The Dogs Buried Over the Bridge

Yesterday a book came in the mail--and not from Amazon....

After loving all Rheta Grimsley Johnson's other books, I wrote her a letter, and she wrote me back, promising an autographed copy of her most recent one,  The Dogs Buried Over the Bridge.

She writes in the first chapter about growing up in Georgia, as I did, with an unquestioned understanding that dogs were never allowed inside--which was crystal clear in my house as well.  I can't remember dogs being in anybody's houses in those days and certainly no one ever bought store-bought dog food.  Dogs were dogs, outside, and usually went along with men hunting.  No one I knew of ever trained a dog, took one along on a trip, or required the services of a veterinarian.

Soon after I was married, we sold enough wedding silver to rustle up $65 to buy a dog--and it felt strange at first to have a dog inside, under foot, often sleeping in our bed.  Tony, our German Shepherd, followed me everywhere in those days, even waited in the car for me, windows cracked, as I took college classes at St. Mary's.  When he heard thunder in the night--the only thing he feared--he would sleep between us, dog-trembling until it stopped.

I knew how to cook very few things, but Tony loved brownies so much he'd start salivating when I cracked the first egg and turned on the mixer.  (This was before we heard that dogs can't eat chocolate--and he thrived on it for a dozen years.)

This wonderful book is reminding me of all my dogs from Tony to Pollo to Ivan and all the mutts and drop-offs that came to live with us in the three decades of living in the country.

"Dogs never interrupt us, contradict us, scold us.  They don't gossip.  They communicate quietly, with their eyes, which is what more humans should do.  They don't text us, email us, phone us at awkward moments....They are mysterious and open all at once, a dichotomous blend of need and indifference."

"On the days when yet another newspaper closes its doors forever, when the branch floods, floors rot, human friends feud, and bills come due, a dog or two have been here to commiserate, to put paw to thigh in a gesture more protective and loving than perhaps any other.  While I cherish my human friendships, I believe I've learned more about life, how to lead a good one, from the dogs that have populated mine."

Since Linda Kot, who loves dogs more than anybody I know, has a birthday in two days, I just stopped on chapter two to order her a copy of this book--and off it goes, from Amazon to Cape Cod, just in time for candles!