A friend of mine is saying goodbye to their beloved dog this weekend. Anyone who has ever given their heart over to a pet knows they are family in every sense of the word. My own dog died a number of years ago. He was the only pet I have had as an adult. When it was time to put him down I cried for four days and missed two days of work. As pets go, he was the animal equivalent of the love of my life. 

He was Muttley, for those of you who either met him in life or have read my comic. When I first saw him, getting a pet had been the furthest thing from my mind but he was actively seeking a relationship and I happened on by. We had a romcom style ‘cute meet’ as a matter of fact. 

I was in Florida staying in a gated community. One of those giant condo-filled complexes with plenty of tennis courts, variety stores, pubs and restaurants. This little black dog had been wandering around the complex following anyone who made eye contact with him. His body and tail were so long that as he trotted about, his back end would sway like a caboose out of control. He was funny to look at. On one particular evening, my friends and I were heading out to the pub. When the dog appeared, I pointed him out. To be honest, my intention was just to enjoy the entertainment value of this odd looking creature; let’s all look, have a little laugh and move on. He was not my problem.

But someone in the group picked him up. I was horrified. Once you pick up a dog like that, how do you put him back down? He couldn’t have weighed ten pounds when he probably should have weighed fifteen. He was scruffy, dirty and evidently either lost, abandoned, or had been born on the street. I’m embarrassed to say I wanted nothing more to do with him than get a chuckle out of his mixed parts cuteness. Really, cute is an exaggeration. I just thought he was funny looking. 

His temporary friend carried him into the pub with our group. Someone else made a quick return home and brought him some dog food. He ate and ate and ate and then he drank and drank and drank. And then, he slept. And slept some more. At one point he was sprawled spread-eagle on his back, head skewed to one side. If you know anything about dogs, even in sleep that position is one of trust and submission. A good sign in a street dog.

When the pub shenanigans came to a close, no one wanted anything more to do with the dog. Not the person who picked him up, not the person who brought him food. I took him home thinking it would be a one night stand. 

In the morning the dog was gone. (He was an un-neutered male. What did I expect?) The owner of the condo had put him outside. I shrugged thinking it was all for the best. I did not want a dog anyway.

Later that day I spotted him. More importantly, he spotted me. He ran to me like we were long lost friends, wiggling and wagging his too-long tail so hard he lost his balance. That did it. I could not walk away this time.

I took him to the nearest vet to get a rabies shot. The vet had more experience with lost little dogs than I did and put him through a series of tests. We, (yes the dog and I were now ‘we’), came out of the vet’s loaded down with with a variety of pills, drops, and other doggy care necessities. Muttley (his new name) had a bad case of fleas, ear mites, hook worms and intestinal parasites. He would have become very sick within a day or two. The vet was exceedingly generous, giving me doggy vitamins, flea treatment samples, and every freebie he had on hand.

I returned home to Canada with my new best friend. He turned out to be a terrific companion. He had personality to spare, a sense of humour, (it’s true), he was smart, loyal, and he could sing better than I ever could. He’d throw his head back, lift his nose to the sky, and emit a long and beautiful howl. 

He was about a year old when we met and he lived a long and happy life to age fourteen. When it was time for him to go he ripped my heart out but I was so grateful he had adopted me all those years ago.

Not bad for a funny looking dog trying to make eye contact.

To see my favourite Contentment is for Cows scene in which Muttley dances to the tune of MC Hammer’s Can’t Touch This, click here.

Stay safe everyone.

Anne Milne is an every Sunday blogger.  Facebook or Twitter.