Ringo!
Don’t tell Jamie, but Ringo is my best friend.
I never had a friend like Ringo before.
But now that I do, I wonder what I was thinking.
Or not thinking.
Ringo is my own first puppy.
I say puppy because he is two and a half months away from his second birthday.
I have a feeling I will always refer to him as a puppy.
What he is, is a mini-Australian Shepard, although I’m not sure of the “mini” part.
He’s not big, but he is adoringly kind of chubby. He weighs 50 pounds.
Truthfully, it is the second doggie I’ve known.
Jamie has had them all her life.
When I met her, she had Mattie. A full-fledged Aussie Shepard and a sweetheart.
Mattie was five when I met her. The fact that I was the only guy she never barked at, impressed Jamie.
Every edge helps.
Mattie faded away into Dog Heaven a few months ago after a considerable battle of ailments that slowed down our courageous girl at the age of 15.
She lived a great life.
Last January, in Arizona, Jamie asked if it might be time to bring in a new puppy to the family.
Before I could answer, she showed me a picture of this handsome pup and said she had not only had acquired him, but we were picking him up the next day.
What could I say?
The next day I picked up a foot-long pup out of a crib, and that was it. He was eight weeks old. As I cradled him he licked my face. That was it.
So, Ringo really belongs to both of us, but for me, it’s the first doggie I’ve ever had from the start.
By the way, Jamie named Ringo after Johnny Ringo, an outlaw, from Tombstone, Arizona.
Not the Ringo, of Beatles fame.
I never had a pet growing up.
Never had one afterwards.
I admit it would have been difficult working as I did, in city atmospheres like Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Boston, and many, many years in New York City.
Also, with my traveling schedule broadcasting sports throughout the country and in foreign spots as well, it would have been difficult, if not impossible, logically, to have one.
But I never even thought of having a pet.
Now, I realize what I missed, even though I have no regrets.
Ringo is a pal, a buddy, and a treat him like a true part of the family. I talk to him as though he always understands what I’m saying.
Who can say he doesn’t?
When we’re in Florida, we bring him to a fine outdoor day care facility where he romps with his many friends and runs in the small pool with his buddies. He has a blast.
When I take him, he sits in the front seat next to me peering at the passing parade as we ride to camp.
He is a sharp puppy. Smart, and attentive, he notices every movement by airplanes, birds and anything else that moves.
He also hears sounds only he can hear.
When we get close to the facility, he places his front paws on the dashboard and stretches, in readiness for the fun day that lies ahead.
Once inside, the workers flock around him in glee, welcoming this personable, and loving animal, and he returns their affection.
One time when I took him inside, I asked Ringo if this was so much fun, maybe I could stay for the day of frolic, and he could drive back to our house?
But he only ignored me.
When we’re in Alexandria Bay for the summer, I take him into the back yard and throw a tennis ball for him to chase.
Ringo runs it down and returns it, drops it, and is ready for another chase.
He now catches pop-ups on the fly.
Maybe he’s really an outfielder.
When he finally gets tired, he only brings the ball back halfway.
Then lies down.
We both get the idea.
It may be my first doggie, but Jamie has the vast experience of dogs her entire life. She has a sense of when she has to feed him, when he has to go you-know-what, when it’s time for a major treat. Ringo knows on what side his bread is buttered.
But he loves his Daddy as much. I guess he’s never forgotten who picked him up out of that crib.
For you readers who have had doggies throughout their life, what I have set down here, is hardly a revelation.
But for this reporter, it is exactly that.
I only wish Ringo could learn to read, so he could see in words, what he means to me.
Maybe someday he will.