How It Used to Be; How it is now

In my entire childhood, I rarely saw a dog inside a human house.  My daddy's mama (Mama Jim) had a penchant for pekingese puppies.  Bob says our Chattanooga cousins had a dog named Doc. But most people, if they had dogs, kept them outside.

Our daddy had a birddog named Dart.  I remember throwing him table scraps from time to time, but Bob said we also bought bags of Jim Dandy dog food at Piggly Wiggly. I barely remember him at all except that he sometimes got doctored by our dad with some purple medicine. 

We didn't play with dogs or notice their idiosyncrasies. 

Once we took Mama Jim a litter of pekingese puppies someone must have given us.  We drove six hours with those stinky dogs and Daddy said (probably teasing) not to "rub them too hard on their heads or their eyes would pop out."  I took everything literally in those days and avoided touching them for fear of making their eyes pop out right there in the Pontiac. 

My first Inside/Outside/Everywhere Dog was the one we sold wedding silver to buy--a German Shepherd named Tony.  When thunder or fireworks disturbed the quiet he preferred he jumped in the bed with us and trembled until it stopped. 

We lived in the country on seven acres, a long driveway to Scenic Loop.  People often abandoned dogs on the highway and we took in those who found their way to our house.  Overlapping Tony and always, we had two or three dogs at a time and loved them all, some more than others. 

We got them rabies shots, but we never did annual checkups.  None ever needed surgery or special medicine.  Almost every one met his end under tires when they were old. 

Even Ivan, our last dog (an abandoned and wonderfully smart red heeler) lived nineteen years. His only medical emergency in his middle years: his taut little body studded with 20 or so porcupine quills. Tony had two: a poisoning and a rattle snake bite. 

Today:

I feed Luci the best dog food, Dr. Marty's.  Poor girl gets no chocolate or bones.  (Former dogs salivated euphorically as they chewed steak or pork chop bones for hours.) 

We dote on our dogs.  Heartworm and tick and flea pills every month. Balls and toys scattered all over the place.  Occasional bites of real meat.  Salmon treats. 

Each has his or her unique personality, emotions, and quirks.  We "socialize" them.  We give them "sensory" stimulation.  We're the center of their worlds, and that's mutual. 

A man told me once, "I'll never marry again unless I meet a woman who meets me at the door with as much joy as my dog does."

It's been years, but I doubt very much he's ever met a woman who loves him as much as his dog did.  Am I being cynical just because I've never had a man meet me with such effusive joy as Luci does? Dogs make their people feel like rock stars!