Paw Prints On My Heart. — episode 5 — Casey

Casey wandered into our lives in the fashion of a little boy’s dream; a yellow, chubby bundle of irresistible cuteness. He appeared out of nowhere at the bottom of our back steps. It was like someone had beamed him down. Mom challenged us kids to find his owners – she ventured they couldn’t be far considering the perfect condition of the puppy. We searched, but not very hard.

Mom said there was no way we were keeping the little rascal – we would look after him only until a proper home could be found. We were warned not to get too attached. Over weeks she asked many people if they needed a puppy – it wasn’t until someone offered to take him that we found out Casey was no longer up for grabs. He was a keeper. He was mom’s dog.

Casey was so young he easily fit into the hierarchy of the dog pack at our house — Gyp was getting on in years and Taffy was too spoilt to be considered a dog at all. It wasn’t until Gyp passed that Casey grew into his own. Out of the shadow of the matriarch he was left to his own devices — he quickly joined a neighborhood gang.

Casey and his posse roamed for miles – they were an intimidating pack. They got picked up on the regular by the Animal Control Specialist — the dog catcher; a country kid with a van and a fondness for an afternoon coffee break at the kitchen table with mom. Casey would score a ride home and the rest of the posse would get a lift to jail.

Everyone loved Casey — he was the epitome of a canine James Dean; handsome, tough and suave. I think he was mostly yellow lab with a swagger that suggested something macho was in the mix.  Casey and his posse obviously got into scraps with other gangs in the neighborhood, but we never witnessed the street fights. All Casey’s injuries were to his ears and face – apparently he wasn’t the one who turned tail and ran.

He was a tire chaser – the most annoying sort. Front tires were his favorite. He only out grew the habit after he got nailed by the rear tire of a dually. The neighbor’s kid lost his mind on the truck the day the accident happened (Casey had been walking the kid home from the school bus at the corner when the truck roared by). The kid dropped his school books and took his boots to the left front fender of the truck. It was quite a ruckus – apparently there was some colorful language and a lot of tears. The driver of the truck didn’t charge the kid’s parents for the damage to his vehicle, nor did he offer to pay the vet for the cast on Casey’s leg.

Casey has become somewhat of a hero in our history book of dogs – his legend has grown in size with the passage of time. He has become tougher and bigger. What gets lost in the telling of his story is the incredibly soft heart that yellow dog had — he was a mama’s boy.  If he wasn’t directly under mom’s feet he was right beside her, usually laying on the pile of laundry she was about to throw in the machine or just outside the bathroom door.  He kept tabs on mom pretty much 24/7, when he wasn’t roaming the streets or chasing tires. His heart belonged to mom.

Casey was the last of a generation of dogs in the family who got to roam. He was the bridge between our country dogs and the city slickers who take their walks on leashes. He regularly ate scraps from the dinner table for supper, he drank out of puddles and the ditch in front of the house. He lived long enough to feel the change in the wind, but he was a senior by then and perhaps happy to just dream about his posse and chasing tires.

It brings a smile to my face when someone reminisces about the good old days and tells stories about the good old dog who shared the days with them. Casey truly was a keeper.  He was mom’s dog.