Tribute to an Exhuberant Heart
I am always so sad when I write one of these tributes. It's hard to watch each dog's time here wind slowly down. I start from a place of sadness, but as I look back over the years remembering the young times my memories get lighter and I have to smile....
Con got off to a rocky start. He was a singleton puppy and though he tried mightily his mom's milk just never came down enough to fill him up. My nephew, Andy, and I took over bottlefeeding him. I had an older litter and tried grafting him on to that mother. Lessa was fine with it, but her milk came down in such a rush I thought I'd killed the puppy! He blew up like a little balloon and rolled off the nipple, looked a bit like a little drunken sailor. Anyway, Conner survived his infancy. Andy didn't like to admit he kind of liked this puppy. He'd smuggle Conner into bed with him, said Con kept him warm. I don't think the puppy knew what his legs were for the first few weeks as Andy carried him everywhere.
Conner grew into a fine, strapping young animal. And grew, and grew....he ended up on the wrong side of sixteen inches (darn it!) He was the only son I had from my old boy Rory, so despite his size, he wasn't going to go anywhere. I called Con my Pooh dog (a dog of very little brain). He had the attention span of a gnat. He'd fling himself into any endeavor with great verve and gusto. I tried him on sheep a few times and he would show fleeting moments of brilliance. The sheep took one look at him, baaed "Wolf!" and ran for the barn. He had a strong presence and they recognized his power, though he didn't have a clue what to do with it. Our excursions with the sheep would start with him bounding through the pasture, stopping to pee on a weed, bouncing straight up into the air for the sheer joy of it. Then he'd spot the sheep, who were already beating feet to the barn. He'd usher them on in then come bouncing back with happy grin. One ewe lost her mind and couldn't seem to find her way into the barn, she ran right over Con who came up roaring. He even gripped her, only time I saw him mad. A couple days later I noticed him walking a bit like John Wayne (sort of spraddled legged in the rear). When I rolled him over to have a look, his poor scrotum was swollen and black and blue. Silly ewe stepped right on his private parts, no wonder he was so mad. He healed just fine and did go on to sire a litter for me. Daughter Glory, granddaughters Molly, Journey and Casey and great granddaughters Emma and Sprite remain as his legacy.
Peri and Conner were rivals, the problem came more from Peri. Conner wouldn't back down from a fight, but he was pretty easy going as a rule. Even towards the end when he really couldn't see or hear all that well, he would put up with the shenanigans from the rescue puppies. Little Merry was totally at awe and in love with him. She would leap, licking submissively at his muzzle and blocking any forward progression he had going. Poor Con would "Rrrrrr and rowr and finally ROWF!", but his bluff stopped there. I'd scoop her up to give him a little peace.
Where did all those years go? I regret the lost opportunities, times I could have spent just enjoying his exhuberance. His nickname was Conair, because of his "all four legs off the ground" bounce. Wish I'd spent more time telling his stories as they happened, celebrated his antics, shared the laughter. I'd like anyone who reads this to tell a little story about one of their dogs, cement those memories and enjoy the now.