Honoring a Family's Life-time Dog

"Ryan Melson prays for a dog". My brother, at 7 years old, knew exactly how to get what he wanted. Take your requests to the Big Man upstairs. More specifically, write your requets down on a Prayer Request Card at church on Sunday morning and go public with your desire. That is exactly how our dog, Annie, came to be a Melson.

A few weeks after what we, thirteen years later, still refer to as "Ryan Melson prays for a dog", my Mom's friend told her about a "golden retriever" that had wondered onto her farm. The dog, who they nicknamed "Annie", due to her reddish color, was starving, pregnant, and seemed to have been abused. My Mom's friend offered the dog to my family, knowing all about my brother's desperate need for a four-legged friend. On December 20th, 1996, my parents drove to the farm. Annie had already given birth and nursed her puppies so she was ready to leave with Mom and Dad. We declared December 20th her birthday...the day she came home to her family.

The first time I laid eyes on Annie, I will admit I was a bit...dissapointed. True, Annie did have the long feathered fur typical of a golden retriever. But the regal stature that I associate with that particular breed was, shall we say, slightly lacking. Annie was still extremely skinny and frail as a result of being a stray. She also army-crawled everywhere she went. This was a sign that someone had, unfortunately, been beating her. In addition, Annie had what we affectionately coined "udders" from nursing. Her elongated teets literally swung when she moved. They hung so low, I was truly afraid that people would laugh at me when I walked her.

The beautiful thing about a dog, though, is that no matter their past, they are quick to trust and show their true colors. While I fretted about aesthetics, Annie's sweet, gentle spirit was already beginning to emerge. She rarely barked and was content to lie out on the deck in the sun. She enjoyed getting her belly rubbed and was my Dad's perfect pupil, learning commands like "sit, stay, and shake". She made it her duty to greet us at the door every time we returned home with a steady wag of her tail. She even greeted guests by gently placing her head in their lap where it would not inconvenience them to pet her.

As we learned more of Annie's personality, she began to transform physically as well. Thanks to a steady diet of dog food and the occasional McDonald's vanilla ice-cream cone, Annie filled out nicely. With the much-needed weight also came the disappearance of the butt of all of our jokes-Annie's udders. Annie took on the regal look that I'd envisioned the first time this "golden retriever" was mentioned. But the most amazing of all was Annie's walk. Love and affection from her family had transformed her from a shaking, timid mess into a well-adjusted and friendly dog. To this day, the image of the "new Annie" stands as my favorite example of what a change a little love can really do.

Of course in death, we tend to make those we love appear to have been saints. Annie definitely had her quirks. In the first few years we had her, she was fond of taking off down the street at blinding speed. It was pretty common to see one fo the Melsons running down Brookview Drive, chasing a very fast red dog, screaming "Annie! Annie stop!" at the top of their lungs. Annie was also all about comfort. All too often, one of us would walk into the living room to find our goofy dog laying flat on her back, tongue hanging from the side of her mouth, and her legs spread wide for all the world to see. She was not the most modest of pets. Annie also refused to swim or learn to swim. Dad and I did not seem to get the hint, though time and time again, we would carry Annie into our backyard pool in hopes of seeing the swimmer in her emerge. We would walk back into the house with scratches all over our bodies and red fur stuck to our skin-evidence of an epic battle.

Despite these quirks, Annie may have been the most honorable member of the Melson family. If we ever found ourselves with raised voices, no matter the result of an argument or just for the sake of being loud, Annie was quick to quiet us down. She would take her place between the family members and bark, while looking everyone square in the eye. She considered herself the Peace Maker of the group.

As if to thank us for making her one of our own, Annie loyally became whatever each of us needed her to be. To my Dad, Annie was his faithful running partner. There's no telling exactly how many miles those two logged on the road over the last thirteen years. To my Mom, Annie was the non-dog dog. She never destroyed anything in our home, didn't hop up on furniture (when we were home anyway), and was kind to our guests, careful never to jump or slobber on those who came to visit. She also shared my Mom's love of music and was quick to sing along in a howl that became famous within our circle of family and friends. To me, Annie was my patient object of photography, calmly posing wherever (or in whatever) I placed her. To my sister, Annie was Erin's protector from the imagined lurkers outside her window. She was also the source of a lot of Erin's joy in times when joy wasn't readily available. And to my brother, she was the physical proof that God does grant us the desires of our hearts. Annie may not have always listened to Ryan and did seem to acknowledge him more as a litter-mate instead of master, but you could see that she loved him because "Ryan Melson prays for a dog" had brought her home to her true family.

Annie passed away back in July and I have just now found myself able to write about our girl. Even at this moment, I have happy tears as I chronicle the celebration of Annie's life. My mother-in-law wrote these words in an email that I received the day Annie died. "She grew you 3 Melson kids up---grooming you, loving you, molding your personalities as only pets can. She had a long, purposeful, and from what I can tell, beloved life. How fortunate she was to belong to your family." Jon Katz, the author of many books on dogs, says that a person gets one "life-time" dog. Your soul-mate in dog form. The canine that makes a true differnce in your life. My mother-in-law's words echo the fact that Annie was the Melson family's "life-time dog". That, I say with great pride, was one good dog.