Showdogs ~ my column from Sunday's paper

Jilda and I have always had dogs. Most of them were “throwaways” that showed up at our front door limping, with mange, the worms, and other maladies stemming from abuse and neglect.

A big red dog of questionable lineage wandered up several years ago. He was so old, his teeth were worn down to nubs and one of his ears had been chewed off. We often got creative with names, but we just called this one Ol’ Red.

He was so far gone, it would have been more merciful to put him down, but with a little time and Jilda’s loving care, he lived several years and died happy.

I’m not sure if it was by chance or some hidden intuition, but they all somehow found the hidden path into our hearts.

When dogs show up here, they hit the canine lottery. They are petted, medicine, vet visits, and three-square meals a day with tasty scraps of chicken, and other treats that somehow tend to fall from our plates at mealtime.

Some die soon after they arrive, and others have stayed as long as 15 years.

The Universe must have bent slightly these last few years because instead of gimpy mutts, the two animals that arrived at our door have been show dogs. One was a thoroughbred collie, and the other a thoroughbred Yorkie.

They want the same thing as the mutts — attention, to be petted, a decent plate of food, and a warm place when it’s cold outside.

But these dogs need a good bit more than mutts. If you've ever seen the old television show Lassie, Caillou could have served as a double in that series.

Grooming him is a chore. After brushing, there’s enough fur on the ground to knit a blanket that could keep Rhode Island warm in winter. But he is a beautiful dog.

When we walk with Caillou, he runs through the woods with wild abandon. Upon return, he’s often dragging the forest behind him. I find myself saying unkind things as I wrestle the briars and brambles out of the six-inches of hair on his tail.

Over the weekend, our carpenter friend Ray helped us replace the lauan and commercial tile on our kitchen floor. It was a messy job involving lots of glue. I’m still finding glue on tools and doorknobs.

Today after my nephew Haven helped me move the stove and fridge back into the kitchen, we were standing in the living room sipping a cold glass of water.

I heard Caillou coming before he arrived. He seemed to be clanking against things as he walked through the house.

When I looked at him more closely, he had a broken corner of commercial tile covered in glue tangled in his tail.

I had to cut it out with shears. He looked a little embarrassed as if to say, “I have no idea how that happened daddy, I promise.”

As I say, I love our dogs, but I'm kind of hoping the next dogs that show up are just mutts.