IN DEFENSE OF COMMON SENSE
By Hetty Gray
# 312 “The Gift”
March 12, 2025
There is a pattern to life, and often that pattern does not fit what we have in mind. The ordinary falls into daily life and what should be special becomes so routine that we fail to see the importance of it in the larger scheme of life.
Over time, we take far too much for granted. What seems commonplace is set aside mentally and the everyday morphs into a repetition that is not only comfortable but also predictable.
And so it was with a companion of mine. Our days began with a good meal and some exercise. We greeted others with a smile and a lilt in our steps. Sheer dimension elicited reactions from onlookers as we plied the streets of the small town or did errands in the suburbs of the state capital.
The good that came from our union glowed in the aftereffects as folks walked away from us in both awe and appreciation of what we shared together.
There is no way that a simple column could do my colleague justice. In essence, he made me a better person and affected, in some way, anyone with whom we came in contact.
We led a simple life, replete with the basics that we assume with always be there for us. Our valued communication is something I will treasure and regret that I failed to fully appreciate – accepting the depth of it and seldom giving a second thought of its longevity.
The relationship between a dog and owner is uncomprehensible to those who go about their days sans canine. For those who share their days with an animal who counts on you for its very life, the bond is all too familiar and comforting.
Physicians will tell you that petting a dog lowers blood pressure. Considering what a great percentage of us face in terms of daily stress, it would seem that a dog is certainly a pleasant way to stay healthy. As for me, the last sixteen years of my eighty have been nothing less than golden.
Breakfast, while with little variety, was anticipated with excitement. Browsing new streets and vistas heightened the mood. The exhilaration of scents and sounds gave rise to a new human appreciation for what others ignore as normal. And then there is the reaction of others to this wonderful friend. From the smallest of children — and I mean babies – to retirees, the reactions ran the gamut. Because our breed of choice is large and a bit intimidating for many an onlooker, the surprise comes in response to the gentle nature of a dog who outweighs – and “out loves” – his owner. I admit that he had much more enthusiasm for a perfect stranger than I. Although, I must tell you, that a dog senses a person to be avoided much quicker than an owner. When a dog skirts a stranger, there is a great deal of wisdom in action and it best to pay attention.
I recall vividly times when my dog reacted to a stranger in a way that flummoxed me. The rare ability of a dog to sense danger is amazing. It happened more than once, but in terms of the numbers of people we saw over the years, it was also very rare. Only the quick reaction of the dog alerts the owner to a possible threat.
To a great degree, I chalk the whole relationship up to an extension of what I enjoyed most about life: mothering. Taken in sum, the years with three small children evaporated in a blur. It’s not that I fail to remember what happened over a half century ago. I do. Yet, the feeling that it all passed so quickly is only felt many years later. And so I mothered my dog.
Size certainly played a part in our shared life. I cannot begin to fathom the number of people we met over the years that were completely floored by the gentle, unassuming and patient behavior of my Newfoundland dog. I realize that a large breed dog is not for everyone, but for devoted Newfie owners, there is no other dog that even comes close.
They don’t call a Newfie a Gentle Giant for nothing. Indeed, the Newfoundland is a proud dog that exhibits every nuance of gentility and love one can imagine. Whether visiting nursing homes accompanied by my Therapy Dog or giving our “Memorable Journey” program on Lewis and Clark for school children, a community organization, a church group or a national convention, the reaction was the same. How could a huge dog be so good?
The fact that Merriwether Lewis took his Newfoundand, Seaman, on the trek only served to mesmerize audiences. Lying quietly for an hour and fifteen minutes was no problem for Bear. He would make eye contact with a child or an adult in the audience and captivate their imagination.
I have witnessed my Bear sit for nearly an hour while a nursing home resident petted his head and I have watched as onlookers gaped in amazement as he navigated tourist sites nationwide. I wonder if there is another dog who had his picture taken – by request – by Wyatt Earp in Tombstone, Arizona. I wonder how many dogs prompted an invitation for his family to enjoy a free sunset cruise on Lake Superior on a three-masted schooner. I wonder how many dogs welcomed the captain of a hydrofoil who sauntered down to the deck after returning from Mackinac Island to greet Bear by name and ask if he had a good time ashore. A constant in our lives for years, we loved him so much. He was such a big part of our lives that we probably just took him for granted. My husband and I never had to question the Bear’s behavior. Many people who never allowed a dog in their homes, welcomed Bear and made mention of the fact that he was the only dog allowed to do so. His behavior was consistent and exemplary. Observing other dogs who misbehaved only heightened our appreciation for the Newfoundland breed.
In our RV travel nationwide, we inspired awe and laughter among too many people to count. Walking a campground, we greeted campers who piled out of simple, tents, fifth-wheels (including toy haulers) and pricey motorhomes – all padding out to meet Bear. I can attest to the fact that many of our current relationships root in meeting Bear in a campground. Had it not been for him, we would have missed out on good friends!
The years went all too quickly, and while taking on a puppy was no trouble at all in my 60s and 70s, the prospect of doing it again is not wise. It’s not that I do not want another furry companion, it’s that I would not be smart to do it in my 80s.
The roughly seventy-two hours that brought to its end a relationship that, while raw now, will morph over time in a litany of smiles and memories more precious than gold was totally unexpected. We were blindsided. The clues that were there in front of us never failed to warn us. Sudden illness took our Bear. We never saw it coming and that is a good thing. Everything happened so quickly that we rode out the storm unaware that the end would be swift.
We gave him the one thing that he needed, a respite from pain and suffering. While a dog cannot talk, he communicates with eyes that tell it all. He was ready to go. He knew it. As a matter of fact, he lay on the snow for hours taking in all that was around him. If he had to go, the season could not have been more perfect. He was in his element, surrounded by familiar fir trees and the sylvan wilderness he had come to love.
As time goes by, I know our memories will surface again and again and remind us of how bringing a puppy home can change your life forever. The anguish comes when it is time for you to say good-bye. Memories comfort us now, yet the edge is still much too raw. Time heals all wounds, and this will be no different.
And so, on March 4, the beginning of Lent, we said good-bye to an invaluable family member who counted on us for his health and well-being. It is not lost on me that three letters, arranged differently, are inextricably linked. It is no coincidence that God and dog share the same three letters. Three: three letters… the Biblical Trilogy… husband, wife and dog. The power of three.
After eight years, two months and eleven days, the day came. God gave him to us and the time had come for us to give him back. Rest in peace, dearest Bear.