I have never been a dog lover. I do not hate dogs, either. That is primarily because I loved my dog as a young boy. Gave me security and hope. The dog would protect me. When I was about 11, he died; it was the first time I felt the pain of losing something close. For the rest of my youth, I never wanted a dog as I knew they most likely would die before I would, and I did not like that feeling again.
My father did have dogs. Dogs he loved dearly, and when one passed, he replaced the pet immediately. One day, I let my father's dogs out of the house to relieve themselves, and one ran away. I could not find them and had to return to class (I was a Sophomore at North Dakota State University). When my father got home and saw the note, I assumed he was mad as he had left a message on the answering machine that I was no longer supposed to return to the house. He did find the dog later that night, but we never spoke. He was angry! I then realized he loved his dogs more than his children or wife. I thought that in the past, but this solidified that fact. That was painful as well. So I had known the love for a dog and the pain that the love for a dog replaced the love for my father's children.
Later that week, my sister told my father she was engaged to an African American. He basically told her to leave and never come back. Relationship very torn. I told my mother I was going to give her away at the wedding, and my father told her I was not his son anymore and never to talk to me again. That is another story – we spoke about 5 years later.
Back to dogs. I always took care of dogs. Unlike the cats on the farm, I always felt dogs were unfortunate animals that were not typically self-sufficient. So, my heart and soul always went into parenting mode with dogs. There is a need to care for those in need and show kindness. But never getting attached. That was the same for my girlfriend of nearly 20 years. When we met, we had the older dog Annie (Golden Retriever), which included Jackson (Golden Retriever) for some time. Jackson was young when I met him. I grew attached, but not close enough to feel pain.
So, my attachment to a pet was still classified as neutral in my mind. Recently, my heart knows that has changed.
Within months of Jackson's passing ( Fall of 2014), Shelley added Porter to the mix (April 2015). Porter was a male golden retriever. She thought Porter would be her last dog as she anticipated he would be about 67 years old when he passed (assuming he was 12-13). Porter was a good pup who was really drawn to me.
Porter grew on me. He knew my scent, and when I was a block away riding my bike home, he would jump up in excitement to greet me. I would take him on rides with my bicycle, and he obeyed stop, start, go left, go right as we cruised the neighborhood at 10 miles per hour or more.
Most nights, he preferred to sleep as close to me. When I was not feeling well, he stayed near me. When I left to visit my son, Shelley would send pictures, and it was clear he was depressed. When I returned, it was always with fanfare beyond anything I had seen. Porter was, indeed, a GREAT friend and a comfort to me!
