Oogy_ The Dog Only a Family Could Love - Larry Levin [59]
In warm weather when we go for a walk in the little nearby town of Narberth, strangers invariably approach us to meet Oogy. His appearance inspires a lot of questions. I generally try to avoid telling very young children what really happened to Oogy; I simply tell them that another dog attacked him. Because both humans and dogs had abused Oogy, strangers are unfailingly surprised that he is as gentle with animals and people as he is. When people first encounter Oogy, they invariably ask if he is safe. My stock response is, “Well, he has licked two people to death.…” Waitresses, waiters, and patrons at the outdoor cafés and people eating, drinking, or catching smokes outside of the bars and restaurants swarm all over Oogy. On weekend nights, several of the regulars in downtown Narberth carry treats to give to him. Oogy enjoys the attention that he gets. I am happy for him. It is some form of compensation. I often tell people we encounter on these strolls that we’re there because Oogy likes the nightlife. In a way, that’s true.
It is an altogether different experience when we go to a dog park and I let Oogy run free. This has served to both expand and strengthen our communicative abilities. For years, I was reluctant to let Oogy off his leash. The idea that he might run away and be lost forever reflected my anxieties: That which we love will disappear. But eventually, at Jennifer’s insistence, and knowing full well how much Oogy enjoyed socializing with other dogs, I overcame my hesitation. The end result was a mutual expression of confidence that we would always be there for each other.
The first dog park I took Oogy to was at a local nature conservancy, acres of hills and hiking trails with a creek at the bottom. Dogs were not officially allowed off leash, but people had been letting them run free there for years. The opportunity to run unhindered and exhaustively and to interact with other dogs was definitely therapeutic for Oogy. Each outing was like a playdate for a young child, stimulating and relaxing at the same time. He would come home from these outings and fall into a deep sleep, his social and physical needs sated.
It took Oogy several months before he would venture into the creek. Eventually, this became a key part of our visit. Oogy would walk in the water and drink as it meandered along. On those clear, hot days, his image reflected in the creek, the picture of Oogy and Oogy upside down in the water burned into my brain. Sometimes he would walk thirty or forty yards upstream as I followed on the footpath. I could hear him sloshing in the water but was unable to see him because of the thick bushes lining the bank, until he would eventually rejoin me on the trail. The act of separating and then reuniting had deeper implications.
To be sure, there were moments when Oogy disappeared, following some scent or movement, which proved to be just as scary for me as when I’d lost sight of Noah or Dan in a crowded store when they were young. When Oogy would disappear, I would stand and call his name, always worried that he would not be able to discern where the sound was coming from because of his missing ear. Then, when he returned, I would always tell him not to do that again because it scared me so much.
During one visit, a mother and her three young daughters were hanging out by the creek, and I heard Oogy barking as I approached. One of the little girls had waded across the creek and climbed onto