I’ve always been a dog person — nothing at all against those who are feline-friendly. I’m fond of them, too… that is, when they aren’t scratching, clawing, biting, meowing and regurgitating anything resembling a wookie. (My parents’ cat, George, also has a disturbing habit of drooling when he’s content. Go figure.)
Coastal Point • RYAN SAXTON
Ryan’s best friend Kylie – sorry, Shaun.
It’s just that I’ve had very little time in my life when I haven’t been accompanied by a canine. There’s something about dogs that makes them irresistible, from a jovial wag of the tail to the way they always appear to be smiling while they pant. A need for protection, for companionship, a rodent infestation — there’s hardly anything that can’t be cured by a playful pooch.
I was brought into this world, growing up in Newark with my parents and Seyward, an elder golden retriever that Mom and Dad had for some years before I was born. She basically was a babysitter who accepted payment in table scraps and belly-rubs. I could ride on her back as a toddler, and she wouldn’t mind a bit.
My sister, Sarah, born two years after me, also came under Seyward’s watchful eye. Her comforting body served as an adequate pillow at the end of the day. We’d take her to the playground at a nearby school, and although she wasn’t enjoying it as much as we were, she’d still slide down the slide with my sister and me.
Sarah would wrap a rug around her head, calling her a lion, and although Seyward would roll her eyes, she’d just lie there without complaining.
As all good things come to an end, though, and Seyward passed when I started grade school, just after the family moved up the road to Elkton, Md.
To fill the void, my father brought home Sadie one year later, another retriever who was quickly welcomed as one of the family. Immediately, she became “my dog,” primarily because I was the one who fed her.
Our acre of land with plenty of fields surrounding us provided a much more ideal space for an energetic dog to run around than did the Newark suburb. She’d accompany us to the bus stop as we walked up every morning, at first leashed, then eventually, by herself, and she’d be waiting on the porch for my sister and me to return from school.
My sister, friends and I would take her on walks to the “frog pond,” which was really nothing more than a storm drain that ran laterally under the road in our neighborhood. In the spring and summertime, she’d cool off in the mucky waters, playing an entertaining version of whack-a-mole with the frogs that were courageous enough to peek their heads out of the water.
In winter, she’d bound down the sledding hills with us as we coasted over the snow, in an attempt to “save” us before we reached the bottom. Very seldom were we out of her sight if she could help it. But alas, she, like Seyward, was gone too soon, both losing fights against malignant tumors.
Throughout college, class and work consumed most of my time, and the apartments in Wilmington, N.C., offered little exercise room for the medium-size dog of which I had grown fond. Dogs were basically out of the question.
Friends who had dogs — usually smaller, yippy, ones — would stop by, and even though they weren’t the same as the retrievers I grew up knowing, they were still the playful, lovable companions I was used to, and always enjoyed their company. I even found that some acquaintances at college were even more tolerable, simply because they had a dog I could play with if they stopped by; for example, my roommate’s girlfriend, and her dog, Hannah.
Upon returning home to Elkton one break, I pulled into my driveway as a young golden retriever puppy raced across our front lawn. When I asked my mother whose dog it was, she replied it was ours… and it had been for a month.
A little disappointed that they chose not to inform me of a new dog, I looked at… Kylie. Yeah, they named her, too; never told me.
Sticking with the surprises, my bedroom had been transformed into a storage closet, but that’s another story for another day…
Here I was, petting a complete stranger of a dog, who was enthusiastically licking my hand while urinating all over the driveway. (I really don’t understand what goes on in a puppy’s anatomy that makes them lose all control of their bladder when they get excited.)
Even though we had never met before, Kylie and I had an immediate bond, and to this day, despite her residing with my parents two hours away, she’s my dog.
Now, living in South Bethany, working once again, and plagued with minimal yard space, keeping a dog here is not an easy task. However, when I return home, or if Kylie is down here, she sleeps on my bed.
She comes on cue, attempts to make an effort to sit, stay and roll over when told, and even brings in the newspaper in the mornings. She responds to hearing my name at least as, if not more, attentively than when she hears “w-a-l-k” or “f-o-o-d.”
She is still a dog, though, and will chase geese and groundhogs through the nature centers, but she’s very much part of the family. When she makes it down here, Kylie charges after sandpipers and seagulls on the beach in the winter months, and fetches sticks pitched into the surrounding state parks.
Perhaps the most astonishing thing about them is whether you’re returning home from a trip to the grocery store, or getting back from a month-long vacation, your dog will still be wagging its tail, happier than ever to see you. The personality that dogs possess truly make them man’s best friend.
That being said, there was no hesitation when I returned home from work last week and found my neighbor Ed Nazarian by the canal across the way, informing me that a dog was struggling to get out of the water.
Thankfully, he had heard the soggy pup splashing and crying. As I approached the canal, I could vaguely make out a black head drifting through the dark water. A black Labrador was swimming around, frantically looking for a way out. We coaxed him to a shallow corner where he could stand, but it was still too far for him to jump out.
After I called the tired pup from a nearby dock, it swam right over. With his front paws up on the dock, and a little patience, I was able to help him out, much to his appreciation.
I’d been told growing up to be weary of dogs that you aren’t familiar with, but given the situation, I think we were both happy to be there for each other. He immediately covered my face with thankful laps from his tongue. I gave him some fresh water, a few biscuits and a bowl of food, which were all consumed in less than three minutes, easy.
Mr. Nazarian provided a quick hose-down and towels for the dripping dog.
Officer Joshua Rowley of the South Bethany Police Department responded moments after, ready to hold onto the dog for the time being. When construction began on the new police department, they had done away with a holding kennel for lost and stray dogs. The rescued pooch would have ended up at the Sussex County SPCA if unclaimed for very long. But soon afterward, the dog’s owners were reunited with their friend.
It felt good to know that I was able to help someone that night. It can be a very rough experience losing any pet. It goes without saying, though, that there is a mutual understanding, a desire for pets and their owners to be happy.
Thanks to a little help from neighbors and friends, a family can wake up tomorrow with their dog sleeping at the foot of their bed, or bringing in the paper, or maybe whizzing on the floor in an excited frenzy.
The connection a dog has with his owner is truly amazing — the way they can make you completely comfortable, and assure you that you have a buddy who has no higher priority than being your friend.