Some Golden Recognition
Our site was warmly recognized in 2003 by Outdoors Columnist, Les Winkeler, the article provided below. Les joyfully spices up his columns by comically detailing life with his Goldens Jack and Buck.

 
Wonderful Web Site Devoted Entirely to Golden Retrievers
By Les Winkeler, The Southern Illinoisan. February 13, 2003

The e-mail from Rochelle Lesser came out of the blue. Lesser, who created a web site devoted to golden retrievers, stumbled onto last week’s column about my dogs playing in the snow. She asked if she could place a link to the column on www.landofpuregold.com.

My intimate experience with golden retrievers only goes back 3½ years, but I’m hopelessly hooked. I couldn’t wait to check out the web page. Frankly, it exceeded all expectations.

“G-d made dogs and then when he perfected them ... he created Goldens,” Allen Schoen, veterinarian. That quote, found at the bottom of one of the dozens of pages I visited, succinctly summarizes the web site. I spent hours there. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So, I did both.

There are pages devoted to the care and nutrition of goldens. There are golden retriever greeting cards; golden retriever e-cards; and stories extolling the virtues of goldens as service dogs. There are wonderful pictures of goldens playing catch, swimming and sleeping with kids. Want to take a fantastic photo? Just get a kid and a golden in the same frame. This is all good, useful and entertaining, but this information is readily available in bookstores or libraries.

The strength of the web site is the personal stories about living and deceased golden retrievers. Reading these stories one really appreciates the bond that forms between these wonderful dogs and their humans. Here are a few excepts:

Mom,
I just had to let you know how GRR-eat it is here in heaven. I’m not in pain anymore. I was just sooo tired and didn’t even want to sneak the last of Buddy’s food anymore. Barley

That certainly paints a vivid picture for anyone who has ever tried to feed two goldens at once.

Dear Molson,
We were your third home. It was hard to believe that anyone could ever part with you because you were such a good dog. Sure, if there was a shoe around you brought it to us whether we needed it or not. And, sometimes you forgot to return it where you found it so we ended up searching upstairs for the shoe whose mate was downstairs. But hey, you meant well, right? Mom

Since Jack learned to open closet doors, I’m now short shoes, socks, boots and possibly a 5-iron. If the bowling ball disappears, he may have to spend the night in the pen.

He had been known as Monterey Jack, Sausalito Jack and Burlingame Jack. But, the real reason he was named Jack was for Smiling Jack, because smile he did. He was the most regal, majestic animal once could behold. He could find any ball, anytime, anywhere. Once, when our son Marcus lost a new baseball in the ivy bed next door, we simply told Jack to ‘go find’ and within seconds the ball was in his mouth.

Other than the bowling ball, Jack and Buck are capable of retrieving anything that rolls. My real problem is newspapers. Not mine, Jack brings mine each morning. It’s just that insists I read the neighbor’s paper as well. Check out the web site. If you love goldens, you’ll be enthralled.

Les Winkeler is the outdoors writer for The Southern Illinoisan. Contact him at les.winkeler@thesouthern.com or call 618-529-5454 x15805.


Feedback to Article: Both Touching and Sassy
I love visiting your site and I very rarely leave with dry eyes. I do not mind the tears though, because although some of the stories may make me feel sad in one sense, I also go away with warmth in my heart that I know is due to the love of, and from, this wonderful breed. I really should buy some stock in Kleenex!  Sandy Clark


Congratulations Rochelle! You deserve it! Keep up the great work. When I finally have a chance to update my website, I will add a link! BlessingsAllen Schoen


Congratulations!! Getting your website publicly recognized in an article is way overdue!! Your site is the first place I go to look for answers to all of my golden questions. It is also where I go when I need a pick up. It is such a happy place! Nora Anne DiLemmo


You probably are already famous amongst Golden lovers! When I'm having a stressful day at work, a visit to your site always calms me. It is almost as good as having my Gillette at my side. Thanks for your hard work. Paula


You've always been famous in my eyes sweetie! Mitch Kirby and the Canadian Crew of Fuzzbutts!


CONGRATULATIONS! You deserve all the kudos you get! You ARE becoming famous!!  Barb Justice


Rochelle, What a great and well deserved article! Your golden sight is truly one of the best on the web and certainly the best golden sight I know. Love & prayers  — Alice & Abel


WOO-HOO!! Famous at last! Well Done Rochelle!  Your Golden Friends in Wales (and Graham Morgan)


Super article Rochelle, way to go! Personally, I think you arrived ages ago.  Wendy Morrell (Dorset, England)


Congrats, Rochelle, on having this article written about your wonderful site which we all love. You must be so thrilled, and deserve to be.  Pat Allen


Well, congratulations are definitely in order...although I dare say you have been famous with your own Goldens since they first met you.  Mary Jane Rizella


WOW!! How nice. Yes a wonderful Valentine present for sure. Your site is a wonderful place to spend many hours looking and reading. Gay Eberly




Some Golden Fun from Les Winkeler
back
Although articles are offered only briefly before requiring payment, we've been allowed to reprint them here for all to enjoy!
 

  There’s Really No Way to Fight a Case of Puppy Love
  Dog Training Just Takes a Little Time — and Patience
  At Least the Dogs Enjoy the Cold and the Snow  
  The Realization that My Dogs are Extremely Spoiled
  My Dogs are Great, but Radically Different
  This Day Definitely Goes to the Squirrel
  There's Nothing Like the Relationship Between a Man and his Dog
  Everytime and Everywhere, It's Always about the Dogs
  This Dog just Wanted to have his Day ― Quietly
  I Need to Get Out in a Boat or on the Golf Course
  I've Watched my Daughter's Pup Mature over the Past Few Months
  Saying Goodbye to Daughter's Puppy was Difficult, but I'll Get Over It
  Mischievous Dogs Make for an Action-Packed Weekend
  Nothing quite Rivals the Joy a Big Dog Brings
  Extra Dog Means Extra Obstacle Around the House
  Watching the world pass by in the Veterinarian's Office
  Golden Retrievers Help me Get Exercise, Time to Think NEW
  It’s Hard to Stay Angry at an Old Friend NEW
  A Final Moment of Glory for Former Star Athlete NEW


Puppy Jack & Big Brother Buck Winkeler





 

There’s Really No Way to Fight a Case of Puppy Love
July 26, 2002

There are several conclusions I can draw from events of the past week, none of them good. The conclusions are actually irrelevant. The bottom line is — the Winkelers are now a two golden retriever household.

The whole sordid tale began eight weeks ago when co-conspirator Cyril Bowlin called. He said his golden retriever, Max, had another litter of puppies. Max is the mother of Buck, my three-year-old golden. As fate would have it, we were in the Bowlin’s neighborhood about a month later. We stopped by the house to ogle and fawn over the puppies. At that time, there was no mention of expanding our canine collection.

