Who’s my good dog? They all are!

Most of the articles I dutifully read in the Times these troubling days bring me to despair or worse. They are simply reporting on events of our days, but those days and events, as you surely agree, are pretty grim. So, it was with enthusiasm that I, a lifelong lover of our canine friends (and better friends you will never find), recently read two articles in that august newspaper that features all the news that’s fit to print, about dogs and their people.

It was the second of the articles that put a smile on my dour face, and made me laugh out loud. The writer was discussing dog intelligence in an article called “In Defense of Dumb Dogs.” You can surely find it online and you should. It’s worth the effort.

It got me thinking about our own collection of dogs. Some were really truly geniuses. Others not so much. Only one was really dumb. Toto! And, sometimes, as you will soon read, even she surprised me by understanding difficult concepts.

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The highest canine IQ in our family belonged to Buttons, a nasty, chubby, curly-haired little redheaded lady who I take no credit for since I didn’t even select her in the first place. That distinction went to our eldest daughter and her husband. At some point in Button’s short-lived stay with them they asked if we might babysit since A. they were moving or B. she, our daughter, not the dog, was pregnant, or C. both. Of course we agreed. What did it matter that we already had a dog called Toto, and no really desperate need for another? It was to be only short-term. It turned into 13 years. They simply forgot to pick her up!

Thus, Buttons moved into Toto’s house. I don’t want to malign Toto. Even though she was never a member of Doggie Mensa, she was a very sweet animal, good natured and forgiving, loved our kids and us passionately. And she always dealt with doggie problems without significant drama. If we were preparing to leave her alone for a while, which even she could always figure out pretty promptly when coats and shoes and car keys emerged, she would sulk and slink for a bit and then quickly rebound, reminding herself that the usually forbidden living room sofa would be hers for the duration of our little outing. Maybe not obedient, but not so dumb after all.

She was also not food-obsessed. Unlike me, for instance, she would eat only when she was really hungry. Buttons did not share that characteristic. Buttons lived to eat.

Mostly Toto slept except when she was called upon to do something heroic, like vigorously barking at all deliverymen or whomever else had the misfortune to ring our doorbell. She took great pride in her prowess in protecting us, although she certainly would not have barked if someone tried to enter our home by stealth, not ringing the doorbell at all. Her job was to bark when the doorbell rang. Period.

So, there we were with a decent enough dog, who was totally in love with us, and rarely a bother. Except for sneaking onto the couch, which would emerge from her furtive naps like a windswept forest of billowing dog hair, she was trouble-free, and being a pure mutt, she was of a hardy species, destined to reach ancient age with minimal effort or expense. And so she did!

And then came Buttons. We tried to intimate to Toto that Buttons was only a temporary invader, but Toto didn’t understand. She certainly thought that her new little sister was there to stay, and she turned out to be more prescient than we were.

If you took all of Toto’s good points and searched for their antonyms, the dog that you’d be describing was Buttons, who was brilliant but evil. She was totally focused on her next meal and would spend her day strategizing how she could get both bowls of food simultaneously, without any sharing at all. You could simply look at her eyes to see her brain working, conjuring up deeds to advance her own desires, and malign Toto.

We called the two dogs our “girls” and they mostly co-existed and occasionally even seemed to care for each other, until one very sad day when our local veterinarian said that Buttons could no longer survive her re-emergent disease and would have to be put down to spare her suffering. My husband brought her back from the vet visit with the appointment scheduled for that evening. We decided to offer her an extraordinary amount of chicken schnitzel that I had prepared for our family dinner. This would be her last meal. At death’s door that dog proceeded to eat pounds of delicious fresh chicken, savoring every bite. She thought she had died and already gone to heaven.

Soon enough, little doggy, I thought, with quivering voice and tears in my eyes. After all, even if a dog is somewhat selfish or nasty, after a while she simply becomes a family member.

And Toto, not so smart? Well, she figured out that something was seriously awry with Buttons! When dog and man left for the final trip to the vet, Toto ran to the backyard fence and let out a series of tormented wolfish howls. She knew. Yes, she knew.

These days we are dogless. We are too old to walk them in the bitter cold or stifling heat or to respond to their occasional middle-of-the-night emergency outings. But are our lives made better without our beloved friends? Emphatically not! Easier yes. Better no!

Rosanne Skopp of West Orange is a wife, mother of four, grandmother of 14, and great-grandmother of 11. She is a graduate of Rutgers University and a dual citizen of the United States and Israel. She is a lifelong blogger, writing blogs before anyone knew what a blog was! She welcomes email at rosanne.skopp@gmail.com