by Tom Pantera
Columnist

I really didn’t want to have another dog. I really didn’t want to have another dog.

It’s not that I’m opposed to owning a pet. Quite the contrary. Back when the kids were young, we had a succession of pets, starting with a hamster and eventually working our way up to two dogs and four cats. I didn’t even like cats until we got the first one, but needless to say, being the warm ‘n’ fuzzy kinda guy I am, I warmed up to them.

But Russell, our first dog – he was my buddy.

His appearance in our house was not planned. I came back from being out of town to discover my then sister-in-law had arrived from Idaho for a visit, bringing her two dogs and a six-week-old puppy for us; she apparently had decided we needed a dog. I walked into the house and my wife, who thought I’d be angry, sheepishly said, “you have another son.” I walked into the kitchen and there on the floor, on a dog bed, was a puppy. He looked at me with these big, sad, brown eyes and … I was gone. He was the cutest puppy I’d ever seen.

What sealed the deal, of course, was when the kids saw him. When he arrived, my kids were at the music camp at the Peace Garden. When we went to pick them up, we brought the new puppy, which we hadn’t told them about. My younger son, who’s sort of like Doctor Dolittle, carried him all around the camp.

But while Russell – as close as we could figure, he was a jack Russell/lab mix – not only wormed his way into my heart, he became my buddy. He was smart (the Jack Russell part), but the lab part sort of mellowed out his more hyper tendencies. He rarely barked. That’s good, because I have a low tolerance for vocal dogs.

We eventually acquired the second dog, Nora, a female of indeterminate breed who was very sweet but not the sharpest tool in the shed. When my wife and I discussed splitting up our property during the divorce, I put off talking about the dogs for a long time. Finally, I asked her, “What about the dogs?”

“Well, you’ll want Russell,” she said. I did a little fist pump.

I had him for another three years, until he developed lymphoma and had to be euthanized. It was an awful day.

So when I started dating Karon, I also started dating her dog, a female shi tzu named Bailly. She rescued Bailly from an abusive situation and the dog didn’t really like men, but Bailly seemed to take to me right away. I’m not really a small-dog guy, but she was so sweet, so well-behaved and so quiet that she managed to worm her way into my heart in a short time.

So now I’m back to being a dog owner, or at least a co-owner. I’m back to putting dog food on the grocery list, making sure the water bowl is full and occasionally letting her outside. I’m also back to irritating the dog when I leave and don’t take her with me. She sits on the floor and gives me an injured look.

It’s fortunate, of course, that she happens to be particularly suited to my temperament. There’s that quiet thing, which is a big deal to me. I can count on two hands the times I’ve heard her bark. She’s pretty smart; Karon has some health issues and when she’s not feeling well, Bailly and I nurse her. When she’s in a playful mood, she’s hilarious. All small dogs think they’re huge dogs and she’s no exception.

And when I’m cold or sick or just sitting there doing nothing, she’ll jump up in my lap (as long as she gets an invitation; she’s nothing if not a diva). That’s something Russell, who weighed about 70 pounds, couldn’t do. I’ll scratch her chest, which she loves, and she’ll look up at me adoringly with those big eyes. It’s the closest thing a grown man is allowed to having a teddy bear.

I’ll be the first to admit that we dog owners are weird, or at least must seem so to non-dog owners. We’ve given part of our hearts to a being who can’t talk, who needs our guidance about where to toilet, who can reduce a clean room to a garbage can filled with bits of paper, cloth and other flotsam and jetsam. We can’t go anywhere for any length of time without finding a sitter. When we have to move, which will be sometime this year, we’ll have to find a place that allows dogs, which can be difficult.

But when you’ve had a good day, or especially a bad one, a dog can be a pearl of great value. It’s a cliché that your dog is always happy to see you walk in the door, but like many clichés it’s true. And I wish I had a nickel for every time I told Russell something I didn’t want to tell anybody else. In 2006, the year my life basically went off the rails, he was the best kind of friend.

A well-behaved dog also provides something that most adults are missing in their lives. Dogs are like toddlers in that they are innocent. What you see is what you get; they have no ulterior motives, and even when they misbehave, they do it so ham-handedly that a lot of times, all you can do is laugh. A roommate once caught Russell taking something of the garbage and scolded him. He actually put the thing back in the garbage. How can that not crack you up?

So a canine is part of my life again. I really didn’t want that. But I’m really glad.