Once upon a time there was a large pumpkin farm in the southwest portion of Ohio. I went there with our sweet daughter. She was 14 years old, blonde hair, and large blue eyes. Her smile, her greatest feature, could make the angels happy, and certainly warmed my heart. But I digress.
Suffice it to say, we went to procure a few pumpkins and began going up and down the aisles of orange. And then we saw him. He was only 3 pounds at the time, the supposed runt of a liter of six. His daddy Benji was there, as was his mother, Bella, and he was the last puppy left. I knew he was dangerous, in that we didn’t need a dog. Ours had passed away tragically in June. Now it was Fall, and we were not done grieving. However, what are you going to do when you see that face? We picked him up and never put him down until we reached home. I wrote a rather large check that day to the pumpkin farm, and, frankly, I don’t even remember buying any pumpkins.
We took our little guy to our larger home up on the hill, and the potty training began. If I didn’t already mention it, he was a special breed of canine labeled as Coton. (You should look it up.) He was easy to train as the breed loves humans. He simply wanted to please us. He captured our hearts in no time. He had a herding instinct and loved to boss around our younger children, constantly accounting for their whereabouts. He ran, he played, and he jumped. And when I say jumped, I mean leaped. He had a vertical that was impressive. He didn’t just jump on the sofa but went straight to the top of the sofa. He didn’t jump small distances but made great leaps. He could clear four to five steps sailing through the air as though he was super pup. Our children and our friends loved his antics and thought we should apply to Cirque du Soleil on his behalf.
He was amazing. He could spot a squirrel at 20 yards. He loved people but not so much other dogs. He loved my husband, Bob, and my children, but most of all he loved me. They say that a Coton will choose one person as “their own.” I had that privilege and so began the loving friendship of my very own best friend. That was 17 years ago. And back when Eddie could see.
Cataracts would eventually take his sight, and jumping was no longer a good idea. But before they wrecked his world he saw so much.
When Eddie could see, he lived in a beautiful, forested area. There were so many birds, deer, squirrels, racoons, and possums. There was sunshine and heavy snow up to his haunches. He would walk proudly on his leash with his family, strutting in double-time-step always wanting to lead the way. He hated car rides and was very verbal about it. He would screech and chirp at the top of his lungs for the entire car ride to the vet or to the groomers. Oddly, the car ride home he was peaceful and silent.
He watched over the children. He watched them grow and then condescended to play with the unruly batch of young teens and preteens. He was there when they came home from school. They never entered a lonely home. He joined them for snacks and bedtime. Eddie was ever vigilant that no one should be missing from the home. At the end of his day, he would retire to the master bedroom and leap up onto the high mattress, circling twice at my feet. If I got up, he got up. If a child was sick in the night, he seemed to be the first to know. Otherwise, he remained near me, and we partnered well, raising our children.
He met their friends and welcomed them, too. He was there the first time we met Taylor when Jonah asked her to be his Homecoming date. He was there when James took Shasta to prom her senior year. He was there when Robby came home and visited from college. He enjoyed those visits as Robby was clearly a dog-boy. They played and laughed together. He was there during the tough times. He was there during the challenges and joys of being a family. Each day he saw us through.
When he was 5 years old, there was another dog. Louis came to live with us. He was a 10-week-old golden retriever. A wonderful, galumphing version of Scooby Doo. I would love to tell you they were instantly a duo, but, sadly, no. Eddie was in charge and took over the rearing of this ungainly usurper in our home. If Louis stepped a paw out of place, Eddie had something to bark about it. They were the “Odd Couple,” the friends who co-existed, and Louis never seemed to question Eddie’s authority in the home.
Soon the children and the noise left the home, one by one, and it was just my spouse and I and the two dogs. We moved from the hill and into a “neighborhood.” The dogs came too, and Eddie led the charge. He seemed to like the new place. It was certainly less steps, and he didn’t have to go as far to go to bed each night. The backyard was larger, and it had different sights and smells.
Then one day, a new boy came to stay. His name was Henok, and he was afraid of dogs. In his 18 years he had never been around pets, and dogs were a whole new adventure. It was Eddie that decided he loved him first, and then Louis soon after. I saw Eddie become a puppy again as he had a brand-new playmate. This young man learned about the joys of having a pet and the responsibility of same. They became an odd band of brothers living there together in our home for five years. As Henok was older when he arrived, he was able to help care for our sweet boys and enjoyed playing in the snow with them. They went for walks together and set up a few Christmas trees, too. I’m certain they shared treats and dreams, and Eddie was there when Henok passed his driver’s test. He met Coley, Henok’s girlfriend and it was love at first sight.
In 2020, we had this thing called a pandemic, and life changed drastically for us all. We moved to Florida, and so did our family of dogs. They loved the sunshine and the lack of snow. But I noticed Eddie often sitting by the door staring, as though he was ready to leave and go back home. As time went on, he accepted that we were home. In truth, we were in another house, and home was where our children were. We were all very lonely. No friends came to call, no one smelled familiar, even family was far away. Perhaps that is why Eddie began traveling by car, by golf cart, and by airplane so well. He was determined to see them each, again and again.
When Eddie could see, he watched the children grow. He watched them succeed in sports and in school and eventually in love. One day Robby brought home a new girl, Andrea. She wasn’t a dog-girl but seemed special – and she was. Eddie liked her. He approved of her. So, she stayed and became family, too.
Taylor, Jonah’s girl, was there when Eddie’s dear friend Louis passed away. Taylor was sad, Jonah was sad, but my husband Bob was the saddest of all. He was lost and broken when our sweet boy left us for something called the rainbow bridge. Eddie, however, seemed to know it was all right, and he poured out extra love.
When Eddie could see, he met each grandchild and instinctively knew they were family and would fit his circle of love. When Eddie could see, he traveled by airplane to visit and stay with each of his children and with their children, blessing them with his presence and his soft fur. Our first-born grandchild, Addie, was obsessed with Eddie and always asked about him first. Megan, our second born, thinks Eddie is a cat and strokes his back and tail accordingly. Eddie was there when Avery came home from the hospital and then went back to the hospital due to jaundice – but Eddie was always there.
Eddie could be in so many places because he liked to fly. He traveled back and forth each month from Florida to Ohio without ever complaining; he was just glad to be with me and I with him.
The cataracts began to take their toll, and now he can only see shadows and silhouettes of his people and his home. He bumps into walls, and he sleeps on the floor, as jumping on beds is out of the question. He can no longer run to the backyard but has to be carried for his safety. At night he has to be on a leash and held within a safe space, so he won’t become disoriented and lost. His life is so much harder. Day and night are now just feelings, like the sunshine on his fur and the touch of his family.
But when Eddie could see, he ran like the wind, he sailed through the air, leaping to the highest places. He looked into the faces of his children and of his best friend. When Eddie could see life was wonderful and not frightening. When Eddie could see, he was in charge and took the world by storm. Life was the very best when Eddie could see.
We’re all grateful that Eddie is still alive, and at 17.5 years old, he’s darn near immortal!
