Good Morning.
I took my dog to the vet last week to get her shots and annual heartworm test. Her name is Schooner, and the vet's assistant,
a very pleasant young woman, pronounced it SHOONER, understandably in a part of the country with a lot of last names like Schmidt, Schumacher, and Schwartz. "Nope," the doc said, "it's SKOONER, like the boat," and she was, of course, correct. My husband was in the Navy and wanted the dog named after a classic old ship. Schooner may not sound very feminine, but kindly remember that ships are named for women, strong and seaworthy under the best and worst of circumstances. Just saying.
We got Schooner in May of 2007. We had lost another Golden Retriever, Martha, a few months before to kidney failure and had finally located a wonderful litter with both parents on site. We drove into the countryside on a beautiful Saturday afternoon to a farm as magical as anything ever sketched in a children's book. There were cows in the meadow, those cool-looking sheep with the black faces, and a lawn that led to a freshly painted barn where the litter mates were housed with their mother. The owners brought five beautiful little girls to us when we sat down on the grass, four said hello and departed to romp elsewhere, but one climbed in my husband's lap and never left. We met the pup's father, wrote a check, and were on our way. We sent out adoption announcements with her picture on it and bent the cover so it looked like the sail of a ship. We were ridiculous.
Schooner slept with us from the minute we brought her home and never whimpered at night because she slept with us. We didn't care one bit what anyone thought about our parenting skills. We were of the school that a puppy was taken outside as
often as humanly possible, even into the moonlight, and within a month, Schooner was housebroken and able to get through the night, unlike her owners, without relief.
My husband and Schooner were joined at the hip. She snoozed at his feet while he worked at his desk, watched television, or read a book in his favorite chair. He took her to the dog park and on errands around town. When he passed, I was worried that she'd sit in the window and refuse to eat, but she was the complete opposite. She watched over me like a nursemaid, making sure I got out of bed during the darkest hours of my grief. Except to go outside four or five times a day, she has seldom left my side, even during thunderstorms that used to send her hightailing it to the basement.
Schooner's face is almost completely gray now, but she is considerably more gracious and down-to-earth than humans of any age. She doesn't have mood swings. She doesn't send her food back if it isn't prepared or served to her liking. She doesn't care if her kitchen has granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances. She doesn't have to get her nails done every other week. She doesn't grump if it snows in May. She enjoys birthday parties, mud puddles, naps on the couch, even trips to the vet, and
this is why people enjoy canine companionship and some of us even prefer it.
Best regards,
Elisabeth
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