However, my wife mentioned the puppies to her sister. Sometime during the intervening month, her sister decided that a golden retriever would be a perfect retirement present to herself. My role in all this was to call Bowlin and reserve a puppy for my sister-in-law. My wife, daughter, brother- and sister-in-law piled into our van for the ride to Bowlin’s house. The mood in the van turned ominous when my wife suggested we might also want to take a puppy home. This is where I should have turned back, or at least bailed out of the van.

For the record, I love Buck. I spend hours playing with him in the yard. He spends hours tooling around town in the passenger seat of my pickup truck. Buck fetches The Southern off the yard each morning. On the other hand, Buck loses hair at a faster rate than I do. Vacuuming is no longer a household chore. It’s an avocation.

The puppies were romping in the front yard when we arrived. Granted, the little fur balls were cute. They would have been irresistible if I had been looking for a pet. My wife and daughter turned up the adoption pressure exponentially once they saw the puppies. “They’re so cute,” my wife, Judy, said. “Buck needs a buddy,” my daughter, Erin, said. “Baloney,” I said.

At this point, I actually thought I was in control of the situation. I’m 47 years old. I’ve been married 26 years. I should have known better. Erin pointed out we could call the little guy Jack. “When you call them you can say, ‘Hey, Jack, Buck!’” she said. That was clearly unfair, playing on my loyalty to the Cardinals. Then my wife pulled out the heavy artillery.

She pointed out that Buck came into our lives three years ago when Jennifer left for Ohio State. She further noted that Erin is leaving for St. Louis College of Pharmacy next month. “I’ll need something to fill the void,” she said. Silly me — I thought that would be my job.

At this point, it was obvious I was fighting a losing battle. There was no point continuing. I drove home, wondering how all this happened to me. I reached two conclusions. First, my wife isn’t coping well with the prospect of empty nest syndrome. The second conclusion — Thank G-d I only had two kids.

 


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Dog Training Just Takes a Little Time — and Patience
September 20, 2002

It was one of life’s dreaded moments. I found myself sitting on the kitchen floor, looking into the Jack’s eyes. Jack, my four-month-old golden retriever pup, stared at me earnestly. His little black eyes oozed sincerity. His tiny pink tongue, dancing in and out of his mouth virtually screamed, “Pick me up and hug me.”

It should have been a touchy-feely moment. But, it just didn’t feel right. Frankly, I was worried. I was afraid I had assumed ownership of a stupid dog.

Looking through the rose-colored glasses of hindsight, I remembered Buck’s perfect puppyhood just three years ago. My mind rolled back the years to that summer night we brought Buck into our house for the first time. The little fur-ball bounded happily into the front door, affectionately licking our hands and faces.

“Sit,” I said. Instinctively, Buck sat down. I patted his fuzzy head appreciatively. “Shake,” I said. Buck turned his head from side-to-side momentarily, then timidly lifted his right paw. “Good boy!” I said enthusiastically.

The sensation of Jack licking my hand brought me out of my daydream and back to the reality of puppy training. I looked at Jack, shook my head and muttered to myself, “How can such a cute dog be so stupid?”

We had no idea how to train a dog when we adopted Buck three years ago. However, we knew that a 90-pound house dog required training. We engaged a tutor to help us teach Buck the basics. His methods worked well. We worked with Buck several minutes a day. Within a week, Buck was responding to the basic commands.

Jack joined our family in mid-June. We allowed Jack a couple of days to get assimilated into the Winkeler household routine. His formal training program began within a week. Ten days into training, Jack seemed oblivious to our efforts. I’d give him the sit command. Jack would stare at me, bound forward and grab my shoestrings and pull. He wasn’t learning anything, and apparently had no interest in learning anything.

I was walking through the house several days into training when Jack ran by, a cat hot on his heels. I grabbed him, saving him from multiple lacerations, and carried him to the living room. I took him to a neutral corner and half-heartedly gave the command to sit. Jack looked at me for an instant, then plopped down on his tush. Anxious to see if his response was a coincidence, I called Jack to me. He trotted to my side and again sat on command.

I called my wife excitedly, gleefully proclaiming our puppy’s brilliance. Unfortunately, the breakthrough was temporary. The puppy savant myth was shattered that evening when I attempted to put Jack through his paces. He stared at me blankly each time I gave a command. Which brings us to that moment of near despair on the kitchen floor.

I went to bed that evening, thinking my dog needed remedial training. The alarm went off the next morning. I pulled myself out of bed and took the dogs outside with a sense of foreboding. On a whim, I gave Jack the command to sit. Immediately, he plopped down. I wasn’t impressed. I felt he was just trying to placate me.

However, he complied with every subsequent command. I hollered for my wife to come outside. Jack did as he was told each time. The proud parents stared at each other for a few seconds, then unashamedly cried tears of joy. Our son isn’t stupid!

 


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At Least the Dogs Enjoy the Cold and the Snow  
February 6, 2003

To paraphrase W.C. Fields epitaph, on the whole, I’d rather it be summer. Winter does offer a few charms. There is the opening day of duck season. Then, there’s, well, there’s the rest of duck season. For someone who dislikes cold and hates snow, the long dark months from October to April seem interminable.

A couple weeks ago, I woke up to find the world blanketed in snow. I hate to wake up cursing, but in this instance it seemed appropriate. It didn’t help matters that Buck, my 3-year-old golden retriever, was impatiently clawing at my arm. He had heard the alarm clock and was anxious for his morning walk. Giving in to the inevitable, I reluctantly pushed myself out of bed. Buck’s not-so-gentle nudges complicated the normally mundane task of getting dressed.

I heard Jack, my golden retriever puppy, howling when I walked into the hall. Jack’s penchant for devouring furniture, or anything not constructed of stainless steel, necessitates him sleeping in a crate. Jack had heard the commotion on the opposite end of the house and was making it abundantly clear he wanted to get up.

Buck followed me into Jack’s room as he always does — I suspect he somehow mocks Jack for being confined to the crate. Jack bolted from the crate the instant I opened the door. He knows the daily routine. Jack sprinted across the carpet to the door. Knowing that hitting the concrete breezeway floor at full speed is potentially fatal, Jack down-shifted to make a hard right.

A piece of old carpet Jack had chewed up the previous evening sat in his path. Jack deftly snatched it in his teeth without breaking stride, then continued to the front door. Buck, unfettered by distractions, was already sitting at the door. Jack took his normal place behind Buck — the golden retriever version of the I-formation — if you will.

