Ray Swanson and his dog, “Clyde.”
By Ray Swanson
Guest Writer
“Don’t get too attached to him. He’s just a dog.” Just a dog. Those words rang through me like a bullet in a crowded room. Why did this bother me so much? I mean, one is entitled to their opinion, but why was this so important to me? He’s a good dog, there’s no doubt. I raised him since he was just a pup of 8 weeks old. At that time, I loaded him up in my lap as we drove away from the only place he ever knew. Not once did he cry, not once did he resist. He looked up at me, as if he knew he was already home.
He had to be smart though to live with me, because I can’t have a dog chewing the furniture, making a mess or disturbing the balance. He learned quick and he learned fast, so well that I was proud to take him into anyone else’s home in great confidence that he would treat it with respect. That’s what he had – respect. Something else I taught him above all else is that I am someone safe to come to. Whether he was in trouble for something he did or in danger, he should come to me. For that, I never spanked him if he came when called. He would be scolded, but never spanked. This helped him to develop trust in me, because he needed to know where something safe was. He found that at my home and he found that with me.
He’s so curious, too. I feel like a parent wanting to show their kid the world and experience what this life has to offer. But once that thought left my mouth, I was told “Don’t get too attached. He’s just a dog.” Just a dog. Throughout his life, he’s learned what a home is and how to respect it. He’s learned that people are worth meeting, at least once. He’s learned about fishing and camping and coexisting with other animals on the farm. He rides on the motorcycle and in a kayak. What do you mean he’s just a dog? He gets up everyday at the foot of my bed, asking for permission to spend one more hour of rest on the bed with me. He waits patiently by the door for when I am ready to leave. He’s always ready to go for a ride, no matter the destination, because no matter what it is, he’s with me and that’s enough for him.
Just a dog. He’s more than that. He’s a best friend. He’s a reason for living. If I were to drop him off at someone else’s house to stay and I never return, he would never know why. He would never understand why I was not coming back. Even if it was for the best, I could never explain to my best friend why I would never see him again. Would he look for me every day? How long would it take for me to fade from his memory? Would I ever fade at all? How long would he wait for me to return one day? He’s just a dog, but he really cares about me and I can’t help him reconcile with the fact that I am not coming back. You can tell another person you will not be back again and why and even if they did not like what you have to say, they could find some closure. But what closure can I bring my dog? God, what if I died? What if the home and the person he had come to know as his safe places to turn to were no longer in his life? I am sure he would be tough and adapt to life’s changes, but it kills me to think that he would never know why. Why I left, why his world has changed, why we wouldn’t be together anymore. Would he think it was something he did? Would he think it was his fault? Lord, if I had only one request be granted in this life is that I live longer than my dog, because I will understand when he leaves me one day, but I cannot bear the thought of him having to ask those questions that he cannot find answers to.
He's more than just a dog. He’s a reason to rush home to see how much he missed you. He’s a reminder that we can still have fun chasing the chickens while doing chores; that it’s OK to get a little fat eating too much cheese, that naps in the afternoon are allowed as long as no one is coming up the driveway. He is to me a token to the meaning to life.