I hadn't known Charlie and Jennine long when we went to look at puppies. We were just looking after all, but when it came time to select one, I cautioned, don't take the alpha pup, ignore the first one to come to you.
Six-week old Smokie darted right to us at a speed physiologically impossible with her black barrel body, stubby legs and enormous paws. Within minutes we were writing a check.
Labrador Retrievers have expressive eyes, but Smokie is a brown-eyed Bette Davis. With just the slight arch of of her brow she can communicate a thousand emotions. The nuance isn't important, any one could melt the hardest heart.
A few months after her first birthday, Charlie and I married. A few months after that, he and I came home from work to find Jessica and Jennine starkly pale and crying. They had Smokie out playing and she was hit by a car. She didn't cry or growl, but her eyes never left mine as her head lay in my lap on the way to the vet. She was making a deal with me that I didn't yet understand.
But after surgery and a few days in an oxygen tent, she kept her end of the bargain and came home. It was a lot easier to forgive her for shredding my scarves and chewing my shoes. There was a sense of jubilation in taking her on our regular Saturday morning bagel runs.
She loves us all. In fact, she loves everybody, including a kitten-now-cat whom she has convinced he is a fellow Lab. But she's always been Charlie's dog and Jessica's dog.
Jen and I count, but nothing like the Big Guy and the Dreamer.
Jessica insisted on having Smokie pose with her in her high school senior portraits. The pictures were among the best I'd seen of anyone at anytime.
Over the years, Smokie's heard more secrets than anyone else in the house. Her thicky, shiny coat has absorbed many tears. She wears it all with pride, she's a family dog.
Moving from Texas to Georgia, house to house, didn't phase her in the least. Jessica leaving for college put her in dark funk. When Charlie goes on golf trips she waits by the door. It was sad to watch until I recognized that the minute they returned, all would be forgiven. Smokie can not hold a grudge.
She'll be 9 next month. Time has taken its toll on her hips, but not her heart. Despite two instructional courses and a couple weeks of boarding obedience school to surpress her tendency for excitability, she can not resist the chance to meet a new friend.
If someone comes to the door they will get jumped on and likely licked. Her tail switches at double time at the thought of another person to pet and/or adore her.
In Smokie's world, there is only one thing better than new buddies. No matter where she is in the house, her ears are finely tuned to the sound of Charlie's humidor opening. A cigar means sitting on the porch together watching the world go by. It simply doesn't get any better than that. Do not, under any circumstance, open the humidor for any other reason than to take her on the porch. She's a world class pouter.
She started getting sick last week and only got worse through the weekend. When we took her to the vet this morning they admitted her with a possible diagnosis range from serious to unthinkable. The tests will continue through the day. They told us to go home and wait.
Her eyes are yellowed by the sickness, but stayed fixed on us throughout the exam.
I want to believe I saw that same promise there.
But it could just be I can't fathom the alternative.



Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs