My dog loves me, and I’ve got the scratches to prove it

Decades ago I wrote an account of how my trusty duck dog Blaze bounded headlong into the surf on the shores of Lake Erie and pummeled me into the lakebed in the process of trying to “save” me.

The dumb idea that inspired the scene had been all my own. A Chesapeake Bay retriever, Blaze was genetically programmed to do two things in his life: bring back dead ducks and act with selfless and unceasing loyalty on behalf of his master. He was clearly adept at the former right out of the box, retrieving anything that fell, floated or sank into the water. I thought it would be great, however, to prove the latter by faking my own demise.

While standing in waist deep water as Blaze stood on the beach, I’d called his name, held my breath and sank under the surf. Blaze responded with heroic vigor and the speed, trajectory and impact of a dive-bomb torpedo to land directly on top of me, paws and claws thrashing to pull me, jaws around my elbow, into shore.

A point was proven and a lesson was learned. Blaze was everything his ancestry had instructed him to be.

Now to the present day as Frankie, the mutt my wife and I recognize as our empty-nest replacement child, has grown to consider himself such a part of the family that no interaction between the human members of our pack should take place without his enthusiastic participation.

He watches us eat; he watches us sleep. He follows us from room to room like a toothy, snouted shadow. If, during the course a conversation, any words remotely sounding like “go,” “walk,” “out,” “treat” or “food” are uttered, the dog is quick to strategically place himself conspicuously between us and the door. If he is thoroughly convinced that action is about to take place, he’ll simmer like a tea kettle until, no longer able to contain himself, he pops off in a single ear-piercing yap!

While senseless yapping of any sort is highly discouraged, even among the humans in the fold, a good hug is never unwelcome. Frankie is a champion at winning the room with a hug. That singular attribute is what landed him in the center of our family in the first place. The moment we met him, he leaned in for an extended cuddle and the rest was history.

As stated before, few things take place around here without Frankie as a full accomplice; therefore the idea of Kristin and I enjoying a warm welcoming or departing hug without three-way participation is unthinkable to the mutt. With humans, however, hugs sometimes arise spontaneously without regard to canine emotion. Therein lies the origin of the scratches upon my back. I can’t tell you the amount of times he’s nearly taken us both to the ground in enthusiastic embrace. Woe be us to ever discourage a dog from contributing his greatest gift.

We aren’t entirely sure how Frankie’s full complement of genes is set to play out, but whatever guides him to hug is present in spades. Things could be a lot worse.

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John at jlorson@alonovus.com.