The Pooch in the Baby Carriage

A site to behold! Quickly coming towards me a few weeks ago was a little white-haired lady, maybe 5 feet 2, looking to be out getting her morning exercise.  In front of her she guided a shiny silver and black baby carriage where a little, also white haired, pooch lay comfortably. As they passed, a curt good morning was breathed out by the carriage pusher. With them now off in the distance I wondered about the scene I had just witnessed. 

No brain surgeon was needed to figure out how this pair fit together. The pooch and the darting little lady were about the same age; That is to say, measured in human and dog years. Both were approaching the time when their sun would set, but I imagined that the jaunty little lady had more of a store of life left than her tiny companion. 

Both needed each other to fill their days. And it came to me that what I had just witnessed was God’s perfect harmony. Each got all they needed without a penny cost to the other. 

I marveled at the loving relationship between dog and owner, one that needed no words to establish or maintain between the two. For the pooch, the cock of the head conveys a sense of doubt or inquisitiveness that any sensitive master is compelled to address. An outstretched paw – which I have seen a thousand times – is the universal call for affection; a tummy rub, a pet on the head, a soft stroke down the back. Then there is the lick from a dry, sandpapery tongue which melts the owner’s heart. and shows the pooch’s affection is one which the pet would run any gauntlet to deliver.   

And for older masters in particular their affectionate pooch occupies daily thoughts to fill the void of long-ago children’s needs, endless job demands, and neighborhood tribulations which I imagine was the case of the fast-moving woman out for a morning stroll with her little white-haired doggie.   

My, my, my how instinctively I knew that little lady must fuss over her beloved pooch. There for sure was a special bowl always in the kitchen filled with goodies. Then there was the weekly bath to keep to a minimum the not so pleasant smells from her pooch rolling in the dirt.  So special were the evenings when the furry friend would be curled at her feet on the bed eyes tired but still riveted on the owner and in the next moment is off to its never, never land.

Several days later I was again out in the morning sun, when off in the distance, two dots appeared coming my way. Yes, it was the same white-haired senior, the baby carriage and the white pooch nearing me like clockwork. For some reason that day I felt a need to find out more about the pair, who knows why.  So, as they neared, I chirped a good morning and asked, "Can we go for a walk together- just for a few minutes," so I could catch up on how their day was going. 

Surprised that someone would speak to her, Dorothy brusquely told me her name, after I had muttered mine was Dick, and said Jimmy was not doing well – had arthritis in his left hind leg and did not see or hear well anymore. When she spoke a tenderness seeped into her voice that touched me and the three of us bonded as if old friends. 

Right then and there, the life cycle of the master and the pooch defined itself. Being the owner of a dog – which occurs multiple times in one’s life - is hilly travel for sure. There is the puppy stage with all the chewed-up pillows, messes on the and carpet, but there is also the joy of this frolicking little pooch’s endless energy and the nonstop jumping on the master, the tongue always at the ready for a lick!

A few weeks later, Dorothy appeared on my corner at her usual time, 7:45 am. She was walking as briskly as ever but she was not pushing a baby carriage. Just in front of her a little black dog on a long tight lease was tugging in every direction trying to smell and sniff anything and everything it could reach. I noticed a hum slipping out of Dorothy’s month that had been absent before. Then it was clear. Jimmy was gone – hopefully peacefully - to a place God sets aside for those obedient and loving creatures who serve mankind by raising the human spirit and little Cecilia had taken his place. 

We three stopped to catch up which was done in a most cordial manner. What had turned out so predictably was that she had rushed Jimmy, late one night shortly after our last visit, to the vet with him in an almost comatose state. With a shake of the vet’s head Dorothy knew Jimmy’s time had come. With tears streaming down her cheeks Dorothy nodded and the vet, also teary eyed, carried Jimmy off. Her third and most favorite pooch was buried in Dorothy’s back yard next to her earlier darlings. 

Fast forward I knew, and Dorothy more than I, that within a decade or less she, if still earthly bound, would be pushing her baby carriage with little Cecilia comfortably gazing out of the front of her cozy coach caring not a hoot about smelling or sniffing anything but the warm morning breeze.  

Why do millions choose to live through multiple doggie life cycles when all know sadness will be faced at their pet’s journey’s end? Simple, destiny has man and pooch linked in a grand plan with both reaping boundless benefits when the two live and thrive under the same roof. 

I am sure most loving dog owners are like Dorothy. When she knew Jimmy needed to move on, to escape pain and suffering, though heartbroken she still was at peace knowing she had brought him and herself great happiness neither would have known if they had been apart for those 12 years. Realizing that surely comforted Dorothy and spurred her on to bring Cecilia into her life and home.