Gotcha

Today is Walter's and my Gotcha Day. I got him as much as he got me. It's also the first big milestone since he passed just over a month ago.

You know those heartwarming stories of dogs that are so grateful for being rescued, you can see their appreciation as they lovingly gaze upon their rescuer? That's not our story. :) I would joke that Walter likely concluded I stole him from his first family. He was entirely ungrateful. I was happy he had such amazing self-confidence and was relieved, being fairly certain Walter never suffered from anything more than a bit of neglect before we met.

I've noticed with all of the changes since Walter passed, one of the many things that chokes my throat is the feeling of Walter becoming two-dimensional. No longer sleeping by the door, following me around, or barking at the pigeons trying to rest on the fire escape, he now lives only in my mind's eye, the digital frame I got as an early birthday gift from my parents - loaded only with photos of Walter, and the beautiful photo album a friend put together for me. As a Gen X'er, it pains me that I didn't take many videos of Walter. Though as I reflect on the thousand photos I have of him not being enough, it's just one more thing that doesn't feel sufficient. Not enough videos; not enough photos, not enough memories, not enough time.

If you haven't seen the Kate Winslet/Jim Carrey movie, "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind", I highly recommend it. It has come to mind over the past month. Essentially, the plot boils down to what Alfred Tennyson wrote, "Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." As much as I wish I could take this pain away, I would never, ever trade feeling better for never knowing Walter. What better time than Gotcha Day to indulge in remembering Walter more than mourning him.

So like the six Gotcha Day's beforehand, today is a day to celebrate Walter.

He never woke me early except for the fairly rare times his stomach was upset. God bless him, I could sleep late on the weekends. But mostly I loved how he would greet me in the mornings with a snuggle.

He made me laugh everyday. We played tug every morning. He was the ultimate capitalist; hoarding (balls, bones, toys) was a passion; sharing was unacceptable. He was always a flirt, not so much with me, he knew he had me. He was a charmer with every person who would give him the time of day. And he was so sweet with children - so calm and gentle, delighting them with the trick of 'giving paw'. For some reason, that temperament didn't carry over to my mother who could be knocked over with the force of his wagging tail alone. But I told my mom to consider it a compliment, Walter obviously thought she was young and agile enough to take it (insert my mother's eye roll and growl here). Walter loved my parents and sister fiercely. And he even grew fond of his "cousin" Jesse.

He had this way he slept, cocking his head into the floor in a certain way. It always made me smile. From his Gotcha Day, and every day forward, the carpet in my "foyer" area of the apartment would be curled up and/or rumpled in a mess. Walter situated it in every which way, to be under it, over it, and wrinkled around him. For the first time in seven years, it lays flat again and I get misty eyed, no longer tripping over it.

He had a toy basket he loved, filled to the brim with overly loved and, thanks to Walter's alterations, under stuffed toys. My jaw went slack the first day I saw him play with a toy and then walk with purpose to his basket to drop it in. I didn't teach him that. He just did it. This dog was meant for me. He also loved setting his toys down on the couch, bed, and coffee table. But you take what you can get and call it a win.

He could sniff out an abandoned tennis ball from 100 feet away, buried under a pile of leaves, like a truffle pig. He rescued dozens of balls from Central Park. We would be walking along at a good clip and Walter would stop on a dime, usually with me nearly killing myself trying not to stumble over him. He would turn suddenly, march to a spot like he was following a treasure map, and dive his head down under leaves, snow, whatever, and pop up triumphantly with his prize. He'd carry it all the way home. Arriving to the lobby, Walter was faced with a dilemma. Getting a cookie from the doorman meant having to drop the cherished ball. On more than one occasion, I saw him drop his newly acquired ball to grab a cookie, and catch the ball on the bounce back up. Proud mama, indeed.

He was silly and serious. He was very smart - sometimes a little too smart, but I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. He had his opinions, oh did he have his opinions. Walter had no need for "talking buttons". He could communicate quite well with his face or a flick of his head, corralling me to the kitchen (to give him another much needed treat). His demands were often made in silence. No barking or whining. Just sitting. And staring. The Jedi mind trick in play. He would patiently wait for me to finally get it, and give in to his demands. As much as I thought of him as smart, I do kind of wonder if he thought I was a bit challenged. "Oh well," he likely concluded, "it's hard to get good help nowadays." A few days after I lost Walter, I realized how much I missed Walter bossing me around. I actually felt lost without him "telling" me what to do and where to go.

He was my sweet boy. I loved him so much. I still do and always will. It is so bittersweet, but Happy Gotcha Day, Walter. I miss you very much.