Dog Tales, II

 

Corky the Wonder Dog

“Dogs have given us their absolute all. We are 

the center of their universe. We are the focus 

of their love and faith and trust. They serve 

us in return for scraps. It is without a doubt 

the best deal man has ever made. ”
― Roger A. Caras

 After Bunk passed, we got a dog almost immediately, and as I had done seven years before, I looked in the newspaper to see if anyone had dogs for sale. I found an ad for people selling Keeshond puppies.  I knew nothing about that breed, but I thought I'd hit a home run with the Welsh Terrier and would try with the Keeshond.  I made a horrible mistake.

Keeshonds are a type of Spitz, and their personalities are different from terriers. Let me just say that I am a terrier person, and while Keeshonds are lovely dogs, they are not the breed for me.  For six weeks, Keesha tried my patience by chewing up carpet in both the living room and bedroom, by jumping over every fence we put up to keep her in, and by rolling around in the red Georgia clay. A family with a large property eagerly adopted her from me, and I started looking for a terrier.

Corky liked to sleep under the dresser.

I couldn't look at Welsh Terriers because the pain was still too great, but I decided to find another small terrier. Luckily for me, a family had one Cairn left.  As with the Welsh and the Keeshond, I didn't know the Cairn, but I thought I'd just go to look at the puppies.  Of course, I ended up falling in love with one little fur ball, and Jason and I headed home with him.

"Can we call him Toto?" Jason asked me because he'd just watched The Wizard of Oz and saw that our new little guy looked just like Toto.  I talked him out of that name, and we ended up naming him "Corky."  The name just seemed to fit him.

Corky at about 2 years

Corky fit in immediately.  He whined a bit the first night, but after that, he was fine.  He and Jason would run up-and-down the sidewalk in front of our apartment, and Jason would collapse in giggles while Corky covered him with puppy kisses. Three-years old by that time, Jason was no longer throwing food at mealtime, but he would sneak little bits of food to Corky who was more than happy to eat whatever Jason shared.

After four years in Atlanta, we moved back to Columbus.  Jason was in first grade, and I was teaching at one of the area high schools.  Every afternoon, we took Corky outside when we got home and would then change into casual clothing.  Jason would do his homework and play with his friends until it was time for dinner.

Corky in Las Vegas

On the afternoon that Rock Hudson passed away, I was sitting on a recliner and watching the news about it when Mike called to say he was one his way home from work.  I got up to cook dinner, and Jason came home from playing with his friends.  Jason asked me if he could take Corky for a walk, and I told him he could walk him on the driveway.  Corky, however, was nowhere around.

I ran to the back door and saw his chain on the stoop, but there was no dog.  Since the chain was in a heap, I figured Corky had not slipped out of it.  I ran around the backyard calling him, but he was not there.  I ran back inside, and Jason and I checked every room.  No Corky.  I could not figure out what happened to him.  I remembered letting him out, and I thought I remembered letting him in.  Maybe I had unleashed him from the chain and closed the door without noticing that he wasn't in the house yet.  I ran back outside and ran around the house.  He was nowhere.


Mike came home to find his family hysterically calling for the dog.  Always the calm one, he said that we should retrace our steps.  We both tried to remember what we did. Jason walked to his room and pretended to change, came downstairs to "do his homework," and went outside to play.  I let the dog out and back in, sat on the recliner to watch TV, and went to cook dinner.  I was crying that the dog had disappeared into thin air.  Standing up,  I leaned on the back of the recliner, and the footrest flipped up.  Out ran the little monkey.  I didn't know whether to hug him or shoot him.

"Couldn't you at least whine or something?" I said as I hugged him.

Jason and Corky

Not long after that incident, we came home after shopping one Saturday. Corky greeted us at the door and ran to the family room coffee table.  He barked and barked at the table—an early American-style coffee table that had legs, a base, and cabinets.  Bark. Bark. Bark.  Mike lifted one end, and underneath it was a mouse.

"OH MY GOD," I screamed.  "IS IT ALIVE? DON'T LET IT GET AWAY."

"He's dead," Mike said and went to get a box lid to pick the thing up.

"HOW DO YOU KNOW?" I was less-than-calm.

"His four legs are sticking up, and he's not moving. He's dead," Mike snorted as he took the mouse out to the garbage.  "Corky probably scared him to death."

"Mickey almost scared me to death," I replied.

Jason has Corky, and our exchange student Michael is in the hat.

When we moved to Las Vegas, Corky, Jason, and I drove cross-country together. Jason and Corky shared the back seat since they had more room back there, and I loved to listen to Jason read to the dog.  One afternoon, we ran out of water for Corky, and Jason put a little Pepsi in the dog's bowl so he'd have something to drink while we looked for a rest stop.  Corky did not like the bubbles on his nose.

We'd been in Las Vegas about five years when I came home to find blood all over the kitchen and family room floors.  I swore someone had killed someone in the house, and the only person in the house that day was Corky.  I called Mike.

"SOMEONE KILLED CORKY," I waled into the phone.  He was interviewing a reporter candidate at the time, and my screams got his attention.  Mike told me no one killed Corky.  "YOU CAN'T SEE ALL THE BLOOD IN THE HOUSE."  The reporter had no idea Corky was a dog, so imagine his concern and confusion. 

I ran outside screaming for the dog and yelling into the phone.  No Corky.  I ran back through the house and saw a little butt behind the living room sofa. The butt moved.  "I FOUND HIM," I announced.  "HE'S ALIVE."  Mike told me to take him to the vet and he'd meet me there.

Corky at 12

The vet did tests and found that Corky had an acute case of pancreatitis.  The blood was from diarrhea caused by the episode.  Once we stabilized him and fed him special food, he was fine, and we never had another attack.  It's a good thing because I'm not sure that reporter could have handled hearing me scream into the phone again.

Three or four years after that episode, Corky passed away. He had slowed down a bit, but was doing pretty well until one night when he suddenly couldn't move. I never knew what had happened to cause that, but the vet did emergency surgery. Corky survived the procedure but had a heart attack in recovery. 

I loved that little guy and, as with Bunk, I mourned him greatly.  "I'm never getting another dog," I said to Mike. "I can't do this again."

Mike said nothing, but the next night, he took me for a ride to get my mind off of Corky.