A pocket full of miracles

Every pocket in every coat is filled with reminders of my dog Stanley.

As the first nippy day in New York began I grabbed my puffer winter coat for the first time this season. As I stuck my hand in the pocket, I felt the hard crunch of the omnipresent dog biscuits always nestled there.  I should not have been surprised since no pocket whether pants or polar fleece sweatshirt ever went without a dog treat at the ready. Yet the sudden tactile feel of the bone-shaped treats brought tears to my eyes.

The physical evidence of Stanley’s presence in the house has become more remote.

There is no more shedding. There is a unique sadness to vacuuming now. Where once the Hoover would be clogged with an abundance of blonde dog hair requiring me to empty the canister after every use, now there is nary a trace of hair. As a New Yorker with a fondness for black, my dry cleaner was always on speed dial. Suffice it to say that my visits to the neighborhood dry cleaner are considerably less these days.

Creature Comforts

But other tangible reminders of Stanley’s life are everywhere in my home. They are also signs of all my canine companions.

They are my doggie heirlooms, as treasured as my grandmother’s Wedgewood bone china.

Stan’s gleaming, empty metal food bowls that once belonged to his predecessor Emerson still sit in their raised wooden stand as though waiting to be filled with the same kibble nuggets measured out in the same metal measuring cup his two voracious brothers enjoyed. Like a desert cart in a restaurant that no one is touching, the dog food remains uneaten in the rolling container nearby.

His wicker toy box overflowing with chew toys, frisbees, Nyla bones, and balls of all sizes, an amalgam of new and inherited tchotchkes, stands at the ready to be played with, chased, and chewed.

My first dog Princes, vintage dog toy, Snoopy

The one heirloom toy that was strictly off limits for Stanley was a rubber Snoopy doll, my first dog Prince’s well-chewed puppy toy from 1961. It remains a retired artifact. Four years ago when I was cleaning out my parent’s home,  I discovered Snoopy underneath my bed in my childhood bedroom. I’ve no doubt my fastidious mother had vacuumed under the bed over the course of the 35 years since the dog passed away. But she chose to leave it as Prince left it, where it was discovered by me when they were all gone, bringing me a big smile.

Just as she knew it would.

Also in the wheat-colored toy box are the multiple hand-me-down red rubber Kongs, imprinted with markings of all my dog’s teeth. They were lovingly -filled with baby carrots every day at precisely the same time for Stanley’s afternoon treat. When it came to food his inner clock worked with the precision of a train schedule. Now at 1pm like a Pavlovian dog I still instinctively reach for the bag of carrots.

Following My Lead

His woven nylon leash and collar hang on the mahogany hall tree, a purple lead and collar we first used for Max to strut down the streets of Provincetown, later worn by Emerson and passed on to Stan.

A now fading 35-year-old blue plastic sports water bottle still sits on a shelf not far from view as I prepare my meals. Long before everyone toted a stainless steel portable water bottle with them, we carried one for our first lab Max so he would never be far from a refreshing drink of water while he ran on the beaches of East Hampton, or went hiking in the Berkshires.  We quenched our dog Emerson’s thirst from it after he surfed the ocean waves in Cape Cod, and Stanley eagerly drank from the squirt bottle after swimming at our local Lloyd Harbor beach.

A Canister of Love

Reminders of Stanley are everywhere, not so much a monument for him but in anticipation of another sweet dog

However, it is the large, vintage Milk Bone canister that held Stanley’s Mother Hubbard dog biscuits that tugs at my heart while also bringing me comfort. This antique pressed-tin box was given to me by my mother years ago for her very first ever grand-dog Max. Our family had not had a canine member for years and it was met with justifiable excitement. The box was given with such love, and that is exactly what it always contained.

The treats that caused furry tails to wag enthusiastically changed through the years as did the dogs, but the box remained. It stood on top of a small vertical, antique wooden oak cabinet in the eat-in-kitchen in my upper west side apartment, then in my oversized kitchen in Huntington by the sliding glass doors within easy reach to bribe Stanley to come in from playing in the yard.  Now the tableau is recreated in my current home. The slightly dented, well-used canister is a day-to-day reminder of my mother’s love and all the dogs in my life.

The continuity of these items comforts me but also assures me that there will be another dog who will inherit these items.

And They Called It Puppy Love…

My first morning with my new puppy Max 1987, NYC. The baby gates were in place in anticipation.

I was 32 when my heart opened again to inviting a sweet dog into my life. It had been 15 long years since my beloved childhood dog Prince died and in the winter of 1987 when I cuddled that warm, bundle of lab love that was my new puppy, Max, I knew I could never be without a dog ever again.

And from that December day, I have not missed a beat. For the past 36 years, there has not been a day without a sweet canine companion by my side to cuddle, nurture, and cherish.

Today, nearly five months since Stanley’s passing has been the longest gap I have had between dogs. Circumstances are different now, with unforeseen limitations and challenges that I didn’t have to take into consideration before.

So the wait and the process are longer, filled with a bunch of speed bumps along the way. It’s been a rocky road at times but I know in my heart Stanley is on the path with me and with his eagle eye and generous heart he will lead me to his next sibling. I suspect he is in consultation with Max and Emerson too.

As I held the dog treats in my pocket that day, I got misty-eyed but returned them back to their resting place in my coat so they will be there for the next sweet dog in my life.

And their excited wagging tail.