Oogy_ The Dog Only a Family Could Love - Larry Levin [28]
I said, “We’re the lucky ones, I think.”
After leaving the hospital, I considered the uniqueness of the weekend’s lessons. Facing the loss of a loved companion, we had started Saturday morning consumed by sadness, despondent, resigned to the unavoidable chasm that lay before us — and without any indication that anything other than bleakness would be our lot for the day, we had encountered a totally opposite experience. I knew the boys would appreciate the way in which events had unfolded. It represented a lesson one rarely had the opportunity to illustrate with such immediacy: life going out one door and in another. And then I started thinking about a name.
I laughed out loud. There was no way to deny it: This was one ugly dog. If his face had been a mask, no one would have wanted to wear it. Of course, I knew I could not call him that. I could not name a dog “Ugly.” And then my thoughts jumped to a term I had used when I was a teenager — “oogly,” as in, “Man, that is one oogly sweater.” And suddenly, just like that, I said, “Oogy,” out loud to myself and knew without a doubt that the pup had a name.
We mourned Buzzy for weeks, and to this day, I love to look at photos of him and the family. I remember Buzzy and the love he shared with tremendous fondness. But the gap in our lives was about to be filled in a sudden and decisive way.
CHAPTER 5
The Arrival
Over the next ten days, I prepared for the reintroduction of a dog into our lives. I went through the cupboards and drawers and found the water bowl and food bowl where I had stashed them. I found the retractable leash and the brush we had used for the dog we’d had before Oogy. I selected an old and very soft flannel blanket for him to sleep on in his cage.
I went to the grocery store and carefully considered the canned and dry dog food, perusing the lists of ingredients. I knew that a lot of dog food contained waste and chemicals and was of questionable quality. I examined the labels, trying to discern what would offer the most quality and nourishment. It was impossible to tell. I couldn’t have known it at the time, of course, but finding Oogy the right food would become an ongoing challenge that lasted years.
I also bought a green collar and a bone-shaped metal dog tag on which I inscribed “Oogy” and our home telephone number. I bought several different varieties of chews and treats to occupy him and to clean his teeth. I picked out some soft toys for him to tear apart. At home, I stashed these acquisitions in the kitchen’s corner cupboard.
One evening a week later, Diane called and asked if I was going to be around the next morning. Oogy was ready for transitioning. She asked if we had come up with a name for him, and when I told her what it was, she laughed and commented that because it was two syllables, like “Eli,” the name change should not prove to be a problem. There was a mild sense of excitement that evening; we were getting a new pet. None of us, of course, had any way of knowing that our lives were about to be changed in a fundamental fashion, just as much as if we had adopted another child.
That morning, after everyone was gone, I went outside and retrieved the newspaper from the curb near the mailbox. I sat on the couch in the family room, drank some more coffee, and read the newspaper all the way through. This was the only part of the day that was mine alone. I relished the quiet and the temporary lack of obligation.
When I was done with the newspaper, I put it aside for Jennifer to read that night, went upstairs and showered, then threw the laundry from the washer into the dryer and started that cycle. I was downstairs emptying the dishwasher when Diane’s station wagon pulled into the driveway a little after nine.
I watched her exit and open the rear lift gate and take out several shopping bags, and went outside to help. She removed a folded-up black steel contraption, which was the crate in which Oogy was to sleep and which I