Time for a New Home
Just a few years ago in a town called Frederick lived a man with an amazing dog. This dog was an English pointer, white with black spots, always assumed to be a Dalmatian, because of his disguise.
In honor of his colors, the dog was named after Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin, the famous Russian poet whose ancestry was, you guessed it, black and white.
Pushkin was a fixture downtown on Market Street for many years, even nominated for mayor, but he was too dignified for politics. He chose to live as a civilized companion to his beloved master, the curmudgeonly newspaper columnist Roy Meachum.
The spotted puppy, who spent his childhood on Roy’s lap, was purchased from a passerby with a one hundred dollar bill, a gift, fished from Roy’s wallet. No real training was needed for the little dog, who became a partner for life with his master.
Although kind and respectful to others, Pushkin was a one man dog.
As the years passed and Pushkin became arthritic, first unable to get up to the bed, then unable to manage the stairs, Roy narrowed his horizons, giving up travel to remain with his dog until the end. And indeed Pushkin did die with Roy at his side, as he had spent his life at Roy’s.
Later Roy rescued another dog, this time a mature and handsome Weimaraner. This guy came from a breeding farm and then a rescue. Roy was his first real person, and Roy’s house his first real home.
Not surprising, after Pushkin, the Weimaraner was also named after a poet, this time Goethe, the German.
Roy and Goethe found their own loving relationship, and Goethe began to present his handsome face on Market Street, and in Baker Park.
This time, the partner to slow down a bit, with a knee replacement, and a need for caution on his feet, was Roy. Friends and helpers began providing the long walks Goethe needed, as this energetic and powerful guy could pull Roy right off his feet, if he spotted something exceptionally delicious along the sidewalk.
Sweet in spirit, aggression free, tolerant and loving, with a best friend who is three, complete tolerance of my cat, and in spite of a chronic seizure disorder requiring medication, Goethe’s exuberance and love of adventure require both physical and mental strength beyond the capacity of most 85 year olds.
Goethe is a guy, with just a trace of manly stubbornness. If he gets something delicious in his mouth, you might have to pull it out. Remember to say, “Leave it!” in advance if there’s a fresh loaf of bread on the counter, or that “innocent” someone standing by your knee might enjoy a quick second breakfast. If a dog along the street barks at him, though, he’ll give you a look that says, “Well, what do you think?”
Goethe has been with me, Roy’s friend, for several weeks now as Roy has been in rehab recovering from a fall, and is in need of an appropriate home. Skeptical of his adoptability at first, and ignorant of his breed, I was worried when he first came home with me.
Who would adopt this big lug? Who, indeed? This is a wonderful dog. He would like nothing better than to remain by your side for life and star in your family pack. He loves children, sniffs politely at my cat, plays tug of war with a vengeance and loves nothing better than a long walk in the park, behaving perfectly off the leash, always coming when called. He is a master hugger who delights in pleasing, just needing a little more training to know exactly how.
If you’re interested in exploring the possibility of adopting a true best friend, and giving a good home to a very special dog, just email me. Thanks, from Roy, and me, and Goethe.
The one who adopts Goethe will be the real winner, of course, of the sweetest, most loyal companion ever.