I gave the command for both dogs to sit. Buck immediately complied. Jack, being either stupid or an independent thinker, required a separate invitation. Buck issued a scolding bark, but it took Jack about a minute to comply. Finally, I looked out the door to make sure no one was walking the dog through the neighborhood. The sight of two golden retrievers charging out the door can be unnerving to an unsuspecting Yorkie. Frankly, it also tends to raise the dog owner’s blood pressure.

Satisfied that all was safe, I told the dogs to go outside. You really have to be there to appreciate the spectacle of these dogs heading out the door. Imagine sprinters coming out of the blocks in the 100-meter dash. Imagine a pair of dragsters roaring from the starting line. Jack normally bolts toward the door, veers to the right and picks one of the newspapers off the lawn. True to form, he leaped off the porch. However, he got about two or three steps into the yard when he realized something was different. SNOW!

He skidded to a stop, burying his nose in the white fluffy stuff. Jack looked at me quizzically, then made a couple loping circles, scooping up snow with his tongue at the same time. His prancing, leaping gait virtually screamed, “I love this stuff.” He continued to play, frequently looking up at me with a snow-covered muzzle. I couldn’t help myself. I did something I rarely do when out in the snow. I smiled.

 


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The Realization that My Dogs are Extremely Spoiled
March 6, 2003

There is no question my dogs are spoiled. Things occasionally happen around the house that cause me to shake my head. However, I didn't realize just how pampered my canines were until my wife read the results of a survey conducted by the American Animal Hospital Association. I was thoroughly embarrassed by the time she finished reading.

The survey said 97 percent of pet owners said their critters make them smile at least once a day. Guilty. My dogs make me smile at least once a day. On the other hand, Jack has chewed up a pair of my wife's boots, a pair of my shoes and a couch in the past month. The curses have almost canceled out the smiles, so I'll score this one a dead heat.

65 percent of pet owners believe their pet improves their own mental health. Now, that's a loaded question. Sixty-five percent of the people who know me would probably question my mental health. They would probably also testify that my dogs are on more firm mental ground than I am.

63 percent of pet owners celebrate their pet's birthday. Forty-three percent of those admit to giving their pets a wrapped gift. Geez, that adds up to 106 percent for me. On the other hand, I have never sent a birthday card to either of my dogs. I wouldn't lie about a thing like that.

Conversely, 73 percent of pet owners admit to receiving a card signed by their dogs. It really is painful to admit to these things. My question is, how many of the 73 percent who received signed cards from their pets also feel their pets improve their mental health?

64 percent of pet owners hang a Christmas stocking for their pets. Guilty. But, it makes for such a cute picture when they pose in front of the fireplace.

43 percent of pet owners have taken their pets to work. Aha, finally I find a category that doesn't apply to me. Actually, I have taken Buck along to work on occasion, just never to the office. Well, I have taken him to the office, but never when anyone else was there.

46 percent of pet owners say they plan most of their free time around their pets. I can honestly say that's not true of me. Now, if I had any free time ...

52 percent of respondents have admitted cooking for their pets. I have never done that — my wife does all the cooking for them. I have, on occasion, stolen some of the bacon destined for their plates.

Finally, almost 50 percent of pet owners have more pictures of their pets than they do of their children. If we're talking recent pictures, I'll plead guilty. I'll even admit to having pictures of my pets on my desk and on my computer. However, I also have pictures of my daughters on my desk. I don't have any pictures of the dogs in my wallet. That only seems fair — they never ask for money.

 


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My Dogs are Great, but Radically Different
September 18, 2003

Technically, my wife and I should be feeling the effects of empty nest syndrome. Fortunately, we've coped quite well. Sure, there are photographs of our children throughout the house, and their weekly phone calls help us stay in touch. However, the presence of Jack and Buck, our golden retrievers has been a mitigating factor.

The dogs have changed our lives.

If it weren't for these canines, there is a chance our house would be clean and my yard wouldn't resemble a mine field. There's a possibility that we would have some order in our lives. And, we could actually take spur of the moment weekend trips.

On the other hand, there are some benefits, both physical and mental. The dogs make me laugh ― sometimes in spite of myself. Like my kids, their personalities are radically different.

Buck is 4 years old. Except for shedding incessantly, Buck is the perfect dog.

When I feed the dogs in the morning, Jack is like a hog at the trough. It's not unusual for me to have to pour food down his muzzle. On the other hand, Buck waits patiently about 15 feet away. After I fill his bowl, he'll look to me to for approval before walking to his dish. There's never been a more polite dog.

I spend most of my evening hours on the couch, reading or watching television. Typically, Buck will saunter to the couch. He'll place his muzzle on my thigh. The look in those big brown eyes make it virtually impossible to ignore him.

Generally speaking, Buck is low maintenance. I'll scratch his ears for a bit. When he's satisfied, he'll slide down to the floor. I'll forget he's there until he starts snoring.
Unfortunately, that was the best-case scenario.

Jack is just 1, but insanely jealous ― in other words, a typical golden retriever. If Buck is getting attention, Jack literally bolts into action. He'll sprint across the hardwood floor, slam on the brakes and slide into Buck. Although it sounds harsh, Jack's actions are well-calculated. The collision is just severe enough to push Buck out of the way.

At this point, it's a mistake to assume Jack is asking for affection. He's demanding it.

I've tried to ignore Jack by reaching over his head to pet Buck. It doesn't work. He pushes your hand away from Buck's head with his muzzle. Jack won't quit until he's satisfied he's received equal affection.

It's also been curious to watch the dogs become creatures of habit. Because Jack is less sedate, I normally lead him on our morning walks while my wife leads Buck.

We've worked out a daily routine. I let both dogs out early. Buck is content to lope around the yard while Jack wants to play Frisbee. Generally, we'll play until my wife appears on the yard, carrying the leashes. Seeing the leashes, Buck gravitates toward my wife while Jack heads in my direction.

For some reason, they broke with tradition Monday morning and I walked Buck. I couldn't believe the difference. Walking Buck was like riding in a Cadillac. I'm not sure whether that's a function of age or temperament. For my shoulder's sake, I'm hoping its the former.

 


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This Day Definitely Goes to the Squirrel
November 13, 2003

When it happened, I had a good laugh.

It never dawned on me that the moment would stick with me for weeks. It was all so unexpected.

My wife and I were walking Jack and Buck, our golden retrievers, one bright morning a couple of weeks ago. It had been an enjoyable morning. The air was brisk and refreshing, the conversation lively ― and the dogs had been on their best behavior.

We were only a couple hundred yards from our front door when my wife began to speak. I have no idea what she was planning to say. Only the first syllable came out of her mouth when I heard, "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

Things began happening rapidly at this point.

Apparently, I had been looking away. By the time I turned my head toward the sound, I saw Buck dragging my wife toward a power pole. Before I could determine the cause of the emergency, Jack broke into a dead run toward the pole.

