The Best Dog - Ever

It's easy to eulogize someone after they've died, and overlook or ignore the irritating and exasperating traits they had. Kuro was not perfect. He was, however, a damned Good Dog. Actually, he was the Best Dog Ever.

My ex-neighbor S emailed me yesterday. "Geez it wasn’t that long ago that he enjoyed escaping from your backyard on Kraft Road. I remember finding him one day eating a dead deer along Route 89 – I’ll be that was an excellent adventure day for him! He was a great guy, a big old gentle bear."

While the visual of him chowing down on rotting venison is not an appetizing image, I needed to hear this. I needed to be reminded that not so very long ago Kuro was in the prime of his life, and was hale, hearty and robust in health, spirit and will.

My nickname for Kuro was 'Butthead' -- saved for times when he was being the less than perfect canine. S's email reminded me of the fortifications I had to build to keep him in the back yard. 8 foot fences, chicken wire dug in along the bottom, fencing dug 2 feet into the ground.

I ended up calling the 'dog pen' (what to others would be a fenced yard) the Dog Stockade. Several times I'd be home, with the dogs allegedly safely contained in the yard. I'd get an itchy feeling at the back of my neck. 'Haven't seen The Big Guy for a couple of minutes...' Heading to the back of the yard, I'd find him climbing the 8 foot fence.

Each time he'd look at me and with his expression clearly say 'hey! look at what I'm doing! Aren't you proud of me?' He would literally climb 8 foot fences to enjoy an adventure in the great wide world. When I caught him in the act, I'd roll my eyes in exasperation, while he dropped down and came to me for a hug.

When I swam in Cayuga Lake, the dogs would run parallel to my course, running out to the end of docks, then scampering along the shoreline to keep up with me. When I turned, they did too.

Last summer, I had stopped to speak with a couple who were enjoying an early morning coffee at the foot of their dock. The dogs ran up to say polite hello's. Kuro then waded into the water, chest deep. By this time, he was already quite unstable. He clearly was worried about the uncertain rocky footing. That day, however, he gave me a round faced look. His expression clearly said 'I'd come out there if you'd hold me.'

So I did. "I'll help you, honey." I extended my arms. He waded in and swam to me, then paddled gently for several minutes with my arms supporting him. When he was ready, I let him go, and he swam regally to shore.

Kuro was not very vocal, but his expressions said as much as words. There were times where he'd be sacked out on one of his beds, and without moving his head, his eyes would track my movements -- rather like being watched by a whale or porpoise. Invariably, he was telling me to 'c'mon over and pet me!'

Boy, did he have me well trained. For of course I would. Who could resist?

One time, when we still lived at Kraft Road, I'd put the pups into the back yard and told them firmly "GO PEE!" Kuro did so immediately, then came inside into the kitchen. He made sure I was looking at him, then looked at the cookie jar, then at me, then back at the jar. Words could not have expressed his desire any more clearly.

Again, who could resist?

I miss his 'wooooo!' of happiness. I miss the way he could make his face round, turning it into a perfect circle, when he was happy and excited. I miss how, when he knew I was walking over to pet him, he'd scrunch is body up just for a second in anticipation of the caress.

Above all, I miss just having him with me.

I love Kuro with all my heart, took the good - nay, great - with the not-so-good, and am so incredibly grateful that this amazing boy graced my life.