Okay, when they handed out canine perfection, Simon was standing in the wrong line. He has a German shepherd head, Corgi legs, Terrier fur, and Australian cattle dog body. Name any breed. It’s in there. Yet Simon is more than the sum of his parts. In fact, in his own way, he is perfect with only one flaw.
On the plus side, Simon follows me around like I’m Gandhi and he’s one of my disciples. If a repairman comes to visit, he never leaves my side and as one man pointed out, makes sure he’s between us at all times. He lets us know if any unauthorized person sets a toe on our property, barking like Paul Revere announcing the British are coming. He’s the first to greet any family member entering the door. He takes his job seriously.
Ten years ago, we adopted Simon at the local pound. He was three. Later my husband Randy confessed after seeing the line-up, he prayed Simon wasn’t my pick. He was a little too “quirky” with those miss-matched body parts and slush-colored fur. “That’s the strangest-looking mutt I’ve ever seen,” he said, loading Simon into our car. I glared at him. “Be quiet, he’ll hear you.”
And yet there was something in those eyes, trust, kindness, some indefinable twinkle. After we selected Simon, the woman who ran the shelter confessed she was relieved he was adopted. “He’s such a good dog,” she said. Then she lowered her voice. “But he’s been here three months and wouldn’t have lasted much longer.” This was a shelter that euthanized animals.
That first day Randy and my son Patrick walked Simon around the yard when they got the bright idea to let him off the leash. That’s when we discovered Simon’s one flaw. He’s a runner. The moment he was free, he bolted down our driveway, banking like a toboggan, astonishing my husband and son with his race car speed.
An hour later, after frantic searching, Simon trotted back home like nothing had happened. The next day, we ordered Simon a collar with his name and phone number on it, the best thing we ever did.
Like Mary Poppins, Simon is practically perfect in every way. He’s affectionate, loving, and kind. He never holds a grudge. He’s never in a bad mood. He’s always happy.
But he sure likes to roam. Over the years he’s made dozens of Houdini-like escapes. Half the time I don’t know Simon’s out of the house. The phone rings. I see by Caller ID it’s a neighbor, thinking this is a social call, shocked to hear my dog’s in her yard.
Over the years, I’ve gotten to know neighbors miles away. Most are kind and understanding. Some find it more humorous than others. Simon’s always happy when I come to collect him, jumping into the car, smiling as we drive home. I can’t count the number of times someone politely asks, “What kind of dog is that?” Many times, after searching the house for unlatched doors or exits, we still have no idea how Simon got free.
Fast forward ten years
Simon’s slush-colored muzzle is now snowy white. He has arthritis and cataracts. He takes stairs stiffly. I can even take Simon outside now without a leash and he’ll stay beside me. The other day I opened the front door for Simon to join me, and for the first time he showed no interest, instead lying back down with a content sigh.
There’s something poignant about watching a pet age, a speeded-up process compared to us humans. Although we didn’t know Simon as a puppy, we knew him when he was young and spry, full of energy and life. Now he spends most days sleeping, snoring, or sometimes whimpering from a bad dream. If someone comes to the door he still barks…a little.
Simon probably has one or two years left. I contemplate his passing and realize there’s been something reassuring in his love. We adore our children but past a certain age, they live their own lives. Even good marriages can be complex and challenging. Cats take us or leave us.
But a dog’s love is as pure as a newly-bought chew toy. And all Simon asks in return is a can of dog food, dried-up chicken filets (his favorite treat), and a pat on the head but not the haunches where he’s ticklish.
“What kind of dog is that?” is a question I’m used to being asked and that’s okay. Our canine will never win “Best in Show” but he has other qualities. Simon is noble, courageous, and true. And yes, he likes to let the world know, at least he used to.
What kind of dog is Simon? That’s simple. Simon’s a good dog.
(Postscript: Simon passed away peacefully in July, 2015).
Do you have a dog you love? Comments are always welcome and if you like, please share. Thank you! If you’d like to receive posts by email, just press here!
Diane
Oh, Sweet Simon. The very best of doggies!
We watched Aldo cross the Rainbow Bridge (this still brings me to tears!) two years ago. He was our perfect boy! For those two years, we never contemplated trying again. Our hearts just couldn’t take it, we reasoned. Then Pandy came into our life. What was life like without her? (Interesting that my post today is about her! It must be a doggie day!)
Laurie Stone
Diane, Can’t imagine life without a dog. So sorry about your sweet Aldo, but glad Pandy came into your life.
1010ParkPlace
You’ve described a “great dog.” All of my dogs have been rescues, but they’ve found me. Rescued me, and I’m profoundly grateful. Sam and Molly–she’s not a pretty girl by any means, a gawky, awkward, mixed breed with bad skin–are both getting older. I’m so grateful they’ve seen me through the death of my husband. We grieved together. Now, we’ve sharing this adventure of moving to a new house. These life events go unspoken, by them, but when they’re gone, I will grieve for them and the continuity of beloved family members traveling together over the bumpy parts of life. Brenda
Laurie Stone
Wow, Brenda. I’m sorry about the loss of your husband. I’m sure your dogs were very important during that time. Animals are natural empaths and feel emotions deeply. I hope your new house brings solace and you continue to get comfort from your fur babies. Thank you for commenting.
Maura Sweeney
I loved this piece! Though we no longer have dogs (our 75 lb. Houdini-like boxer and 200 lb. sleepy mastiff are now resting in doggie heaven), they remain my favorite friends. I’ve long said that dogs are better than people. Your post brought to life the many ways we love our pets and how our pets love us, too!
Laurie Stone
Maura, Thank you so much. I agree, at times dogs are better than people! Thanks for reading.
Diane
Now, I’m in tears. I’ve had many dogs I’ve loved and had to speed to fairer parks. Our own Aldo, now 14, is in his last glorious days. He spends twenty-three and a half hours a day happily asleep on his comfy bed. He’ll still bounce a bit when he goes for his walks, but not for long, and is totally happy to return to his bed. Just the thought of sending him on brings tears to my eyes. He was born here. He’s lived here all his life. He’s the best part of the household.
Laurie Stone
Diane, Sounds like you’ve given Aldo a wonderful, loving home and that’s all they could want. You’ll know when its time for him to go. Like Simon, it becomes harder to watch them struggle than to let them go.
Susan Williams
My good dog was a pure bred German Shepherd who passed away at the ripe old age of 14, this past October. My heart still aches, and I am very much in agreement with you that watching them age is so poignant!
Laurie Stone
Susan, You had your dog a long time. That’s a strong bond. Watching our pets age (and the different eras they inhabit in our lives) in indeed poignant.