Most anyone who has met me will tell you that I am part grouch and part child.
At 52, the grouch part is self explanatory, but the child-like tendencies are sometimes a bit much for some people. It goes much further than eating Captain Crunch and watching sports at nauseam, and when you throw in a dash of gregarious and a pinch of mischievous, you pretty well have my DNA comprised.
If I had a buck for every time I have been told to grow up, I could settle the national debt, buy a fleet of Ferrari’s, and pay the Kardashian sisters enough to go away forever. For most of my life, I have always been relatively comfortable in my wrinkled skin and really never envied anyone all that much.
But even a happy-go-lucky sort like myself tastes a bitter pill every once in awhile, and recently I was blind sided with the all too soon death of what can only be described as the most interesting and unique canine in the world.
Some seven years ago, courtesy of Golden Retriever Rescue Of Indiana, a hurricane of a dog going by the name of Connor became a fixture in my life. With his life long pal Madison in tow, they “adopted” me and came into my home with all the subtleness of a bulldozer and the grace of an elephant on roller skates. While taking two large dogs in at once is a challenge to say the least, they quickly set out to show me the distinct differences in their respective personalities and dispositions.
Madison was calm, warm, and loving. Connor was all those too, but he had hot sauce running through his veins and ran off a motor that never stopped. In just a matter of days after checking into their new abode, and by virtue of his apparent objection to being left behind during a thunderstorm, Connor proceeded to eat the door leading to the garage for dinner and had the side mirror of my Maxima for dessert.
As you might imagine I was rather concerned and wondered what was going on and how I could handle it. Over the coming months, he would go on a terror that would make the Labrador in the movie “Marley And Me” look like a student who miserably failed Destruction 101, by consuming portions of the carpet, my pillow top mattress, and totally rearranging my office as well on numerous occasions.
Be it from boredom, anxiety, fear of thunder or any of the dozens of other theories I paid the vet to explain to me, this guy was a one-man wrecking crew on a mission.
As time went on he mellowed out somewhat and developed a penchant for romping through parks, swimming in any body of water he could find (including the shower), wind surfing by hanging his head out of my Jeep, and treeing various cats in the neighborhood.
This lovable terror quickly became the darling of every person employed at the drive-up windows of various Northside eateries (once lunging into a Chick- fil- A) and he even charmed those working at the bank drive through to completely abolish the one-treat-per-dog policy for him, and him alone. A master negotiator indeed.
Think Connor couldn’t do sports? Think again. After all, this was a dog that once completed an unauthorized romp on the field at the now imploded RCA Dome, and while much to the chagrin of onlookers, visited Rick Mears in the garage area at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. He also met Ron Artest, Edgerrin James and once conversed with the late Dan Wheldon at the Indianapolis airport. (Ok, I am dropping names, but you get the point.)
No matter what his shenanigans were, he always had the uncanny knack of making you forgive him with that tail constantly wagging and his signature bad breath. Upon returning home from work, it would not be uncommon to find this hapless offender laying on his back, feet up in the air on the expensive couch that I had banned him from early on. I even tried tucking sheets in over the couch pillows to accommodate his highness, but he promptly decided those protective layers should be stored behind the washer and dryer.
All the while Madison, the quintessential statesman, would always behave angelically, causing me to wonder how two exact breeds could behave so dramatically different. It just made no sense. Then again, it was Connor.
As he got older I was certain he would mellow out and for the most part he did.
He would spend time at my feet, falling asleep twitching as he dreamed of his next outrageous escapade. Occasionally he would turn back the clock and do something insane like actually locking himself in a bedroom, but with exception of the classic closet rearrangement maneuver or the removal of the shower curtain, he was a pretty good boy.
He became attached to both my side of the bed and his, often leaving Madison and yours truly scrunched together on a cold night. Connor felt that as long as he had room to fully extend his frame we would be all right with the remaining 10 percent of the bed.
While mellowing some, he never really slowed down. Celebrating his 12th birthday this past July with angel food cake, ice cream and a ton of cool whip on top of it all, he would munch endlessly on anything sweet and became obsessed with sausage pizza as well as stuffed chicken breasts with gravy.
I guess it was his endless energy and zest for life that made me think he would live forever. After all, despite all his shortcomings, he was Connor, and appeared to be literally indestructible and quite durable to say the least.
So when he suddenly became ill recently and was rushed to the vet, I still felt he would beat whatever it was and be home in time to stand in front of the television with a tennis ball in his mouth as I attempted to watch the evening news. Upon learning my buddy was ravaged with tumors and bleeding internally, I made the easiest decision in my life to end his suffering and I held him as he left this world quietly and with his dignity firmly in tact. It just did not seem possible that this terror disguised as a dog could become so ill so quickly, leaving Madison and I alone to cry and reflect. We are dumbfounded without this infamous court jester and we are struggling on how to come to terms with it all.
We keep thinking this crazed comet we grew to love so much will come running around the corner any moment, knocking anything in his way aside, with my socks in his mouth. As usual, he will jump on the couch to start a wrestling match, one that ends with him displaying that devilish grin on his face that says “You know you love me.”
Well you know Connor, you are right. I do love you and despite the thousands of dollars in damages you caused, and all the times you annoyed me, I miss you badly my friend. So when I tell people that I rescued you and brought you in to my home, I am mistaken, as in reality you rescued me from a life that up until you came into it, was mundane and drab.
Thanks you big brat, for teaching me that a free spirit is a good thing, and that one must treat life like an orange, and squeeze all the juice out of it that we possibly can. Madison and I will somehow carry on without your comedic presence, but it will be very difficult. He is quite confused by your absence and quite honestly, so am I. Hopefully someday we will all meet again, so until then just be your ornery, obnoxious self. Everyone should have the pleasure of a companion like you, and I thank you for making me a better man. You taught me that when in doubt, always push the other dog out of the way and get your rear scratched before they do, just like you always did with Madison. You certainly knew that drill and many others. Again, the pleasure was all mine you mad man, and I love you more than you will ever know. I do hope to see you again, be it this side or the other. Thanks for a great ride.
Danny Bridges can be reached at at Bridgeshd@aol.com.
Danny Bridges is an award-winning journalist and a longtime sports columnist for the Indianapolis Recorder. He covers college, professional sports and especially all things IndyCar racing. He can be reached at 317-370-8447 or at bridgeshd@aol.com.
