In a perfect world, our pets would outlive us

We just added another one to the Pet Cemetery. Our faithful pooch, Kipper, went this past weekend to the Big Fire Hydrant in the Sky. We held services out at the farm and laid Kipper to rest alongside his old pals Egypt, Speck, Vincent and the numerous bunnies, guinea pigs, parakeets and goldfish that have shared our home over the years.

Kipper was a great dog, one who had been with us a long time, and many tears were shed at his passing. He was a member of the family and will be missed.

The only critters still occupying the Taylor home are Stanley—Mrs. T’s Siamese cat—and two finches, Sid and Nancy. It seems mighty lonesome around here just now, but we’re going to try to get used to it rather than immediately restocking the menagerie.

It’s just too hard to say goodbye when our pets die, which they always do, eventually. Also—and I hesitate to say this with Kipper so recently in his grave—this is the first time in years I’ve able to walk across the back yard without keeping an eye out for “land mines.”

On top of that, Kipper was a one-dog defoliant. Wherever he lifted his leg, grass died. He was the furred equivalent of Agent Orange.

Over the years, we tried changing Kipper’s diet, feeding him doggie treats laced with charcoal, encouraging him to drink more water. Nothing worked. Whatever passed through him remained toxic to all growing things.

If I could figure out the exact chemical composition of Kipper’s whiz, I could make a fortune selling it to the military or Dow Chemical.

Next weekend, I plan to reseed the dozens of patches laid bare by Kipper’s frequent bathroom breaks. I don’t know if I can get grass to grow there again in my lifetime, but I intend to try.

I love having a dog around, but as I said, we’re going to try to remain canine-free, at least for a while. We may make it, we may not. It all depends on how successful we are in avoiding pet shops, humane societies, and front yard “pooch corrals” with signs saying “FREE PUPPIES!”

At the moment, The Lovely Mrs. Taylor is adamant: No More Dogs! The grief over losing Kipper is still too fresh; an experience she is understandably reluctant to repeat any time soon.

But I know her. Eventually—maybe sooner, maybe later—she will stumble across a bundle of fur with a broken leg, or big, sad eyes, and that’ll be that. We’ll be re-dogged.

I hope to be in my late 90s by the time that happens. Just once, I’d like to have a dog outlive me.
More “Reality Check” online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.milive.com. E-mail Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com.