“I’ve always liked those short-legged dogs,” a neighbor said years ago while I was walking Rascal, our vertically-challenged mutt. “What kind of dog is he?”
I explained that Rascal was a combination of either corgi/German shepherd or black lab/basset hound, depending on the veterinarian consulted. The neighbor and I chuckled at the unusual mixture of breeds, commenting that numerous other genes must have collided to create a dog like Rascal with his stubby legs, luxurious black fur, and thick, long torso.
But what I really should have said was, “He’s a bread-obsessed dog. Is there a breed for that?”
And so begins my essay about an incorrigible little dog who entertained me with his antics and offered me solace during one of the darkest periods of my life. His story will appear in the forthcoming anthology, The Dog Who Wooed at the World, from Every Animal Project.
The book will be available on Amazon May 30th with a launch party taking place via Facebook and Zoom. So please join me in celebrating all animal companions, whether they walk, fly, slither, or crawl, and the awe and joy that they bring into our lives.
As I ended my essay about Rascal, I thought about what he had really meant to me, that he was so much more than an eccentric dog who had somehow stumbled into my life. This is what I wrote:
He witnessed some of my life’s greatest sorrows, unknowingly consoling me and imparting crucial lessons. “Slow down and smell the bread,” he would have said if he could have spoken. “There’s always time for a bagel.” And he was right.
I often think about my neighbor’s question years ago, “What kind of dog is he?”
“He’s simply the best kind of dog,” I should have said. “And there’ll never be another like him.”
Erin Fanning 