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For far too long now, the only dogs I’ve had a chance to enjoy have been in passing cars or waiting in an adjacent vehicle in a parking lot.
Occasionally, I’ve met one at a medical office.
A handful of times, we picked up escaped dogs and got them home.
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Once, back in Washington, a friend came by with a boyfriend’s dog.
My bookshelves were full of dog stories, including every one by Jon Katz. I’d become a fan of his writing and followed his blog where I read about Cambridge.
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So when I decided to move back to New York, having only a vague idea of Upstate in mind, I looked up properties in this area thinking it would be nice to attend a Bedlam Farm open house and meet the dogs.
Which in due course I did.
The very wonderful Red made a deep impression on me and I shall always be grateful for having met him.
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Dogs have always been important to me, but once I began living alone in apartments, having one was not really an option. I became a cat minder almost accidentally, inheriting one when I took over my friend Tim’s apartment, more than 40 years ago and from then on – I was a confirmed cat person.
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But hands down, it was dogs that most influenced my life, long before I was born, in fact.
During The War, my aunty Kay owned a black cocker spaniel called Minxie, though how she managed to keep her in the barracks, I’ve no idea.
That she was cute (my aunt, but probably the dog too) and persuasive, was no doubt an essential part.
My aunt was on a bus with Minxie one day when an American serviceman climbed aboard. Spotting the dog, the man made overtures to it which was the surest way to ingratiate himself.
Not many months later, my aunt found herself married and sailing in a convoy to America, leaving her beloved Minxie with a friend.
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In America, Kay eventually had a second Minxie who had puppies, including Penny who sadly died before I had a chance to meet her.
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By the time I came to the States, Wendy and Jill had arrived and I lived with them for many years.
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Whenever possible, those dogs came everywhere with us, barking their heads off. They were totally undisciplined.
On Sundays we went for long drives in Kay’s Sunbeam Alpine, or sometimes we went to walk with them on the beach at Bayville.
As she aged, Wendy developed cancer. Her loss was the first of a lifetime of such sad experiences.
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Jill died the year my aunt and uncle retired.
On days off, I went to visit and found two blond puppies in residence.
Tammy and Misty were so darn cute.
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Tammy and Misty moved up to Maine.
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It was where I learned to love Winter.
And open spaces.
After Tammy died, Taffy was adopted as a new companion for Misty, but eventually they were both gone too.
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My aunt was heart broken, but she was getting on in years so there could be no more puppies.
Desperate to make her happy, I located an older dog and arranged for it to be adopted, a stupid, stupid, well-intentioned but ghastly mistake.
Jazz had food allergies and it was important that he should not be given snacks but my uncle could not be persuaded.
We learned that my he was developing dementia and soon the atmosphere was very stressful.
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While having Jazz was important to my aunt, her concern for him was an additional worry.
My uncle was admitted to a nursing home with heart problems and I moved my aunt to assisted living. I hoped that she would get a new lease on life but it was not to be.
After her husband’s death, she could not cope and was soon in the same home after suffering a stroke.
Jazz was banned from visiting after biting a child that was teasing him.
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In that last picture you can see the toy spaniel I had bought my aunt one day.
She had been hospitalised once or twice and I remember thinking that she’d be able to take it with her, if she needed to go again. Why did it not occur to me that such a situation could well be permanent?
Why was I in such denial about my aunt’s health? She was diabetic and she had high blood pressure. She’d had a life full of stress with a difficult husband. Yet I could not imagine, could not accept, that she might die.
In every other way, I’ve always been pragmatic, sensible.
Two months after my uncle’s death, Kay was gone too.
In between, my sister-in-law died suddenly, prematurely.
The beginning of 1999 was memorable.
Jazz was adopted by one of the nurses at the home but not many months after, I heard that he’d been put to sleep. I’ve lived with guilt and shame ever since. I failed my aunt and I failed that poor sweet dog.
So, as you can see, for all that I am a cat-person, it is dogs that have had the greatest influence on my life.
The greatest affect.
If not for the first Minxie, I’d never had come to the States and never met any of the cats that have meant so much to me, nor most of the people in my life. In fact, my life would have been entirely different.
Thank you, Carolyn, for the moving and interesting post devoted to dogs. Now you are looking after the cats and many wild animals that are lucky to find your place. I would say that your life is well-lived and helpful to those animals in need. I like as always your photography, today mainly dogs!
Joanna
Dogs since before I was old enough to use all the fingers on my hand to tell my age. And cats. Dogs make us better people. In fact, they force us to be better people because the worst dog I ever met was far more decent than most people. The old adage about being the person your dog(s) thinks you are is a real challenge.