Asher, Codie

This Lady Was No Tramp

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Codie

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.

Asher, Codie

To The Pillow Born

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Young Codie

It’s been fun reading back through Codie’s journal. She had a special way of barking her thoughts.

I wish Codie had started on her journal when she was younger, but she was busy living the life of a princess.

Before she passed Codie told me she would help me write her story. I hope she will whisper in my ear and tell me what to bark.

I’ve got a few more entries from her diary to post, and then I’m on my own. Wish me luck!

Codie’s Journal, Part II

I look back on my early days with both clarity and confusion. Was I really once so small my mom could carry me in her arms? Did I really spend my first nights with her sharing the same pillow?

I vividly recall the night I could no longer could fit my entire self on her pillow. She laughed and told me I was  to the pillow born, but I would have to find a larger one. It’s true about the pillow.

I was born in Black Diamond, Washington in June 1993. My parents were both registered Australian Shepherds. In those days we Australian Shepherds were only accepted by the herding dog registry. The snooty AKC would have nothing to do with us.

Daddy Bud was a huge tri-color Aussie. He had a gentle disposition and a love of food. Mama Rosie was a crazy red merle, who loved to play mind games with Daddy Bud.

I owe my disposition and love of food to my father.  I think my quirky sense of humor and beautiful coat can be attributed to my mother.

Daddy Bud and Mama Rosie belonged to a very nice couple who lived on a small acreage. Daddy Bud spent his days looking for something to eat. Mama Rosie tortured the resident horses by staring at them until they went insane and had to be placed with another family.

I was one of five. It was my mother’s first litter, and a planned pregnancy I might add. I was the only blue merle amongst my siblings. My human birth mother selected me as hers and thus began my relationship with pillows.

Before my eyes were open, in the time of dreamy darkness, when I could hear and smell and feel but not see, my human birth mother would lift me away from Rosie and carry me to the sacred bed. I knew it was sacred. I could feel it and smell it.

Her husband was away on business. The bed was large and empty without him. She would put me on his pillow, diapered of course, and whisper that I was special. I was the only one allowed on the pillow. I was to remain with my birth family while my siblings were offered for adoption. I was indeed very special and blessed.

But circumstances changed. The husband had to follow his job to a far away place. Bud and Rosie were placed with friends and I was offered for adoption.

New people arrived in a station wagon. Laughter and exclamations of “So cute!” were repeated time and again in my presence. I was passed from person to person for inspection. I, of course, performed my own inspection.

How the gods contrived to place me in my perfect home, I do not know. But there was my new mother, holding me and whispering sweet silliness in my ear. Soon I was in the car headed to my future. My human birth mother wept as we drove away. I was anxious but not frightened. I was ready for my new life to begin.

Asher, Codie

Codie’s Story

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Codie

Today is our first day barking about Codie. Mom and me have been talking about how to do this. Since Codie is gone, everybody knows how her story ends. She was born, she lived a good live, and she died.

Codie lived for sixteen years. She started a journal just before she died. I’m gonna post her journal so you can read about her in her own words. Then I’ll take over and bark for her.

I want the world to know Codie. And while I’m barking about her, I’ll remember all the special times we had together. It’s kinda like having her with me again.

 

From Codie’s Journal

My days are numbered and the number is small. But my people can not yet bear to think of my passing, so I do my best to appear as sturdy as my old bones allow. They tell me daily how much they love me. They say this is probably my last year, but the words lack conviction. They speak these words to prepare for the time without me, but they are not ready for me to leave, and so I remain.

Mom tells me the fates brought us together. She had just lost her beloved Jesse, a black and white Australian Shepherd, and her heart was sad. She had forgotten how to laugh. The house was too quiet, too empty, too lonely. Mom received a call that I was available. “No, no!  It’s too soon,” she said. But then she saw me. She picked me up and buried her face in my puppy fur. Her salty tears were delightful to my puppy tongue. I grabbed her hair, scratched her face and dribbled a little pee on her shirt. She was mine. I had claimed her. They took me home.

I was never perfect, but I did try to please my new mom. She wanted me to make my toilet outside. I didn’t see the point in that at first, but if it made her happy it was fine with me. Oh, I did have a few accidents in the early months. Once she made the mistake of setting me on a down comforter. I was five months old at the time. I knew the comforter was a sacred spot. It smelled of my people. It smelled of Jesse. I got real excited. I grabbed the comforter and shook it. A small hole appeared. Down and feathers floated out. The urge to kill overcame me. I could not help myself. I wasn’t in a house in the city. I was alone in the wilderness fighting for my very survival, viciously killing my prey. The comforter was in shreds.

“Codie! What are you doing?”  She stood, towering above me. She was angry. Angry at me for what I had done. Angry at herself for foolishly putting me on the comforter. I was young and ashamed. I didn’t know how to apologize. In my embarrassment I peed on the comforter. Instantly the horror of what I had done was clear to me. A few moments of puppy madness and I had destroyed my world. She would hate me. She would take me back to my birth home and demand a refund. I would never be allowed in the sacred bedroom again. I would be banished, ignored, left for hours in the backyard to contemplate my evil deeds.

I didn’t expect what happened next. She started laughing. Little giggles at first. I looked at her. Maybe she was choking with rage. But she was definitely laughing. She swept me up  and danced with me. She laughed and hugged me and called me a silly beast. She told me it was her fault. She should never have put me on the comforter. The comforter was old and it didn’t matter anyway. She told me she loved me and would take care of me forever, but I had to try to learn her ways and I had to promise to stay with her as long as I could.

I was delirious with joy. She still loved me despite my terrible crime. Of course I would try to be better. I would grow up and learn her human ways. I would learn my place in her world and try to do what she asked of me. I promised that I would stay with her forever. I would grow old with her.  Our lives would change over time, but we would be together always.

And now that I can no longer hear and barely see, now that my old bones struggle to move me from one room to another, I remember my promise.

My days are numbered. My time is short. I must hurry to write my story.