Puppy love...

Puppy love: I wanted a puppy in the worst way when I was young. I read Wilson Rawls' Where the Red Fern Grows and became infected with puppy love. It has remained my go-to answer for "What is your favorite childhood book?" There are other contenders like A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula K. LeGuin, The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien, Johnny Tremain by Esther Forbes, a number of the Narnia series by C.S. Lewis, but Where there Red Ferm Grows trumps them all. I was reminded of my love of this story twice in recent years; the first time when I recommended it to my voraciously reading son who loved the book as I did, and then again a few years later when I chose to read it out loud to my daughter. At one point I was unable to read the words through my tears, while my daughter sobbed in my lap. When we were done, she said "That's a really good book! It's so sad." We were such a sight...

I SUPPOSE THERE’S A TIME IN PRACTICALLY EVERY YOUNG boy’s life when he’s affected by that wonderful disease of puppy love. I don’t mean the kind a boy has for the pretty little girl that lives down the road. I mean the real kind, the kind that has four small feet and a wiggly tail, and sharp little teeth that can gnaw on a boy’s finger; the kind a boy can romp and play with, even eat and sleep with.

I was ten years old when I first became infected with this terrible disease. I’m sure no boy in the world had it worse than I did. It’s not easy for a young boy to want a dog and not be able to have one. It starts gnawing on his heart, and gets all mixed up in his dreams. It gets worse and worse, until finally it becomes almost unbearable.

--Opening of Chapter 2, Where the Red Fern Grows

Never Cry Wolf: I fantasized about Malamute-Husky-Wolf mixes after meeting my dream-dog in the wintery mountains of Garrett County, Maryland. He was 1/2 wolf, had the most piercing eyes, and was as well behaved as any dog I have ever seen. His owner let me bury my hands in his dog/wolf's thick winter coat... and this majestic winter-creature just leaned into me and let me hug his neck. I was in love... and had a million questions for his owner. My God, I wanted a dog just like his! [I cannot remember how young I was when I had this encounter, but young enough that the memory is vague in detail, and intense in emotion...] I was dismayed to learn that the wolf in the dog made him a bad family dog, and that he was loyal to his owner, but no one else. It was part of his pack mentality. I also learned that his excellent behavior was not the norm for half wolves, and was a product of near constant training. I still wanted one in the worst way possible...

Maximilian: We got a cat when I was seven. He was the coolest cat I have ever met, then and since. He acted like a dog. He walked into a room like he owned it, never acted prissy, and came to bed with me almost every night. I loved my cat for his loyalty to me, and that he would put up with almost anything we kids dished out; hoisting him wrapped in a blanket pouch with pulleys up the stairwell to the second floor, strangle-holds of hugs, and countless hours of patient lying around in sunspots. When I was sad, he seemed to know, and would place his paws on my hands. In my darkest moments in high school there were nights in my despair when I thought my cat was my only true friend. Silly, I know, but perception is everything! He was a unique blend of cat-like independence and dog-like solidness. What an amazing combination of traits. When Max died while I was in college I was grief-stricken. I had no interest in trying to replace him. How could we? But I had learned I was a cat person, yet still had this wolf crush that simmered somewhere in my child-self...

Puppy Love, again: And then I met a girl in college. I had puppy-love of a different sort. It would mature over time and I would spend the next 24 years of my life with her. When we were first courting (in a way) we spent a week-plus in the Keys with some friends. There, we came across a perfect northern-breed puppy with those same steel blue eyes that I loved so much from my childhood-found perfect-dog. This new stranger's puppy was also perfect! I got down in a squat and put my hands out to draw in the little ball of cute perfection... and he walked right past my smiling self to the open hands of my girlfriend. I was so jealous! Didn't he know that I was the one who loved him the most, and deserved to wrap my hands into his soft black and white coat? My girlfriend had told me that she was severely allergic to animals. She wasn't allowed to have a dog. Now she had mine. It was so unfair... He offered her all the love I wanted from him, including licks to the face. I do not like my face licked, but would have accepted it from an untrained puppy that was so adorable, nonetheless. Oh well... And we walked on to gather with friends by the beach and open sea. As we walked I head a muffled voice say "Thee, thith ith why I can't haff a dog." I turned to look at my girlfriend's face—which was so adoringly licked by my puppy a few minutes before—and saw how it was now swollen, puffy, and red. My God, I had never seen such a reaction! I understood for the first time that allergies were not just sneezes and drippy noses. There was no way she could ever have a puppy... ... ... And we married. Puppy dreams were buried for something much, much better...

Dillon Murphy: And the years went by, and my wife got shots and treatments, and more shots... and then one day was told she no longer had dog allergies. I had moved on, no longer wanting a dog—nursing the insatiable longing I had for a cat that could be exactly like my unique childhood friend Max—but reluctantly agreed to allow her to rescue a puppy from a high-kill shelter in Dillon County, South Carolina. Somewhere in early 2013, Riker—an abandoned, sickly, "pure-bred southern black dog"—was rescued, and then brought north on St. Patrick's Day to become Dillon Murphy, my wife's new love...

Puppy Love, yet again: I didn't want a dog anymore. The responsibilities of adulthood and the ideas of care overwhelmed that childhood passion for something loving and fluffy and warm. I was promised that I would not need to do much. I put out arguments against getting him, but once he came north he was family. And you love family "no matter what." They kept their end of the bargain doing the lion's share of the care, training, and work... but I played my part too, helping out more and more as I was able to invest emotionally. And Dillon grew on me. I had to concede quickly that he was the best puppy, because he was our puppy. He often sits beneath my Bodhi Tree and reminds me of the moment. And sometimes he comes to lie at the foot of the bed in the afternoon sun. And he is warm, and soft, and loving... and he lets me wrap my arms around his neck and he leans into me...