Calvin's Story

Calvin "Boo Boo" Smith came into my life one day when a friend of mine said: "I found a stray dog around the house, but Mary says no more animals. Keep him until I find his owner."
 
"Sure, Bern," I said.  So I took home a ragged runt of a buff-colored cocker spaniel who, it turned out, had heartworms, a double dose of ear infections, an indomitable will to live and the cutest, goofiest grin I ever saw on a dog.

It was late that first night I brought him home. Showing him the layout of my second floor apartment and his new foster home, I opened the sliding glass door and took him out on the balcony. Without a tentative step he walked right through the railing to wander around on the screen roof of the unit below me.
 
"Here doggie, doggie," I begged on my hands and knees. He was just out of reach, and all I could think about was calling Bern: You know that dog you gave me….

Finally, he came within reach and I grabbed him. "Bad dog," I said.

He licked my face and owned me immediately.

That was the last time Calvin was allowed on the balcony without my complete attention and a leash, except for the time he slipped out behind me as I closed the door. It was raining like, well, cats and dogs, and he managed to walk over the screen roof and onto to the balcony next door. A few minutes later I was going crazy because I couldn't find the dog. He was just here. How can you lose a dog in an apartment that's only 1,000 square feet!

Right about the time I thought I had flat gone mad my neighbor, Mr. Donaldson, knocked on the door and asked if I was looking for Calvin. It seems the Donaldson's were having cocktails when Mrs. Donaldson looked out her sliding glass doors and screamed. There was a dog on their balcony!

"Yes, that's my wet dog." We had a good laugh. I suppose Mrs. Donaldson had another cocktail.

Some might call Calvin dim, but what he lacks in smarts he makes up for in kind and gentle character. He is no doubt the happiest dog I've ever known. His tail always wags, though perhaps a little faster when you call his name for a walk or if a biscuit is in sight.

Through the years we've looked after one another. I have a BA, MBA and half-dozen self-help books on the shelf, but nothing and no one has ever taught more about life and love than Calvin. His health is failing now, an enlarged heart and assorted ailments, maybe the inevitable result of his earlier bout with heartworms, but he's a fighter and does not go gentle into that good night. His tail still wags and he still loves his biscuits.

Life is Short. Eat Biscuits! is his legacy of sorts, a dog's guide to living and loving. Not for him – the Zen of Calvin is instinctive, essential. He has long since solved the fundamental mysteries of life and is content to rest on a cool tile floor until the next belly rub. It's for me, for that which he irrevocably instilled in my heart: the unconditional love of a good dog never wavers; it is faithful, warm and true.

You could say this is everything my dog taught me about being happy, and I didn't even have to ask. It's a dog's life. We should all live the better for it. – Amy Jordan

Postscript: Calvin's gone to Pet Heaven now. He's buried with his favorite toys and a couple of biscuits, under a palm tree and next to a dog named Happy. His marker reads: "Life is short. Eat biscuits!" I sure miss him. Sometimes, in a particular moment, I feel his Zen and see his sweet face in my mind and imagine his wet nose next to mine, a paw brushing against my hand, nudging me along to reach for a biscuit.