The 4 phases of Dog.

While I certainly haven't been good about updating the blog, it's not because nothing's been happening.  To the contrary, quite a bit has been happening, mostly good stuff.  Over the spring, me and Leo spent a lot of time at Prospect Park (there are funny stories about that forthcoming), up at Fahnestock Park (lots of fun hiking up the mountain), Forest Park (a park in Queens that is, well, a big forest!) and finally a trip to North Carolina, Virginia and West Virginia that included a hotel stay, 100+ degree weather, camping, lakes, rednecks, and a broken sway bar in my car.

But this is about something else. Leo has been a little tired over the past few weeks. We thought it was the heat - you know, he's not exactly happy to be walking around on concrete and asphalt when it's 107 degrees and the night-time low is in the high 80's.  But the weather has ameliorated, and he's still a little down.  His neck feels a bit thick - and whether that's just his neck or a sign, we'll find out tomorrow.

He's been coming over almost every day.  I'm working from home a lot - both school and work and what have you, so it's great having him around. And we've been doing the hiking and the camping and the road trips, and spending a lot of time together. So this slow-down I've seen, and the worry that I have about his cancer returning is hitting me very hard.

It has made me think about why it is hitting me so hard, and I've realized that Leo is the dog that I'll always think about, just as Bit will always be the cat. In fact, the two of them will be the ones (and Luna, but as much as I do love her, she's going to be remembered as a nut, as "Loony"). When they are all gone, a huge part of me will be gone. The next ones won't mean the same thing.  And I think I've got an idea why.  I'll call it the 4 phases of Dog.

If you grow up with dogs, you'll probably have ~4  generations of them.
The first one is the one your parents have when you're born.  For them, this one is The One. They had this dog before they had kids.  This dog is an adult when you're born, and is the one that helps you walk, watches you as a kid, keeps you busy in the summer.  This dog will be the first thing you really know that dies.  It will teach you about life and death, loss, and will show you that mommy and daddy are real people with emotions.
The next dog  is the one your parents get, but it's really for you, the kids.  This is the "family dog" - the golden retriever, the lab, the spaniel.  This dog will grow up with you.  It's there when you come home from school, and there when you need some security at night or during a storm.  You'll resent this dog, because you're a teen-ager, because you'll have to feed it, walk it, and pick up after it (sometimes).  You will love this dog, and it will become old and frail as you're leaving high school.  If it's a long-lived breed, it's death will be the first time you get bad news on the phone and away from home in college.

The dog you get as an adult, out of college, and on your own, is the dog that's the One.  Your real First Dog, because you are ultimately responsible for this one - the chewed shoes, the poop on the floor, the late night walks, the early morning walks, the vet visits, the vaccinations, the barking and everything.  Perhaps the dog is a warm-up for kids with an S.O., or perhaps the dog is your way of grounding yourself, calming you down, making sure you come home and can take care of something besides yourself.  You learn to negotiate friendships based on shared interests (the dog-park people) and learn to admit mistakes (sorry about your lawn!).  You look forward to coming home to the excitement and happiness and wagging that greets you.  As this dog grows older and mellows, so do you - slow hikes, camping, days in the park.  I think having kids would make this dogs aging and decline easier to handle.  The pain, for you, at the end is blunted by school projects or potty training or a thousand other things.  And this will be a lesson for the kids, in loss and death and love and sorrow, just like you had.

The next dog will be the kids' dog.  It will be a golden retriever or a lab or one they like, and it will be named by the youngest child and will be something that makes you cringe when your friends hear it.  This dog will run with your young kids, and grow up with them, being the object of dress-up parties and pillow to cry on through teen-age angst.  It will be old and frail when the kids are heading off to college, and will be the first time (hopefully) that you have to tell your kids bad news via the phone.

Of course, I don't have kids.  They won't learn to walk hanging on to Leo's fur, with him patiently walking with them.  He won't be around to watch them in the yard, making sure they don't go far (he's a herding dog, after all), and surely keep any undesirables (people or critters) away.

The one you'll never get over is that one that got you through as an adult, the one that was on the journey from the multiple people you could have been to the person you are.  That was my Bit, and that's my Leo.  And that's why I'm having a hard time.