Knowing Bessie convinced me that, like people, dogs have souls

REPORTER’S NOTEBOOK

By John Tredrea
   "Bessie was more than just a friend of mine.

   We shared the good times with the bad…

   Now I’m going down the road to see Bessie.

   Oh, I’ll see her soon.

   I’m just going down the road to see Bessie.

   When I get there, I’m wondering what she’ll do" — Robbie Robertson
I’m a very poor hand at discussing religious subjects. Apparently from some kind of deep-rooted ornery attitude that this is not the time to delve into, I get tied up in self-inflicted semantic knots on what the key words mean.
   On the other hand we can debate definitions, but I think most of us have a pretty good idea what the word "soul," for example, means.
   Not only people have souls, it seems. A lot of animals do, too, and a lot of people regard their pets or other animals they "own" as soul-mates. Especially dogs, just because of, well, the way dogs can be. An ex-neighbor of ours used to walk her dog by our place constantly. Walking that dog was her favorite thing to do, far and away. When we met her, the dog was quite old and had many health problems. The time was drawing near when the animal might have to be put to sleep, simply to alleviate the pain it had to endure. "I hate to think of it," the woman said. "You know what dog spelled backwards is, don’t you? That’s no accident, you know."
   It occurs to me that it may be easier to love the soul of a dog than that of a person because a dog’s soul can somehow be seen more clearly. People are so complicated. It is not hard to feel like you have a lot more in common with your dog than with many of the people you have known. I have had that feeling myself, many times.
   It was like that with our dog Bessie. She was half Labrador Retriever, half boxer, all black and about 55 pounds. She loved you, as much as a being can love another. She was good, and she was kind, and she certainly was fun, and she was interesting. What else is there? When you showed up after a wacky day in this odd world, sometimes with your proverbial tail between your legs, and she gave you that huge dog smile and super-energetic tail wag and came over to give you a big sloppy kiss and rub her forehead into your face, how were you supposed to think things were bad? You couldn’t. You just couldn’t.
   Oh, well. I could tell you Bessie stories all day. Like many dogs, she had many amusing eccentricities and adventures that endeared you to her. One of the best things about dogs is that they are natural comedians. One of my favorite Bessie quirks was the way she thumped the floor to say hello. When she got older, it was hard for her to stand. She was always lying on her side. If you walked by, she would wag her tail to say hello and it would thump the floor, quite loudly sometimes. Like a little drum greeting. It was just very amusing to be saluted that way, no matter how many times it happened.
   And she loved oranges. If you peeled a navel orange, she’d smell it and come over to you, smiling and wagging up a storm. Peel off a section and toss it into the air and she’d catch it. I’ve had quite a few dogs, but none that went for citrus fruit. She was so happy to get those orange sections that you had to laugh, and I don’t think anyone has yet figured out how to laugh and not feel good at the same time. Over the years, you realize that your dog has done this kind of thing for you every day, many thousands of times in all. How can you not love your dog, man?
   I remember a time when my oldest son and I were having an argument in the kitchen. I don’t remember what it was about — his making his curfew seems like a pretty good guess — because it was quite a while ago, maybe seven or eight years. Bessie was the kind of dog who would try to make friends with someone who broke into your house while you were out. On the other hand, it was obvious she would have laid down her life, in an instant, for any member of our family if she thought that was necessary to protect us. At night, she always slept equidistant from our bedroom doors, as if to say: "This is the last line of defense and no enemy will pass it!"
   That day in the kitchen, I was yelling at my son and he was yelling back. Bessie loved us both, and so went into the corner and howled the most heart-rending sob I’ve ever heard. She couldn’t think of anything else to do. She couldn’t side with anyone against either one of us, so she was stuck. I’ll never forget that sound. It was then that I knew how much she loved us. Why? Beats me. Just the way a lot of these dogs are made. Go figure.
   Last Saturday afternoon, 14½ years after we brought her home as a 3-week-old puppy, we put Bessie down. Had to be done, for her sake. It was hard for all of us, but especially for the two boys. Ages 24 and 19 now, they were 10 and 4 when we brought Bessie home after they picked her from a litter of nine pups. Even then, that smile was beyond irresistible. Joy incarnate.
   They grew up with the dog, but both had to be told of her passing by telephone. The oldest one lives in California now. The other was at work in Trenton. Neither could even speak. Both broke down and had to hang up.
   No such thing as a soul, indeed. I guess this is my chance to signify that there is such a thing.