Dogs as Comfort Critters

When I was a mere child, our family, like many families, enjoyed a number of different pets. We were pretty much a dog family and shared our home with several wonderful canines. 

The other day, while driving on back roads to conduct a cemetery committal service in rural Beverly Hills, Florida, I noticed two young children playing with a large dog in their front yard. I think the dog was one of those labradoodle mixed breeds, a good-looking animal. The children were young, a boy and a girl, maybe seven or eight years old, and they were really enjoying themselves, as was the dog. I sat at that stop sign and watched the three of them for maybe a half-minute before a pick-up pulled up behind me and leaned on his horn. That broke the spell, and off I went to bury the dead. But as I drove the rest of the way, I thought of all the dogs who blessed our family and my childhood with their presence. Dogs are truly wonderful creatures, just another gift from a God who loves us. I think He gives us dogs to teach us how to love unconditionally, just as He loves.

The first dog who shared our home with me was Patches, a Boston Terrier, of whom I have absolutely no recollection. I have a photo of me as a baby with Patches standing guard, but I think she died not long after that. Our next dog, the first pet I can remember, was Clipper, a German Shepherd. I have many memories of Clipper who used to sneak into my room and climb into my bed after my folks had retired for the night. He knew my mom didn’t appreciate his shedding on my blankets and sheets, but he and I openly conspired to disobey. Mom eventually relented. I always felt privileged that Clipper chose my bed and not that of my brother, Jeff, although I suspect Clipper based his decision on the amount of room available in each bed. Jeff was four years older and took up a lot more space. Clipper was a terrific dog, even though he did enjoy chasing down the chickens raised by one of our neighbors in rural Nichols, Connecticut. As I recall Dad was frequently forced to pay for recently slaughtered fowl. Here's Clipper enjoying himself in the snow (probably about 1948):

When I was about five, we moved to Larchmont in suburban New York, and Clipper moved with us. He didn’t care much for suburban life since he was no longer allowed to roam freely. Fortunately for Clipper and the entire family, after a year or two we moved to Panama City Beach, Florida when my dad, an Army reserve officer, was recalled to active duty at Camp Rucker (now Fort Rucker) in Dothan, Alabama. Dad rented a small 2-bedroom cottage right on the beach. He would spend weekdays at Rucker and weekends with us. Jeff and I attended the local public school, Drummond Park Elementary School, which in those days was segregated. Of course, as young boys, this meant little to us. We simply enjoyed living right on the beach where we’d romp in the surf with Clipper and watch out for dangerous critters like Portuguese Man o’ War and sand sharks. Here we are in our sandy Florida backyard — I’m the little one — with our dad and Clipper…

Our next move took us to Heidelberg, Germany, again thanks to the U.S. Army. But first my folks had to see about finding a renter for our home in Larchmont. And since we couldn't take Clipper with us to Germany, Dad sold him to a man who owned a butcher shop on Long Island. I expect Clipper spent the rest of his days living and eating well. We all missed him.

Heidelberg was fascinating. We didn't live in Army housing but lived "on the economy," renting a flat in a small apartment house in town. Jeff and I also attended German schools, so we certainly got a taste for the country and its people. This was in 1951-52, not too many years after the end of the war. I remember asking my mom why we couldn't get a dog, and she laughed and said, "That would just make Frau Sauer [our landlady] even more sour."  

But Dad surprised us when we returned to New York. He had purchased a Weimaraner puppy and had it shipped from Germany to our home in Larchmont. The dog's name was Heidi, although her official Kennel Club name was “Arnheid von Geisberg.” I always thought this more elaborate name made her uncommonly regal, and she certainly lived up to it. Heidi immediately became one of the family. Although she was a rather large dog, she was very happy being a homebody and adjusted quickly to our family's odd lifestyle. 

When she was about three my folks decided to breed her with another purebred Weimaraner, resulting in eight wonderful little puppies. We sold seven but kept the largest male, whom Dad named, "Der Alte," the same name the Germans gave Konrad Adenauer, a name connoting age and wisdom. Unfortunately, he didn't live up to his name and simply refused to grow up. I think living with his mother simply spoiled him. We eventually sold him to a man who lived on a large rural estate where Der Alte enjoyed himself for years.

Heidi was especially close to my mom, and used to sit with her, or on her, or beside her whenever possible -- see the photos above and at left. Only when mom wasn't around would she condescend to spend quality time with the rest of us. 

Heidi lived with us for more than a dozen years and during that time learned to tolerate all of our strange idiosyncrasies. For example, Dad acquired a very clever parakeet named Heinz who used to land on Heidi's head and talk to her in his broken English. Heidi ignored him, assuming he was just another of the odd creatures who inhabited her home. 

I was almost 8 years old when Heidi joined our family, and she died when I was home on summer leave from the Naval Academy. It was heartbreaking. 

Will our dogs join us in heaven? Well, if the lion will lay down with the lamb, I don't see why God won't let the dogs who loved us and cared for us, probably more than we cared for them, also be with us eternally. St. Thomas Aquinas may disagree, but I'll bet he never had a dog.