That's Life: Dog's Day Due
It is said that every dog has its day. Here in the United States, National Dog Day falls on Aug. 26 this year.The first dog in my life was a white poodle I saw in a pet store window as my mother and I, then 4, were walking home after shopping on the avenue near our home in the Bronx. There were several puppies on display in the pet store window, and I tapped on the window to grain their attention.
Only the tiny ball of white fluff responded, bouncing to the window and pressing its nose against the window, as if it could touch my finger. "Puhlease, Momma, can we go inside so I can pet that puppy," I begged.
Mother gave in to my plea, with one reservation, "OK, but we can only stop for a minute. Your sisters will be home from school soon." When we left the pet store, I was beaming with joy, as Mother had granted my wish: She had bought the tiny white poodle that had captured my heart.
I named my puppy Ginger, after the movie star Ginger Rogers, who was, at that time, best known as Fred Astaire's dancing partner.
My puppy was so gentle, she did not even object when I dressed her in my doll's clothes. Her tail would wag from beneath the doll dress, as I set a bonnet on her head. Many an afternoon, I rocked her to sleep in my doll carriage, and at night, she would climb into my bed and cuddle at my feet.
When I began attending school, Ginger would greet me when I returned home. She would run down the long hall of our apartment, her paws sliding on the highly polished linoleum, and jumping up on me, she would smile. Yes, her lips would turn up into a smile, and I would bend down so she could lick my face.
We lived on the fifth floor and summer days my sisters and I would climb the few steps to the roof so we could get a tan, stretching out on a blanket on what we called Tar Beach. One Saturday during the year I turned 9, Ginger followed us and before we could catch her, she fell from the roof.
Father would not allow me to go with him when he went downstairs to fetch Ginger. "She's still breathing," he said as he carried Ginger into our apartment. She was not moving and blood was oozing from her mouth. As children are wont to do, I expected my parents to be capable of doing the impossible. "Don't let her die," I cried out.
There were no veterinarians in our neighborhood and Mother called the police department to see what they suggested. "We can shoot the dog," she was told. We loved Ginger too much to accept what seemed to us a heartless offer so we placed her on a pillow next to the radiator in the living room, daring to hope that under our loving care, she would eventually recover.
Every few hours that day and the following day, I spoon fed Ginger chicken broth, Well I tried feeding her, but she was unable to get down more than a spoonful each day.
I was very upset about leaving Ginger when I went to school Monday. Mother tried to assuage my fears: "I'll take good care of her while you are gone," she said. And when I came home for lunch, I was glad to see that Ginger was still lying on her pillow.
The next morning, before I went to school, I put Ginger's favorite toy next to her and patted her head. "I'll be back soon," I said.
Later when classes were dismissed for lunch, I was surprised to see Mother waiting for me in the schoolyard. "I thought we would have lunch at the deli," Mother said referring to a delicatessen on the next block where they made delicious potato knishes and served frankfurters with coleslaw the way I especially enjoyed. "You like the frankfurters, there, right?"
"Yes, Mommie, but I want to see Ginger," I replied.
As it turned out, Ginger had passed while I was at school and Mother thought it best to break the news to me before I walked into our apartment. Trying to comfort me, as we sat in the delicatessen, Mother said, "Ginger will never again be in pain."
I wanted to bury Ginger in the park near our home, but my parents explained that we could not do that as it was against the law. When Father came home from work, he wrapped Ginger in a blanket and put her in one of the garbage cans that were to be picked up by the sanitation department. I knew my daddy felt just awful about having to do that, but what else could he do? We had never even heard of pet cemeteries then, and if there had been any, we could not afford to buy a grave for our beloved Ginger.
I cringed when I heard the sanitation truck screech to a stop in front of our building that night, and my pillow was soon damp with tears.
We did not bring another pet into our home until six years later when one of my sister Gloria's co-workers was looking for people to adopt the pups her Labrador retriever had borne. We decided it was time to have a pet again, and Gloria told her co-worker we would take one of the pups. I brought the pup from Gloria's workplace in Manhattan to our home, via subway, carting the pup in a cardboard box.
We thought of naming her Midnight, as she was as black as could be. Then we caught her chomping on a lollipop, and we began calling her Candy.
Candy was never any trouble, except for when she was very young and chewed on our slippers, etc., in protest when we left her alone.
When we moved to Long Island and owned a car, we took Candy with us to the beach. As soon as we set her free from the leash, she would run to the water, tail wagging, and paddle until we retrieved her.
She had become used to being at home alone when we went to work or school, but she was always waiting at the door when we returned. We will never know if it was sound of the key turning in the lock or was it that she just sensed we were on the other side of the door that sent Candy to meet us.
One day, Candy's tail was clipped when she dashed in front of the screen door as Father was closing it. We took her to the veterinarian who had inoculated her against rabies, etc., and he stitched her injured tail and wrapped it in bandages.
That was the only mishap Candy experienced in her long and happy life.
The morning Father found Candy dead in her bed, I wept like a baby just as I had when Ginger passed but at least we were able to arrange to have Candy put to rest in a pet cemetery.
Yes, dogs deserve to be pampered on Aug. 26 as well as all the days of the year: after all they love us unconditionally. They keep us warm on winter nights, cuddling at our feet, they are always glad to see us, and they don't mind if we are overweight or skinny, forget where we put the car keys, leave the dirty dishes in the sink overnight and on and on.