Wednesday, March 19, 2008
In the early seventies I was working as a bank auditor in Central New York. One day in late May it snowed heavily. I gave notice, broke my lease and moved to Myrtle Beach, SC. I was young, single, had a good job and a two bedroom duplex a block from the beach. I needed a dog !! A neighbor had three six week old puppies, one blonde, one black and one reddish. The dad was a boxer and the mom was a rangy terrier used for hunting squirrels.When I walked up to the gate to see the pups, they were all playing with a toy. The blonde and black ones came running up to greet me, the red one stole the toy and took off . I left with the red one.
I named her Liberation, Libby for short and she and I were constant companions for the next fifteen years. She loved to chase gulls on the beach, dig for crabs and jump the waves. She was at home in a boat or a car and traveled from Canada to Florida. She lived in SC, NY and PA, in the country and in the heart of the city. There were never any adjustment problems. Libby felt it was her job to pass judgement on my dates. Some never made it through the door, some were allowed in but she made it obvious they weren't welcome. A few she tolerated. Her favorite was the man who owned a steak house. He bribed her with doggy bags of steak bits and rides in his car. She also liked Robert right away and they became good friends. He introduced her to yogurt and doughnuts and lots of rides.
One time while I was still working, I made a pan of brownies for my co-workers. I set the pan on the coffee table while I got my jacket, purse and umbrella. I got to work and remembered the brownies. Oh well. When I returned home that evening, Libby greeted me at the door, very excited. She ran to the coffee table and there was the pan of brownies, untouched but swimming in a pool of drool. What a good dog. She must have been sitting over those brownies all day waiting
for me to give her one. Yes, I know chocolate is bad for dogs, but she got a brownie. She earned it.
At age fifteen after a morning of chasing squirrels in the park, Libby had a stroke. The emergency vet gave her medication but she was unable to stand. I sat on the floor beside her all night and in the morning she died quietly in my arms.She was a good friend.