We cannot know all of the adventures of Ted the Wonder Dog. His early years are shrouded in mystery, and all the good people at Wayside Waifs could tell us was he was found in an abandoned apartment. We don't even know how old he is . . . he was probably 2-3 years old when we adopted him in 1999. We do know that as a result of his early days the sound of gunfire, fireworks and smoke alarms cause him to shake uncontrollably, so we give him Valium the week of the 4th of July.
We went to the shelter on a Saturday morning, and the kennels were filled with families and young kids running from dog to dog. The dogs were excited by the hyper-activity and the noise, barking, wagging and peeing . . . but not Ted.
Ted (Ricky was his convict name) was lying calmly and collectedly with forepaws crossed gracefully, looking very much like David Niven in evening clothes, smiling and watching as we approached his cage.
When we took him home, Lucy and Davey, the cats, were mildly irritated. Why, they asked repeatedly, would we want to bring a big smelly dog into the house? But Ted was ever the diplomat, deferring to their seniority, and for the most part the cats came to accept him; he suffered only a few nose whacks in the process.
We initiated a regimen of two walks a day for Ted, one in the morning, one after work. He pretty much has had two walks a day ever since, rain or shine, snow or ice, hot or cold. And on these walks he has two prime directives: To make sure he puts his signature scent on any likely part of the landscape, and to find and make friends with any cats we encounter . . . with varying results.
When Davey and Lucy died Ted missed them terribly, but he was totally excited when we brought home Peaches (slender graceful orange tabby) and Loretta (a zaftig gray tabby) from the shelter, and while Loretta has remained somewhat standoffish . . . Peaches and Ted developed their own dance show, with Ted prancing about the living room and Peaches assaulting him from above, below and behind, while he mouthed her head, growling and wagging his tail in full circles, like an airplane propeller. We told ourselves over and over we should video the show . . . but of course never did.
Ted's other great joy was to preside over his domain. His backyard is surrounded by a 6' fence, covered with ivy, trumpet vines, morning glories and honeysuckle, with perennial beds and hostas so big he could lie under their shading leaves. And if he occasionally peed on the basil or oregano . . . well, the rain probably washed them off anyway.
Ted liked nothing more than to preside over the daily activities of the yard: birds at the birdbath, bees buzzing, squirrels running the top of the fence, butterflies flitting from flower to flower. When it got too hot for even Ted to endure, he dug a shallow bed against the stone walls and foundation on the perpetually shaded north side of the house, and the cool stone would relieve the heat.
Any time we ventured into the backyard, to garden, mow, sit in the sun with a cold beer or read . . . Ted would be right there acting as host and master of ceremonies
Indeed, there was only one thing Ted did not welcome . . . the Mailman. Each day when the mailman came up on the front porch and TOUCHED the house, Ted ran from side to side of the yard, strenuously protesting the mailman's presence with intimidating barks. About a month ago, I was home for lunch, sitting out in the backyard, when the mailman came. Ted ran frantically from side to side of the yard, and then staggered, and sat down hard. Our vet diagnosed a heart attack and congestive heart failure. Over the past month, Ted's vigorous mile walks became a slow circuit of the yard. The ACE inhibitors and diuretic slowed the decline, but every night climbing the stairs to come to bed was like summitting Everest.
So today we are taking Ted to the vet and setting him free. I only hope I can be as good a human as he was a dog.
Hail and Farewell, most excellent friend
Special thanks to Dr. Dean Maxwell, Bonnie and the folks at Union Hill Animal Hospital.