Somewhere in that isolated millisecond, a mental disconnect occurred.

In this state of suspended animation, I didn't process a bit of information that should have been readily apparent. Specifically, when Jack hit the end of the leash, I was going to get quite a jolt.

Incredibly, the sudden jolt to my left shoulder came as quite a surprise. I felt like a cartoon figure, rushing in one direction while the blurred image of my face still occupied the area just vacated.

Had I been better prepared, I may have been able to set my feet and ski across the loose gravel. Instead, Jack's momentum sent me lunging awkwardly down the street.

Fortunately, it was a short sprint. The dogs went no further than the utility pole.

As soon as the world came back into focus, I discovered the source of the dogs' ire. A tiny gray squirrel sprinted upwards at a 90-degree angle to escape harassment at the paws of two golden retrievers.

I'm not sure I've ever seen a squirrel move with such urgency. The little rodent had a panicked look about him. You could almost smell fear in the air.

The dogs continued barking and clawing at the pole after the squirrel was well out of harm's way.

Although well out of reach, the squirrel twitched nervously. Despite our best efforts to subdue the dogs, the squirrel was obviously weighing his options.

Suddenly, the squirrel froze. It might have been an instant of recognition. His brief nut-hoarding, bird feeder-robbing life might have flashed before him. It doesn't matter, he decided to act.

As I was watching, the squirrel leapt from the pole. For an instant, I thought it might be a flying squirrel. Unfortunately for the little critter, he looked more like a junior high science project detailing the effects of gravity.

The squirrel hit the street just 15 feet from me ― absorbing an asphalt belly flop from a height of 20 feet. I swear I even saw his chin bounce off the pavement.

He laid there stunned for an instant. I swear the squirrel looked at me, shook his head to clear the cobwebs, then bolted into the safety of a nearby bush.

In the meantime, the dogs stared blankly at the top of the pole. I stood there with my mouth agape, wondering if I could believe my eyes.

Immediately, I heard the Rocky and Bullwinkle narrator proclaiming, "Tune in next week for our next episode, Silence is Golden, or Never Fly Without a Chute."

 


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There's Nothing Like the Relationship Between a Man and his Dog
December 4, 2003

For some reason Buck, our 4-year-old golden retriever, lingered in the yard following our morning walk Monday.

Jack, probably anxious for a drink of water, bolted into the house immediately when my wife opened the door. Buck, seeing me walk toward my pickup, trotted toward me and stood at the door.

"You gonna take him with you?" my wife asked.

Buck used to be a fixture in my pickup. Anytime there was an errand to be run, Buck would accompany me.

He's great company.

Buck doesn't ask to stop at Dairy Queen. He doesn't care what kind of music is on the radio. He's never on my case for driving too fast.

Normally, Buck just sits in the front seat, taking in the scenery. He normally never moves, unless a squirrel bolts across the roadway or we pass someone walking their dog.

However, our truck rides together ended a little over a year ago when Jack joined our family.

Jack, being a typical golden, is insanely jealous of Buck. If Buck gets a ride in the pickup, Jack feels slighted. He'd cry and pout for hours if he saw Buck hop in the pickup.

Initially, I figured I'd let them both ride with me.

It didn't take long to figure out that was a bad idea. Unfortunately, the solution was to make both dogs stay home.

That changed Monday when Buck and I found ourselves alone in the yard.

He immediately hopped in the passenger's seat when I opened the door. Buck cast a glance at me as we backed out of the driveway as if to say, "Man, it's been too long."

I reached over to scratch his ears. Buck responded by placing his paw on my forearm. There was something undeniably comfortable about having him in the truck with me.

Then, I noticed something else ― people are friendlier when you have a dog.

It's really painfully obvious.

People walking down the street break into the smile at the sight of an 85-pound dog riding in a pickup. Drivers you meet are more apt to wave, or at least point at your passenger.

And, there's no doubt a dog is a conversation starter.

When I stopped at a convenience store for my early morning caffeine fix Monday, Buck sat in the front seat, watching people walk in and out. People, who otherwise might or might not acknowledge your presence, stop to comment or ask about the dog.

People find it particularly irresistible if Buck slides into the drivers seat and sits behind the wheel. Actually, he's probably big enough to drive.

Then, on the way home, I realized I don't drive as fast when Buck is in the vehicle with me. His presence is just comforting.

Besides, he usually does something to make me laugh. Monday was no exception.

We got about a block from home, when he noticed a man walking a black lab down the street. Buck turned and watched the man and his dog as we drove by.

Then, I laughed out loud, as recognition flashed across Buck's face as we turned onto our street. It was obvious he knew we were home.

When I opened the door, he trotted down the sidewalk and waited for me at the front door.

There's no doubt ― life's simple pleasures are the best.

 


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Everytime and Everywhere, It's Always about the Dogs
July 8, 2004

Enough already! I know my dogs, a nearly matched pair of golden retrievers (Jack and Buck) are gorgeous. How could I help but know it ― I hear it every morning.

We obtained Buck about five years ago from good friend Cyril Bowlin.

Buck was a surprise addition to the Winkeler household. Just a few weeks prior to Buck entering our lives, I threatened to move out if another critter moved in.

That was before I saw Buck and seven of his siblings rolling around Bowlin's living room floor prior to an early morning fishing excursion.

I couldn't get the sight of that little furball out of my mind. After three days, I broke down, faced reality and accepted the fact that I wanted another dog.

At the risk of revealing too much of my damaged psyche, I have to confess that bringing Buck home required some rationalization. His purpose would be two-fold.

First, my wife and I were facing the prospect of semi-empty nest syndrome. Our oldest daughter, Jennifer, was about to move out of the house to matriculate at Ohio State.

We felt something was needed to fill the void.

Secondly, we were trying, unsuccessfully at the time, to adhere to an exercise regimen. We assumed, correctly, that having a big dog sharing our home would require daily walks.

Three years later, Buck's mother, Max, had another litter. I made the mistake of allowing my wife and youngest daughter to see the puppies.

My wife convinced me that since our youngest, Erin, would soon be leaving for college, we needed another dog to fill the void. I held out bravely for about 30 minutes before relenting.

We now live with nearly 190 pounds of golden retriever bounding around the house.

Yes, we are still adhering to that exercise regimen. We walk both dogs daily.

However, judging from my expanding waist line, we may need another half-dozen dogs.

Each morning we walk the beginning stages of the Tunnel Hill State Trail. The dogs could probably navigate the trail by themselves. They're familiar with every tree, blade of grass and they recognize most of the regular walkers.

During the course of our morning walk, we'll meet several other walkers or bikers. Invariably, the people we meet will nod politely at us, and stare at the dogs for a few seconds.

"Pretty dogs," they'll say.

