Leonard Woolsey“Man, I sure do love me a puppy dog.”
I am in a hardware store with my dog Luna, scaring up a few supplies before a rare winter freeze comes to town.
The man balls his fingers and slowly extends his hand to my dog.
“Watch out,” I said, “she might lick you to death.”
He’s a big man, the type of big that tells you he knows a hard day’s work is a badge of honor, a reflection of strong character.
“We lost our two dogs last year,” he said, drawing his hand back from Luna.
“I’m sorry,” I said, knowing from personal experience the pain of losing a dog never goes away.
“Well, we had them – a brother and sister – for more than eleven years,” he said. “Pretty good for a pair of German Shepherds.”
He tells me a bit about the dogs—one a blind white male and the other a standard-colored black, white, and tan dog.
“The male was the runt of the litter, but the sister took care of him.”
He tells me how a dog can hold an extraordinary power over you.
“Don’t love a dog unless you are willing to get hurt,” he said. “Once they get in your heart and pass, your heart will never be the same again. It’ll forever be a little bit broken afterward.”
We talk about how not all dogs are this way, but every once in a while, one makes its way in. And before you know it, you find a four-legged spirit roaming and living inside your heart. In doing so, everything in your life is better.
“I know what you mean,” I said, pointing down a Luna. “She is never much further than arm’s length away from me when I’m at home. She even insists on sleeping against me at night.”
The man laughs. We shake hands and introduce ourselves to each other. Here we are, two guys bearing our souls’ most vulnerable corners to each other among plastic tarps and paint chemicals.
His hand dwarfs mine; his dogs must’ve loved his strong hand rubbing their coats.
He tells me how one dog would not let him leave in the morning without a hug.
“She’d sit at the front door waiting for me to leave in the morning,” he said. “When I’d get there, she’d jump on her rear legs and wrap her front paws around me. I’d hug her, tell her I loved her, and she’d get down and walk off.”
“I’d come home, and we’d do the same,” he said.”
I feel tears well up in my eyes. Dogs are God’s most loving creatures, seemingly having a direct line to our emotions.
He pauses, allowing the memory to hang on for a moment longer. I don’t blame him; I’d do the same.
He looks down at Luna. We smile, knowing we are brothers brave enough to sign up for a broken heart. And we wouldn’t have it any other way.
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Leonard Woolsey