Almost 14 years ago, my then partner and I decided to get a puppy. Eric wanted a Lab. I wanted an English Cocker. After a trip to a regional dog show, I convinced Eric that we should get a large Cocker. “That would be your idea of a compromise,” my friend Pam said with a laugh.
When I filled out the breeder’s paperwork, I specified that I wanted an over-sized, mellow Cocker. “We have just the puppy,” she wrote back. “We call him The Philosopher.”
I named him Hoover—officially Hoover It Up. Never was a dog so aptly named. This positively chubby puppy must have gotten to his dog mom 50 percent more than his siblings, because he was 50 percent larger than the rest of his litter mates. His love of food never wavered. Even during his last days, he ate his breakfasts, dinners and treats with lip-smacking, grunting enjoyment.
Hoover turned out to be a true beta except in kitchen, which he manned with unrelenting diligence, and the car. Despite eventually having to compete with three other dogs, he claimed the passenger seat for years, whether or not it was occupied by a human. When pushed to the back seat, he would inch his way up front so slowly that you didn’t even notice until he was back in your lap. He would have made a great politician, especially because he was so cute that it was hard to mind.
He never doubted that his place was beside the cook or the driver, just as he never doubted that a ball would materialize no matter what direction he chose to go in. As a young pup, he would take off and run like crazy without even waiting to see where we were aiming, confident that the ball would magically appear from the sky. And it always did.
Hoover—a hedonist at heart—always had total faith that he would get what he wanted and needed. So he was fully committed to being Hoover, and lived in a way that was as remarkable for its sweetness and utter enjoyment as it was for its single-minded determination.
He taught me to keep going even when things are rough, to believe that life (and writing) will always work out, and to quit pushing so hard all the time so that I might experience joy. I am so lucky to have had him in my life, and to be able to carry him with me as I move forward.
May his approach to life inspire you and your writing efforts as they have mine.
I love this tribute to your beloved boy… I could see and feel him, especially as he awaited a ball! Thinking of you as you settle into life without him in your daily life.
Awwww! Thanks, Chelsea.
Poignant and wonderfully written. I loved reading about Hoover–I can see him racing out with abandon and faith to catch that ball. I am so sorry for your loss!
Thanks so much, Barb. I love your comment because you just made me see him again as well.