At first, I was flattered.

"Yeah, they are sharp," I thought.

Now, I'm getting jealous.

You'd think sometime, somebody would say, "Hey, you're looking good," or even, "Nice to see you again."

No! It's ALWAYS about the dogs.

It's not just me either ― my wife has noticed it too.

I'm getting an inferiority complex here. And, apparently, I have plenty to feel inferior about.

If I were a vindictive person, I'd just refuse to walk the dogs. I'd let them lounge around the house and become overweight.

But, I just can't do that.

They have us too-well trained.

 


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This Dog just Wanted to have his Day — Quietly
January 21, 2005

There are some moments you just have to savor.

As usual, I was running late for work one day earlier this week. I had been goofing off on the computer and time slipped away from me.

After rushing through the shower and trying to find keys, pens and notebooks, I noticed something was amiss in the living room. Although I was home alone, someone appeared to be sleeping on my couch. Closer inspection revealed Buck, my 5-year-old golden retriever, taking a nap on the couch.

Although the furniture is technically off limits ― the dogs wait until we leave or go to bed before grabbing the couch ― this was different. Normally, when we find the dogs perched on the couch, they'll be sporting a guilty look with their chin on their paws. Not this time. Buck apparently believed I was gone for the day. He was sacked out.

I'm not sure I'd ever seen a dog assume this position. There were pillows piled against the arm of the couch. Buck was lying on his back, his head resting on the pillows. Both front and back paws were stretched out. I'm not sure I've ever seen a dog look so comfortable. In fact, I'm not sure I've ever been that comfortable.

There was a part of me that said ignore the dog and let him nap. On the other hand, the responsible parent in me said, "Maintain control of the situation."

Now, the question was, how do I react. I knew a loud scream would send Buck sprawling. However, considering the position he had assumed, I was afraid he'd hurt his back. Instead, I opted for a "HEY" in reasonable tone and volume.

Buck's reaction was funnier than anything I could imagine. He snapped his head up, looking at me through his outstretched front paws. Buck has the most expressive face and eyes of any dog I've ever seen. I had never seen precisely this look before, but it was apparent
what was going through his mind ― "Busted."

Although I was home by myself with no one to share the moment, I laughed out loud. Buck sheepishly crawled off the couch and curled up on the floor. The darting looks he tossed my way told me he wasn't happy about being rousted, or by the fact I found the situation so humorous. He looked so pathetic, I was actually feeling guilty.

I was about to walk out the door when I realized the dryer was running. Upon checking the laundry, I discovered the dogs' blanket inside the dryer. (Buck had spilled orange juice, my daughter's, not his, on the blanket the night before.)

Grabbing the nice warm blanket, I walked back in the living room, finding Buck in the same spot. He shot me a few sullen glances as I walked toward him with the blanket. The look turned to suspicion as I placed the blanket over him.

His eyes closed slowly as the heat transferred to his body. I swear I heard a sigh of contentment. And, the sullen look turned into, "You aren't as bad as I thought."

You know, that simple moment made my day. You know, it didn't even bother me I got to work a few minutes late.


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I Need to Get Out in a Boat or on the Golf Course
March 11, 2005

Streams of unconsciousness from the world of the outdoors: * I'm getting antsy.

People are telling me about the crappie they're catching. In the meantime, basketball is still occupying my time. I need to get out in a
boat, and I need to do it quickly. On the other hand, hitting the golf course sounds like a good idea as well.

* There ought to be an admission charge for driving Illinois 13 from the Williamson County line to Harrisburg. The opportunity for viewing
wildlife in that eight-mile stretch is at least as good as some of the wildlife refuges I've visited.

One night last week, just before dusk, there were groups of deer standing in virtually every field. Conservatively, I counted over 100
deer. Of course, the same route isn't as attractive after dark when the deer suddenly appear in your headlights.

Wildlife viewing isn't limited to deer. It's not unusual to see large flocks of turkey early in the morning. Coyotes are a common sight as are Canada geese, various species of ducks and, of course, coots. Finally, there probably isn't a better stretch of road in Southern Illinois to see red-tailed hawks.

* Got an interesting e-mail from a reader this week regarding Southern Illinois' litter problem.
Before you toss that bottle or can out of the window, consider it takes 2-5 months for paper to decompose. It takes five years for milk cartons, 10-12 years for filter tip cigarettes. Plastic bags tossed out the window will still be defiling the environment 10-20 years later. And, those disposable diapers that frequently foul department store parking lots ― they take 75 years to decompose. Those plastic soda bottles, they'll last 50-80 years. The venerable tin hangs around for 100 years, while the ever-popular aluminum can had a life of 200-500 years. Styrofoam? Like a roach, this substance seems to be indestructible. Bottom line ― don't toss your trash along the roadways.

* If you don't have golden retrievers, you probably don't notice.

However, virtually any time you see a dog on a television commercial or in a print ad, it's a golden.

We're thinking of sending Jack and Buck to modeling school. Who knows? They may soon be earning their keep.

* It's a coincidence, but it is one of those things "That make you go, hmmmm."

In the past three months, I've written a number of columns ripping the Illinois Department of Natural Resources, and this is the first year I didn't get the turkey permit I ordered. You don't think? Nah, it is just coincidence.

Is there a more enjoyable outdoors pursuit than spending a morning in the turkey woods? And, if you actually see a turkey ...

* My favorite time of year is just a few weeks away.
I absolutely love it trees are clothed in the soft green color of emergent leaves. If you're looking for some place to enjoy the splendor of Southern Illinois in the spring, take the short hike to the Heron Pond boardwalk. It's fantastic any time of the year, but it's truly one of my favorite spots in the spring. There's nothing prettier than watching the bright yellow prothonatory warblers flitting from cypress tree to cypress tree.
 


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I've Watched my Daughter's Pup Mature over the Past Few Months
March 10, 2006

With our home in a perpetual state of remodeling, things turn up in the strangest places. Inexplicably, I unearthed a couple Christmas photos when I grabbed a Newsweek from the counter last week. One of the photos showed my daughter’s golden retriever puppy, Joe, sprawled underneath the Christmas tree. Joe was two months old on Christmas day. Amazingly, he still looked like a puppy in those days. He was cute, cuddly and could be carried like a football.

Less than two months later, Joe is still cute and cuddly, but don’t think about carrying him like a football. In fact, if you don’t have a strong back, don’t think about picking him up at all. Quickly, Joe is leaving puppydom behind, running headlong into retrieverhood.

During the past few months, Joe has gone through various phases. For a while, his head was way too large for his skinny body. Then, his chest began filling out, but his legs lagged behind. He looked like a hairy dachshund on stilts. Then, his legs went on a wild grown spurt, turning his confident gait into a gangly, awkward amble. Now, as he approaches five months, his proportions are nearly aligned.

