What's It Worth To You?

He was an old yellow --probably mixed breed--dog. Like many of our dogs he came into our family by chance and for only a short time--about ten years. Like most humans, we became attached to this animal. His silly foibles, and his whatnots. His name was Zeus, and like I said he was a yellow dog--and a couple of sons could tell me what main breed he was. He was a medium height, probably around fifty pounds, short hair, and a good all around chum.

Some of the whatnots that Zeus had were characterized by his good nature. He was good with children. He was good with people in general. He had a slight limp from being rolled by an automobile when he was young, but that didn't slow him down in his young life--only as he grew older. The story of the squirrel has several lessons in it.

We live in the country, in a cold and snowy winter wonderland. There is an abundance of feed all summer, but winters can be tough for the little feathered friends, so we feed the birds in the winter.  One winter day I glanced out the porch window, and sitting in the tray of the feeder was a plummy squirrelly tail, busily waving away. I thought, whoa, that's no bird! What's that goofy squirrel doing on the bird feeder? I reached over and tapped on the window, thinking of course the squirrel would get the message and disappear, but no such luck. I actually think he became more industrious in his feeding with the tail waving more vigorously. Well, I  thought, squirrelly is a bit bold--so I tapped again, just a bit more loud this time--still no change in the foolish beastie. The next time I tapped, and I said out loud, "Hey, Squirrel, get out of there!"

I couldn't believe the audacity of the creature. I had one last Ace in my hat. I cautiously went down the steps to the back door, opened it somewhat quiet, and hollered out, "Sic em, Zeus!"
Rocky the flying squirrel hit the ground about ten feet from the bird feeder, flying like a bird, and a streak of yellow was behind him nipping at his plummy tail. From that time on it was Zeus the squirrel dog. We never figured out if his limp slowed him down so he didn't ever catch the varmint, but we had the quiet little feeling in the back of our minds that he didn't really want to catch them.

That feeling was underscored by his Sunday habit. As he grew older he slept more, and was less active, which is only normal, of course. His Sunday habit gave him away somewhat. We would pull into our drive, and as we came up to the top of the drive, and stopped in front of the garage, he would jump up (usually he had had his foolish body laying in my flowers) and he would look all around like what? where's that rascally squirrel? I'll get him! His gaze would come to rest looking down at our grove of trees like he was searching for something, and off he would fly as if he was chasing that dumb squirrel. Sometimes there was actually a squirrel, but most often he was just on a goose chase for no reason. No reason except to make it look like he was a good watch dog taking care of things while we were away. We would snicker at his antics and praise his efforts at watch doggedness. 

Each year he was slower--except when we came home from church on Sunday. And he kept getting thinner. Every year I would think, there's no way the poor thing will make it through this winter, he's getting so thin! We fed him all he would eat, gave him worm medicine, but to no avail. You could see his hip bones, and his limp became more pronounced.  And he'd look at me with a laugh. It was a quiet laugh that said--yes, I know I'm dying, but we sure had fun, didn't we--and we'd do it all again, just the same--

The day we brought home two boarder collie pups he was miffed. He looked at me like : What's wrong, you think I need these two nincompoops?  He acted like he was real put out, but true to his nature, he was good to the two dumb-head pups. They in turn rolled over him, played with him--until he would tell them in a cross manner, enough already! They'd leave him alone about five minutes then start all over again. They slept with him, sometimes on top of him, or snuggled with him.  Either way they kept him warm, and I'm sure they were a comfort as well.

He developed a lump on one of his cheekbones--the vet said it was one thing or another. It was either an infection, or cancer. We gave him his medicine twice a day--dogs like peanut butter, so we would roll his medicine up in a ball of peanut butter, and play catch with him. We'd throw it, he'd catch it and swallow in one smooth move. He always was good at catch. We thought it helped him, and maybe it did some. Of course it wasn't enough. He just kept getting more thin.

Even after these past few years I can still see him. I knew he was suffering, and he was in pain, yet there was still that spark of something that said but we sure had fun didn't we.

There will never be another Zeus, but that's all right. Just like there are no two snowflakes that are alike, he was a good old yellow dog--and we sure had fun didn't we?