By the time I came along Codie was thirteen. She was still young enough to get after me, but her crazy days of bump and run were behind her.
Codie had a number of suitors as a young dog. Mom said Codie was a flirt and made it clear which boy dogs she liked.
Mom said Codie kept her boyfriends in line and expected to be treated with respect. You can read in her own words how Codie felt about her gentlemen.
Codie’s Journal, Part III
I have always had an affinity for large male dogs. Though at an early age I was rendered unable to have offspring, I maintained throughout my life a strong attraction to members of the opposite gender. I had high standards and still do. The gentleman dog of my choosing must be strongly built, larger than I, and of course must be from long haired parentage. I could never tolerate any dog whose private parts were visible to the world. My goodness, that’s what fur is for.
My first paramour was a Golden Retriever named George. He had all sorts of pedigrees and papers, which didn’t matter a whit to me. I loved him for his strength, his manliness, and the joy he brought me. George was regal in his bearing. His head was square and chiseled, and he held it aloft with such pride. His color was a deep orange, which set him apart from the lesser blondes of his breed. Oh, it didn’t hurt that I could boss him around and have my way with him. George was quick to assert his dominance over others, but not with me.
I was perhaps two when we met. He belonged to a lovely woman who lived across the street. We used to go to the park together. That was long before there were off leash areas. We would run and bump, sniff and pee, and occasionally sound off at questionable characters in the park. Our women held long thoughtful conversations as we romped. They talked about their hopes and fears, death of loved ones, what the future might hold. When we finished our walk we were put into our cars and driven to a coffee shop, where their conversation resumed.
George and I loved our walks in the park, but we also realized that it was important to our people. Our silliness encouraged their conversation. They more easily shared matters of the heart in our presence. How curious. George and I were completely dependent upon them to drive us to the park and monitor our behavior. Yet they were dependent upon us for something neither we nor they could quite articulate.
I haven’t thought of George in many years. He was older than I and long ago crossed the rainbow bridge. It made me sad that our days together were cut short when he moved to another town. I would have mourned him more deeply but for my true love, Dasso.
I will write more of Dasso in my next journal entry. I must make sure I can convey the elegance of Dasso and how much I loved him.