However, one thing has remained constant. This dog has huge paws. The size of his paws brings me pause. How big is this dog going to get? On the other hand, he’ll be going to live with my daughter in a couple months, so why should I worry?

While Joe has gone through cartoonish stages in the past few weeks, his personality is becoming more pronounced every day. Like all goldens, Joe has a stubborn streak. Oh, he’ll sit, lie down or shake on command ― as long as you’re not a stickler about immediacy. As far as he’s concerned, what’s the hurry, he’ll get to it.

Currently, he’s in the oral stage of development. He has yet to see a stick that doesn’t need to be carried, a toy, rug, or sock that doesn’t need to be chewed. And, I’ve recently noted the proud gait he assumes when carrying a stick on our morning walks. Joe holds his head high, carries his tail straight and has a trot similar to a Clydesdale.

Proud grandfather that I am, I think he is a handsome dog.

Finally, golden retriever that he is, Joe has a mischievous side. We have three goldens, temporarily, in our house. The pecking order is well-established. Jack is the alpha dog ― just ask him.

It kills Jack to see any of the other dogs with a toy or stick if he doesn’t have one. Joe is well aware of that fact and spends a good deal of his time taunting his father. Eventually, it catches up to him ― Jack will snatch the stick from his mouth. That doesn’t bother Joe; there are plenty of sticks along the bike path.

Yes, it will be sad to see Joe leave in a couple of months. On the other hand, his departure will restore a sense of equilibrium to Jack and Buck’s lives ― not to mention sanity to mine.
 


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Saying Goodbye to Daughter's Puppy was Difficult, but I'll Get Over It
June 2, 2006

It was as if the entire house breathed a sigh of relief. I was sitting at my computer Tuesday morning when I noticed. I looked around the room. Although nothing appeared to be different, there was a certain air of calm.

My youngest daughter had been home for Memorial Day weekend. I knew she planned on leaving Tuesday, but I couldn't believe she would have left without saying bye. Looking out the front door, I could see she was packing her car.

At that moment, the source of the aura of calmness dawned on me ― Erin was taking her puppy home with her. At least, that was the plan. Looking around frantically, I didn't see the dog. Surely, she wasn't forgetting. Certainly, he wasn't hiding.
"You are taking Joe with you?" I yelled through the front door.

Joe, a seven-month-old golden retriever puppy, was playing in the driveway. At the mention of his name, he stopped what he was doing and perked up his ears.

When she told me that, yes, this was Joe's moving day; I breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. I harbor no hard feelings toward Joe. He's smart. He'll make a great dog some day. On the other hand, this "puppy" is a veritable man-child at a hulking 75 pounds. And, if Joe were the only dog in the house, his typical puppy behavior wouldn't be as disruptive.

However, for the past seven months, Joe has been sharing our home with his father, Jack, and his uncle Buck. Jack and Buck celebrated birthdays this week ― Jack turned four and Buck is eight.

Despite their size, Jack and Buck have gracefully aged into household pets. Their daily routine includes a 30-45 minute walk in the morning, a couple or three trips outside each day to, er, stretch, and keeping us company. When we watch television or read in the evenings, Jack or Buck will amble over to us, lay their heads on our lap and ask for a few seconds of affection. Normally, after scratching behind their ears for a minute or two they'll slump down to the floor and sleep contentedly.

Joe changed all that.
 


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Mischievous Dogs Make for an Action-Packed Weekend
September 29, 2006

Mischievous dogs make for an action-packed weekend. "Dog days" took on an entirely new meaning Saturday. The day got off to a miserable start, I'm guessing somewhere in the neighborhood of 3 a.m.

I was startled from a sound sleep by a strange buzzing noise. Upon opening my eyes, I noticed an eerie flashing light coming through both bedroom windows. Even in this state of semi-consciousness, I recognized the sight and sound of arcing electricity. About the time I hopped out of bed to investigate, the buzzing, flashing and arcing stopped.

Emergency averted ― I crawled back in bed and slept soundly until my golden retrievers awakened me at about 7:30 a.m. Vaguely remembering the events of the previous night, I came to the realization we were still without electricity. I stumbled about in the semi-darkness, feeding the cats and dogs.

In the meantime, I realized the unusual late summer downpour had continued through the night. My front yard appeared to be a promising home for mallards and wood ducks. Figuring the dogs could get into little mischief in these conditions, I opened the front door and let them out into the yard. Things appeared to be working out well, by the time I found shoes and rain gear, the dogs would have concluded their business and would be ready to come back inside.

I was partially right. When I got back to the porch, I found Jack eyeing the front door nervously. Water was rolling off his ears and nose ― he was virtually begging to be toweled off.

Buck, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen. In his nine years in our home, Buck has taken 3 to 4, to quote Crocodile Dundee, walkabouts. The pattern has been consistent, the walkabouts occur in the most miserable weather conditions.

Cursing fate, I hopped into the van. A creature of habit, Buck usually haunts the same places. Sure enough, 20 to 30 minutes later, there he was, bounding happily across an alley. The instant I screamed his name, he dropped his head. He knew he was busted. When I opened the door, he immediately went to the rear of the van and hid his head.

Not a good way to start the day, but the dogs were just getting warmed up.

Another golden retriever owner had called earlier in the week. He was interested in having his female bred with Jack. A conjugal visit had previously been arranged for Saturday afternoon. Apparently, the visit went well for Jack, but Buck's bad day continued.

Upset with the day's events, and obviously overcome by ardor, Buck jumped through a kitchen window. Thankfully, the glass was up, but he took the screen with him.

Not content to let Buck wallow in bad behavior, Jack got in the act later that night. My wife backed a batch of brownies and placed them in the middle of the kitchen counter to cool. Somehow, sometime in the middle of the night, Jack managed to knock the brownies off the counter. He ate the whole thing! Chocolate is not good for dogs. The repercussions were not pretty.

Please, someone, anyone, remind me how adorable goldens are!
 


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Nothing quite Rivals the Joy a Big Dog Brings
January 19, 2007

The equilibrium of our home was disrupted momentarily this weekend when our youngest daughter brought her "puppy" home for a few days. Joe is just over a year old and weighs 84 pounds. Although he has an adult body, Joe is still very much a puppy. He bounds around the house, blissfully aware of the fact that he is rattling dishes in the cabinets and vibrating nails out of the rafters. Yet, given his exuberance, it all seems worthwhile ― even if his bulk can be overwhelming at times.

But, the truly interesting thing is how his presence affects the behavior of his dad, Jack, and, his uncle Buck. (We didn't realize until a couple months after the fact that we did, indeed have an Uncle Buck. But, that's another story.)

