite baseball player at the time, Fred Lynn.
Gary soon ruled the roost. He stole our hearts with his antics. Even the Rottweiler, Max, knew who the real boss was.

Gary sneaks a taste of a Pimm's Cup during a croquet game in the front yard. Gary could be a mean little somebody. He didn't take to strangers easily, and would often bite unsuspecting people who thought he was cute and harmless. He hated to be groomed and would snap and snarl at me if I even picked up his comb. We resorted to a twice-a-year shaving under anesthesia at the local veterinary hospital. At those times, he resembled an overstuffed sausage ready to burst from its casing. We made the mistake of feeding him too much people-food, and he soon plumped up to resemble the rest of the family. Despite these few faults, we adored the little beast.

He had the knack of knowing exactly when someone needed cheering. My mother is chronically ill, and is often depressed. Gary loved to go into her bedroom and entertain her. Although he had scads of toys, his own and those he would steal away from Max, he preferred soda bottle caps and milk cartons. He would toss a bottle cap into the air and run to catch it. He could entertain himself for quite a while with this game, but occasionally he decided that it needed to be more interactive; then he would toss the cap under a piece of furniture and look at one of us plaintively. When we rescued his toy, he would then try to engage us in his game.

My brother Dave teaching Gary how to play "Chopsticks."

Ball was another of his favorite pastimes. He had one in just about every room of the house and often walked around with one in his mouth. It was always amusing when he tried to bark, a muffled "mmrf mmrf." He had a whole repertoire of sounds: in addition to the typical all-purpose Cocker bark - "aroo woo woo woo," he would occasionally give a warning bark which sounded more like a "buk buk." He also expressed disdain with an expulsion of air from his nose; this sound we called "snit." He also had a high-pitched yelp which he used when he was being ignored.
Unfortunately, the Cocker Spaniel breed is often besieged with health problems. Gary was no different. He had a bad ear infection which we had difficulty treating. It raged on for two years, despite medication. The bones of his ears calcified and soon they stuck out rather than hung down. He was always in pain and would yelp if anyone touched his ears. We had to take drastic measures and had a complete oblation done on both ears. In this procedure, the entire ear canal is removed, and the resulting cavity sewn shut. Gary recovered nicely, but was deaf for the last few years of his life. That didn't seem to matter all that much, since he never listened to begin with. He also had a delicate digestive tract, which caused us to put him on an expensive gourmet lamb and rice diet.
Just after his eighth birthday, my Mom decided that he was acting "funny." I hadn't noticed anything strange about his behavior, but she spent much more time with him than I did, as I worked and she was always home. He seemed to me to be just as active as ever, he still ran up and down the stairs at breakneck speed on his tours of the house, and he certainly didn't seem to have a problem with his appetite. One morning he seemed to have difficulty breathing. We took him to the animal hospital where they diagnosed a heart problem. He was put in an oxygen tent and monitored, as his lungs were filled with fluid. I was told that I would have to give him heart medication for the rest of his life. I visited him at the hospital one afternoon and took him for a brief walk. He seemed ok, but that was probably just due to his enthusiasm at seeing me. At least I tried to convince myself that he was ok, but I had a sinking feeling that this was a far more grave situation.

The last picture taken of Gary, Spring 1994.
The next morning, I decided that he was going to die, and I preferred for him to be at home with us. I told my Dad that we were going to get him, and ran to my room to get some shoes. My phone rang, and it was the vet. She was calling with great regret to inform me that my dog had passed away a few moments before.
Gary died at the age of eight from congestive heart failure.

Since he was a member of our family, we treated him as we would any other member. We buried him at Dulaney Valley Memorial Gardens. I couldn't bear to watch the burial, so Dad went. My dear Dad picked his plot out for him too, under an apple tree, chosen because of Gary's fondness for sitting under a tree in our yard and looking at the sky. He especially liked to do this at night. It was almost as if he were pondering his place in the universe as he looked at the star-filled heavens above.