The best gift ever for Christmas/Hanukkah

For those of you who follow me on Facebook- some of this may be repetitive, but please bear with me.

I always wanted a dog. My father wouldn’t let me have one, because he said my mother would end up walking it. We really didn’t have a yard in our funky house made of glass block. I would even walk the imaginary dog- just to prove it.

Fast forward to college. I’m living in a plat right next to what I would later learn was called “Hell’s half acre” in what was then Mad River Township. My dead end street was tract housing built in the 70’s- with every house the same duplex- but some with an attached garage and others without. There were kids everywhere, including next door where a nurse, her husband and I don’t know how many kids lived.

They’d walked around the corner to the corner store, a little convenience store in a building much like the old corner grocery I later turned into my ad agency HQ in South Park. On the way home, a little puppy trailed them home. We weren’t sure if the dog was male or female- the nurse called it wrong saying he was a girl. All the kids on the block were screaming that this dog should be mine. He had a yellow short hair coat, and the hair along his spine ran sort of backwards, like a Rhodesian Ridgeback. I took in my little yellow friend and named him Cato- after either the Green Hornet’s sidekick- or more to the point, Inspector Clouseau’s sidekick.

I built a huge doghouse, thinking he’d get to 60-70 lbs. But, he topped out at 30, and never went in that dog house. He peed and pooped in the house once of each- and never did it again.

When I first took him to Cleveland to meet my parents, my mother fell in love with him right away. She may have taken this photo- him looking out their apartment window. My parents lived in an apartment near Shaker Square, and mom and I had walked down to get some groceries for dinner that night- and walking back, we came across my dad, walking Cato and liking it. He’d even won over my father who never took to dogs.

Cato lived to be 17- and once I’d opened the office across the street from my house in 1990, it wasn’t too long until he started coming over and hanging out. When he passed, I was heart broken, but he’d had an awesome life. We made this poster and hung it in the lobby.

This is the only file I can find- it’s small- the quote is a twist on something Vance Packard in advertising said-

“The difference between a top flight dog and the rest, is the ability to express powerful meanings indirectly” – only Packard said “The difference between a top-flight creative man and the hack is his ability to express powerful meanings indirectly.

As Cato was waning, my awesome former neighbors Scott and Jennifer Shaw, had gotten an older yellow lab they called “Mellow Yellow” from a relative. Mel, or Melvin, as I called him had been a companion for one of their relatives who worked for himself in construction, and he’d taken Mel everywhere. When he had to go to work for someone else, and he left Mel at home, the dog would trash the house. He was going to put him down, when Scott and Jen rescued him. Then. the Shaw’s were having the same problem, and I was their solution. I started picking Mel up to come to the office each morning- I had a key to their house, and he’d come and chill. Some nights he’d stay with me.

I wasn’t looking for a dog in 2002, when my friend Loni called, asking me if I was in the office. Since she’d called on the office phone, and this was long before ip phones, I said “well you called me here!” She said she was sending over a surprise. Along came her neighbor Barbara Martin with a tiny full blooded Golden Retriever puppy. Barb tells me she’d been walking one of her 7 dogs on Johnson by the corner of Perrine, when a guy came out on the porch and threw this cute little puppy off the porch, over the fence, right in front of Barb. She said, “if you don’t want the dog, why don’t you give it to someone who does” and promptly was handed the leash. The guy had paid $400 for her, she had papers and everything. Barb’s standing at my door- saying “if you don’t take her, I’ll take her to the pound, and they’ll kill her”- since she couldn’t add an eighth dog to her house.

I put the puppy down next to Mel, asked him what he thought, and I swear he gave me a wink and a nod, so she was mine. BTW- the reason cromagnon man threw her off the porch was that she kept pooping in the house. I took her to the vet, where they diagnosed a super bad case of worms. It took 3 dee-wormings to heal her, and 6 months to house train her, because yelling at her traumatized bad behavior wasn’t the answer.

I named her Ulrika, or Ulli for short, after the little sister of the love of my life, Elisabeth. I’d met them in Ankaran Yugoslavia when I was 16. Ulli was blonde and tall- just like I thought she’d grow up to be.

Mel had a stroke about a year later. It was very sad, but by that time, he’d trained Ulli well in the art of guarding the door- so no visitors could get in without a trip to the biscuit jar on the front desk. Ulli later trained George in the same skills.

I’d been living with 2 dogs for a while, along with three women. My girlfriend, her dog Buddy, and her two daughters. It was Aug of 2012 and the girls had just started school. While waiting for the bus at the corner by my office, a little fur ball shepard/chow mix with two collars showed up. They brought him to the house, and then went to school.

I put this poster all over the ‘hood.

Had so many calls- but, none could identify the two collars.

Then a little boy called and said “I think you have my doggie”

I asked him about the collars-and he said “He had a black one and a white one to kill little animals.”

I told him he was right and asked where he lived.

It was only a few blocks away and George and I went there- and as soon as we turned into the yard George got all excited.

I knocked on the door- and a woman, who was shaped like a weeble answered with her hands on her hips.

George made eye contact with the little box- standing in the corner of the room- in his tighty whiteys- the kid was smiling and looking back at George- you could tell they were buds.

I said, “your son called, and I think this is your dog”

She said “Not my dog.”

I asked if she was sure-

again “Not my dog”

I said- fine, he’s mine- and we walked home.

If you wonder why we called him George?

That was 12 and a half years ago.

A few weeks ago, he slowed down eating. This is the dog who ate when he felt like it, but generally on schedule, and was never picky. I knew something was wrong. After a few trips to the vet and some meds, the choices were exploratory surgery on the mass that was growing in his abdomen, pushing his enlarged spleen and liver up and compressing his stomach- or trying to make him comfortable instead of traumatizing him more.

On Monday, December, 23rd, even though he was obviously struggling- when I said “Lets go for our last walk” he got up- to please me- and walked to the back of the van to go to the vet. Even though he hadn’t eaten in days- he wanted to jump up in the van. I helped him in- and we went back to the vet for his trip to the dog park in the sky.

The vet nurse went over kill with putting the iv port in- and wrapped so much tape around it- she had to wiggle it to connect the port- he didn’t wince- cry- he just looked at me with love.

He loved me till his last breath- and I loved him. He’d come to work with me every day since I took him in.

He’d had my golden, Ulli, to train him in the order of the biscuit at the office. She stuck around till she was 17- passing in 2017.

So he had 5 years of coaching on how to be a perfect dog.

Other dogs have come in and out of his life- Piper, Brutus, Molly, and yet- the one he always looked to was me.

I’ll miss George greatly.

And like Cato and Ulli that proceeded him- another dog will find their way to me, at the right time- and we’ll be best friends too. But for now- I miss him a lot.

And if you are wondering what the best gift ever is, look around for your four legged friend (even if it’s a cat) and be grateful, they love you unconditionally.

Happy holidays. From me, and George’s spirit.

Song: The Best Gift of All (is a dogs sweet love) by David Esrati