Around our house, Jack is the Alpha dog. Jack gets fed first ― not exactly by design ― no one can beat him to the food bowl. He eats fast ― just in case something might be left in Buck's bowl when Jack is finished.

Buck, in the meantime, is laid back. He patiently bides his time, waiting for Jack to choose a bowl. It's really remarkable to see how patient Buck can be. Through the years, Buck has gained an understanding of the system. He understands Jack is a greedy, selfish jerk, but he's fine with it. Buck knows we'll take care of him and he won't go hungry.

Joe on the other hand, doesn't understand the system, nor does he care. He approaches feeding time like a Roger Clemens fastball boring down at home plate. If he smells food, don't ask questions, just stand to the side.

Joe also doesn't understand sleeping arrangements.

Jack pretty much gets his pick of pillows. It made for some interesting posturing.

But, what Joe really doesn't get is that Jack, first and foremost, demands all the attention. If someone dares pet Buck, Jack is jolly on the spot, nudging Buck ― and any furniture that might be around ― aside.

Which led to this interesting scene, my daughter is sitting on the edge of the couch, petting Jack and Buck. Obviously disappointed he wasn't the center of attention, Joe began whining incessantly. That's when I decided to insert myself in the fray. I dropped to my knees and rolled Joe over on the floor, waiting to see what his reaction would be.

Jack thought it was fine ― that left him free to soak up all Erin's attention.

In the meantime, Uncle Buck sprang to the rescue. He jumped on me from behind, grabbing my sweatshirt and pants legs ― nipping body parts in the process. It wasn't the reaction I expected.

In the meantime, it reinforced something I already knew. I love big dogs.
 


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Extra Dog Means Extra Obstacle Around the House
August 30, 2007

One is company. Two is a crowd. And, three are hurdles.

That is the most apt way to describe navigating through the Winkeler house this week. My youngest daughter, Erin, visited for a few days. She brought Joe, her golden retriever, with her.

With two goldens already living under our roof, Joe's presence created a few complications.

Normally an evening at our house ends with my wife and I migrating to the couch and love seat in our living room. Buck usually follows me to whichever piece of furniture I gravitate to. Jack follows my wife.

If my wife leaves the room for some reason, Jack gets nervous, particularly if he sees Buck getting some attention. Jack, being the overbearing personality he is, finds that situation unacceptable.

Depending on how deprived he feels, Jack takes one of two corrective courses.

If he's not having serious self-esteem issues, he'll nudge Buck aside, much like a power forward blocking out for rebounding position. If he's desperate for affection, Jack will put his nose down and ram Buck in the side. The result is similar to a torpedo slamming into the side of a ship.

My reactions are varied, depending on my mood.

If it's been a good day at work (insert your own joke), I'll pet the both of them. If I feel like antagonizing Jack, I'll reach over the top of him and continue petting Buck. If it's been a bad day (read 85 percent of the time), I send them to opposite corners.

However, none of the three options work when Joe is added to the mix.

The torpedo scenario played itself out earlier this week, with Jack blasting Buck aside. The commotion immediately drew Joe's attention. He trotted over to join the fray.

Mistakenly, I ignored Joe while keeping an eye on the other two ― until it was too late.

Joe, being Jack's son and a slave to affection, was having no part of being pushed to the background. He simply crouched down momentarily and leaped over the both of them, landing squarely on the couch ― and me.

Suffice it to say, that antic led to the dogs being sent to neutral corners.

The third dog also adds an element of excitement to my late-night trips to the bathroom.

Once I'm asleep I hate to turn on the lights. However, my dogs and I have developed symmetry over the years. Buck normally sleeps on a rug in our bedroom ― nowhere near the route to the door.

Jack sleeps in the hall next to the bedroom door. When the door opens, Jack springs up and steps aside. I suppose that's learned behavior ― he'd been stepped on a few times.

However, I'm never sure where Joe will be. Since he's tall, lanky and weighs about 80 pounds, locating him quickly is essential.

Doing the late-night hurdles is one thing, taking a late-night spill is another.
 


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Watching the world pass by in the Veterinarian's Office
January 10, 2008

If there is anything more fun than people watching, it's watching people and their pets.

I got ample opportunity to do both Saturday morning when I accompanied Jack, my 6-year-old golden retriever, to the veterinarian's office.

Technically Jack is old enough, in dog years, to go alone. However, he has some anxiety issues, so I decided to wait with him and hold his paw.

All joking aside, it really was an interesting way to pass the time.

Jack and I walked into an already crowded waiting room. As we strolled through the door, I could feel all eyes, human and canine, were upon us. As I was soon to learn, the dynamic in the room changed every time another critter entered.

There were probably a half-dozen dogs in the room when we walked in. They all reacted to Jack's presence differently.

The smaller, more nervous types growled or barked. Others watched intently as Jack settled in at my feet. The rest played little heed, other than lifting their heads and acknowledging an additional presence.

That scene repeated itself a few minutes later when the next newcomer entered the room. This time I was more aware of the dynamic because Jack, being the gregarious sort he is, wanted to take on the role of greeter.

Each time a new critter entered the room, it would take a minute or so for a sense of calm to return.

And, remarkably the room generally remained incredibly calm given the mix of dogs. In addition to Jack there were cocker spaniels, a bulldog, a black lab, a collie puppy, and terriers of various shapes as well as assorted mutts.

About 30 minutes into the wait I began wondering what would happen if a cat entered the room.

Just a few minutes later, a friend walked in carrying a kitten. Fortunately, for all concerned, the dogs played little heed to the cat.

After sitting in the waiting room for an hour the nature of each visit became crystal clear. The lady sitting in the corner laughing as the black lab puppy licked happily at her face ― she was there for a routine visit.

The elderly couple that walked in wearing worried faces and carrying a shivering terrier wrapped in a towel ― without question, this was an emergency visit. That became increasingly clear as they took a seat and spoke softly to the dog.

In the course of conversation we, the community of pet owners waiting to see the doctor, learned the dog had been struck by a car.

Since privacy issues aren't a real concern in the animal world, we learned the story would have a happy ending. No one said anything, but you could feel a sense of relief in the room.

Finally, there is nothing like a dog or a cat to break down walls between people.

Although we all walked into that room as strangers, or at best casual acquaintances, the conversation throughout the morning was lively.

By the way ― Jack is feeling much better now.


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Golden Retrievers Help me Get Exercise, Time to Think
July 31, 2009

One of the excuses I offered up for getting a golden retriever puppy more than 13 years ago was that the dog would need exercise.

During the intervening years, my wife and I have made time to walk our dog/dogs nearly every day. Unlike the postman, we do sometimes take breaks for rain, sleet or snow, but we have been fairly religious in our regimen.

