Thinking of a friend

My wife and I went to a minor league baseball game recently. It was a fun date night. We got a couple of burgers. We shared a soft pretzel. We were both tired when we got home. I unlocked the front door and we paused and looked at each other at the same time before entering.

We instantly thought of Nittany, our Lhasa Apso – Bichon Frise dog. Nittany died this winter. We think of her often, but she especially comes to mind when we leave our house and come back home. We open the door expecting her little paws to come running down the stairs to the door.

When she was alive, we would open the door and she would run outside to us. She would run to each of member of the family, unsure of who to look at or run to first. She would jump and get our attention. She wanted a rub on the top of her head. If she was really lucky, she would get a belly rub. The other option, of course, was to run to the yard and take a quick bathroom break.

No matter what, she was excited to see us and we were excited to see her.

Now the door opening is, well, let’s just say it’s dramatically less interesting. We open the door and it’s quiet. There’s no mad rush. There’s no doggie kisses. Instead it’s just silence and our memories.

Stop and smell the roses

I’ve been thinking about Nittany at other times too. We have three azalea bushes in front of our house. We keep them them mulched and trimmed. (See my story An explosion of colors.) I was running out of the house last week. I looked up and saw that the bushes looked amazing. The one closest to our driveway had bright red flowers. The middle one and the largest had bright pink ones, and the smallest one, had white ones. They glimmered in the sun like they had been touched by an angel.

I shook my head, because I almost missed the bushes blooming. I wondered how that had happened. And it hit me. I failed to notice the azaleas because Nittany isn’t around anymore to remind me of them. When she was alive Nittany would interrupt my work usually around lunchtime each day. She’d force me to take a break and let her do her business in the grass. Since it was her chance to take a break from Doggie Prison, she would take her good old sweet time. She would make the break last as long as she could.

“Oh, you have an important work call in 20 minutes? Who cares? Hey what’s that smell? Is that a squirrel or a bird? Or what about that? Is that a butterfly? I gotta smell everything.”

Nittany would drive me crazy. I must admit to calling her a few “choice” names in my haste. “Slow Poke” was probably one of the tamer ones. But most days, slowing down did me a world of good.

Seeing that my schedule was at the mercy of the whimsical wishes of a crazy dog, I would huff and puff and finally sit down in defeat on our front stoop. Other times, I would sit down on our rocker and give her some time outside. I would check on work emails on my phone. Many times though I would put work aside and take in the outdoors. I would look at the azaleas or rose bushes and just be.

Rush, rush, rush

Without Nittany in our life, I haven’t been letting my guard down much. I’ve been on the go and I’ve definitely been a worse for wear.

I’ve come to a few conclusions. In the grand scheme of things, Nittany was a small dog. She weighed a mere 20 pounds. She wasn’t all that imposing. Oh she barked her fair share, but I never had the heart to tell her that she didn’t scare anyone — not even the Amazon Prime or FedEx drivers.

Her size and bark may have been small, but her heart was made of gold and bigger than the largest Great Dane. I always knew that she had a bigger than life personality. I just didn’t know how much bigger than life she really was. She’ s been gone for two months or so and I see how important she was.

She was a great dog. She was a wonderful friend. Thank you Nittany.