A Furry Heart

Kathy had run across a show called Dogtown, in which cameramen from the National Geographic channel follow the attempts of a dedicated pet rehab facility in Utah to help every dog they can. Individual episodes have ranged from shocking (the attempt to rehabilitate Michael Vick's pit pulls) to heart breaking (the dog whose leg was so mangled in a car wreck that he was chewing off toes from the pain, apparently).

Each episode, though, reminds us how blessed we were with Oz. The anxious dog who is scared even when she walks over different textures? That reminded me of how Oz liked walking on the bridge in Whatcom Falls park, apparently just because it felt different (and for the view). The dog who liked adults, but got kind of frightened by babies? That reminded us of Oz licking baby toes, gently, gently. The dogs who got violent or protective when someone tried to take their food? That reminded both of us of how easygoing Oz was in this area. We could interrupt a meal, move her plate, take things off of the dish, etc., and the most she might do is follow us and look at us with a question in her eyes. Hey, what's going on? But no violence, no aggression, etc.
Some of this was having a privileged upbringing. Oz never had to doubt that she was accepted, never had to fight for food, etc. But there are dogs who have that who get mean, protective, or scared. Oz was simply a good dog—a gift dog.

With Tug coming to visit and getting the run of the house, I had another "Would Ozma be jealous?" fear. Whenever those come, the answer always follows immediately. I feel her cuddled near my heart, between my arms as she liked to lay on the bed, and a gentle lick under my chin. Don't be daft, she says. You'll never forget me, and Tug was always welcome. Is always welcome. Do I wish I could be there to play with him? Sure. But I'll always share.
And she always would.

Greg