Not only does the dog walking provide much needed exercise, but it allows us time to just walk and talk. Since my wife is on vacation this week, I've been walking the dogs solo. The experience is not nearly as pleasant.

When we got Buck, the older of our two golden retrievers, we did some serious training. Buck sits, lays down, stays and heels. However, I decided that our walks would be the one opportunity he had each day to be a dog.

He, and Jack, are expected to heel when cars or trucks pass by, or when we meet other walkers or bicyclists on the Harrisburg portion of the Tunnel Hill State Trail.

That philosophy leads to serious complications when you have two dogs on telescoping leashes. One has to do some serious contortions to keep the leashes from tangling. It takes dexterity, good reflexes, quick thinking and sometimes dance moves that would make Fred Astaire proud.

It's also important to understand the psychological make-up of the two dogs.

Jack considers himself the Alpha dog. He's really an incorrigible sissy, afraid of his own shadow and frightened by unfamiliar noises, but he's firmly in denial.

When walking the two dogs, Jack insists on being in the lead. He has a confident gait. He trots along the path surveying the countryside, pretending he is the master of his domain.

If Buck moves ahead of him, Jack bolts back to the front.

In the meantime, Buck plods along steadily. He sniffs here. He sniffs there. Buck was blessed with a curiosity that Jack solely lacks.

Despite his shortcomings, Jack understands the quality of Buck's sniffer. If Jack notices Buck taking a second whiff of what is most assuredly a disgusting smell, he'll backtrack rapidly to check it out.

And, since my wife wasn't there Monday to occupy my itinerant mind, I had ample opportunity to think.

I allowed my mind to wonder who would portray my dogs in a movie.

Jack, I decided, is a Vince Vaughn character. Although Jack really means no harm, he is a perpetual adolescent in dire need of Ritalin.

Buck, on the other hand, is more studied, more serious. He is meticulous in sniffing every blade of grass. Buck moves in his own time,

Initially, I pictured Anthony Hopkins portraying Buck. However, I couldn't get past Hannibal Lecter. Finally, I settled on Tom Hanks, the Da Vinci Code, not the Bosom Buddies, model.

Before I delved too far into this line of thinking, I had a revelation ― I shouldn't spend too much time alone.

 


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It’s Hard to Stay Angry at an Old Friend
December 18, 2009

My golden retriever, Buck, has been a faithful friend and companion for nearly 14 years.

Buck and I have shared many long rides in my pickup truck. He lays his head on my lap each night when I watch television and I go to sleep to the sound of his snoring every night.

However, like all friends, we sometimes have get angry with each other. Last week, I managed to stay mad at the old guy for about three days.

Each morning when I get up, Buck and Jack prance in circles on the kitchen tile until I let them outside to do their business. Normally, I keep a close eye on them to make sure they stay in the yard.

On this particular morning, I decided to slip inside the house and fill their food bowls. When I returned to the front door, Jack was sitting there waiting and Buck was gone.

I walked up and down the block, calling and clapping in vain. He was nowhere to be found.

Angry and betrayed, I returned to the house, fed Jack and headed out to a convenience store to pick up a few staples. I took a circuitous route home and found Buck trotting down the street a few blocks from home.

I lowered the window and called his name.

He didn't even bother to look at me. He dropped his head and trooped over to the car and hopped in the front seat. Normally, Buck places his left paw on my right arm as I drive. He didn't try it this time. He knew I wasn't in the mood.

There were times during the day Buck tried to work his way into my good graces. I was having none of it.

I softened later that night when my wife and I were watching one of those syrupy Christmas movies on Hallmark. The family at the center of the movie experienced all sorts of physical and emotional problems. Then, of course, the director had to kill off the family dog.

That was just totally unnecessary. This was already a four-Kleenex movie. Killing off the dog was just maudlin.

Granted, the movie softened me up a bit, but Buck was still on my bad list a couple of nights later when my wife and I went to see "Old Dogs."

It's a relatively forgettable movie starring Robin Williams and John Travolta. Travolta plays a shallow character with few redeeming qualities other than he is totally devoted to his dog.

Given the tone of this column, it should come as no surprise that Travolta's dog also meets its demise. As unlikeable as Travolta's character was, it was impossible not to be sympathetic watching him mourn the loss of long-time companion.

That did it. I couldn't hold a grudge any longer. Buck was back in my good graces.

Then, earlier this week, a friend called to tell me his dog had died earlier this week. It was a difficult conversation.

It's funny how you empathize with someone when they lose a dog. It's also quite clear why it's so hard to stay angry at them.

 


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A Final Moment of Glory for Former Star Athlete
July 23, 2010

There was a time when my oldest golden retriever, Buck, was an incredible athlete.

When he was young and strong, you couldn't throw a Frisbee that Buck couldn't catch. His ability to run down a long throw reminded me of Jim Edmonds.

That all changed when his sibling, Jack, came of age.

Jack isn't as graceful as Buck. However, he is more driven. In reality, driven really isn't fair. When it comes to retrieving, Jack is obsessive-compulsive.

If something goes up in the air, it belongs to Jack. He doesn't care what, or who, he has to knock down to get it.

For a few years, Buck would try to assert his right to retrieve the Frisbee or an occasional tennis ball. Eventually, however, he decided it just wasn't worth it. Like most of us, Buck got smarter with age. He would sit contentedly in the shade while Jack would run himself ragged.

However, Buck made a brief return from retirement last week.

It all started when my niece, Lauren, was out throwing tennis balls for Jack. It might be the ravages of age, but Buck apparently had a flashback. For several minutes he displayed a burning desire to get back in the game.

Unfortunately, Jack being Jack (read a jerk), wouldn't let Buck anywhere near the ball.

Unable to bear Buck's disappointment, Lauren took Jack into the house so that Buck could retrieve with impunity.

Buck's excitement was palpable. I hadn't seen that much bounce in his step for at least five years. He looked like a puppy again.

When Lauren threw the ball across the yard, Buck bolted away like a thoroughbred out of the starting gates. Frankly, I was shocked by both the intensity and speed the old boy displayed.

Buck zipped to the ball and snatched it out of the air on the first bounce. He was back!

Not!

After catching the ball, Buck turned on a dime and headed back toward us. That is when reality hit.

It was a sad moment.

Buck shot us that, "What did I just do to myself" look.

His shoulders sagged. His gait slowed to an awkward limp. He was breathing heavily.

The poor old guy dropped the ball and plodded heavily toward the front door. Once there, Buck looked back plaintively as if to say, "I really need to get back to the air conditioning."

In the meantime, Jack was clawing at the door wildly, upset that someone else retrieved a ball on his yard.

Once the door opened, Buck headed to his favorite spot near the kitchen counter. He sprawled on the floor and sighed heavily.

I know just how he felt.
 


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