Here’s the deal: Veterinarian Greg Martinez has to call him
”
Rambo.
”
That’s because Leighan Perales stole my dog, a chipper little
smarty who came within a whisper
– or actually a wink and a nod from my wife Jenny – of becoming
the third hound co-habitating at the Derry household.
Here’s the deal: Veterinarian Greg Martinez has to call him “Rambo.” That’s because Leighan Perales stole my dog, a chipper little smarty who came within a whisper – or actually a wink and a nod from my wife Jenny – of becoming the third hound co-habitating at the Derry household.
I would have been a pack leader – like Cesar Milan – you know, the dog whisperer guru. But Greg Martinez, hunting for a friendly family dog to join the Perales household, intervened. He asked the pet shop owner, to hold “Rambo” a white fluffy half-breed for a day until Leighan could have a look. “Rambo” stole her heart easily, of course, and at the Gilroy Foundation Christmas party, I somehow discovered where my little buddy, who fetched the ball perfectly in the aisle at the pet store, ended up.
And, actually, I’m really happy about it – especially after Leighan sent me the picture of “Rambo” aka “Murph” with her smiling son, John Jr. Looking at it, I got that warm feeling inside, the one that tells you something intangible is right with the world.
A child needs a dog.
That’s a notion I get. It’s important to understand that there really is unconditional love in the world, the kind you receive from “Scruffy” or “Ruffy” or “Molly” – the kind that’s always happy to see you even if you just pulled your sister’s hair, messed up a test or cracked the car window with an errant fastball.
Think about all the thousands of animal species on this good Earth … there’s only one that has so befriended man. When you’re down and feeling blue, a dog listens. When you’re raring to go out into the world – whether it’s a short ride in the truck, a walk down the driveway or a hike into the hills – they are absolutely thrilled to go along.
“Rover” – or in my case “Roxy” and “Rocco-boy” – would be jumping for joy if they could spend 24/7 with me. How many humans could I say that about?
Some of my most vivid and treasured memories involve my loyal companions. I remember going to the animal shelter with my Mom. The yelps, the barks, the smells, the clattering of paws on metal gates. It would have broken my heart, but I had a task at hand: to pick the fella’ that would be at my side through thick and thin.
Wandering back and forth down the aisle of cages, I looked into their eyes, watched their tails and thought with my heart searching for the connection. And there he was. His scruffiness reminded me of a dog named “Ribsy” in a book I had read with the same title.
My childhood dog would be a curly-haired mutt with so much hair over his eyes I often wondered how in the world he could possibly see a thing. He was black, not jet black, but gray black with a white splotch on his chest. Not too big, not too small, and I named him “Maverick” after a cowboy TV show. For short, I called him “Mav” because dogs have to have a full name. And, as your best buddy, they have to have a nickname, too. But the nickname has to be close to the full name so they know when you’re talking to them.
“Mav” and I had a great life, not perfect, of course, but pretty darn great. He knew I loved to play basketball and fetch, hated to rake the leaves that seemed to never stop tumbling from the oak trees and wished he would stop his nose-to-rubber tire chasing game with cars as they motored past our home on Maple Street. I worried he would break my heart and get run over, but “Mav” had an extra-shifty “tire” gear that he used to fulfill a long and successful career as a guardian. Not a single tire – or car – ever rolled into our front yard.
“Mav” and I did it all together – made forts, crawled through the brush, shed tears (I couldn’t see his only because of the hair in his eyes), and cleaned the garage. He even helped me out at the dinner table. My sister, Tamra, and I were required to eat at least 98.75 percent of what was put on our plate. But there was a window in the little dining nook. Tamra and I would give each other the look and dawdle over our plates when the vegetables looked awful or Mom’s home cooking didn’t pass muster. When the folks got up and went into the kitchen, I would scrape, fly to the window, open it, and there was “Mav” five feet below ready to lend a hand, er, a mouth. To this day, I’m not sure if our parents ever caught on. Mom wouldn’t have minded too much, though.
She called me in tears, the day she had to put “Mav” down. He was 17, and I was away in San Luis Obispo at college. It was a good day to remember that love is immortal.
That’s how I hope John Jr. feels someday about “Rambo” after hours of playing ball, sharing secrets and rolling in the grass.
Not too long after “Mav” went to doggie heaven, I went to the pound again. This time in San Luis Obispo to get a Christmas gift for my youngest brother, Matt. He was the last sibling standing at home, alone with just the folks.
Black-and-white “Bosco” – part Whippet they told me – matched the bicycle and sporty jacket Matt got for Christmas, and my Dad could only feign a bit of anger.
“Bosco” became Matt’s best buddy, and a true grand champion tennis ball retriever. I’ve never seen a dog leap into a 7-foot tall juniper bush grove, forage through the darkness and come out with the ball like “Bosco” could.
As Christmas nears each year, I am happy to stroll down memory lane and think about “Mav,” “Bosco,” and my college buddy and first golden retriever, “Harvest.” “Harv” could romp full bore for an hour chasing birds at Avila Beach while I walked along the shore.
All these memories flood my soul with warmth and I understand that it’s not just that every boy needs a dog … because, honestly, everyone could used a little more love, right? Dogs are happy to give us just that and more.
Editor Mark Derry has two dogs and a cat. Besides adopting a dog for Christmas, he recommends the book, “The Art of Racing in the Rain,” the Hallmark movie “A Dog Named Christmas”, available at the card stores and a morning winter walk with your canine companion.
