A doggone difficult decision to make

JOSEPH N. BELL

Several weeks ago, my wife took her two young nieces to the pet

exposition at the Orange County Fairgrounds. She came home in love

with a beagle.

She doesn’t give such love casually. Since our beloved dachshund,

Coco, died last summer, Sherry has not been looking to fill the void

Coco left. Neither have I. Coco didn’t much tolerate four-legged

competition when she was alive, and I have no reason to expect that

she has changed that view since she left us. Wherever she is watching

from, we don’t presume support from her when and if we contemplate a

new dog presence in our family.

Coco always looked on human visitors as a possible warm lap to

crawl into -- and never with suspicion. As a result, both frequent

friends and casual visitors and tradesmen have felt her absence. Even

the piano tuner, who comes only once a year, asked after “the little

dog” when she wasn’t there to greet him. Cynics might say these

visitors were just relieved to be free of her barking and racing

about, but I know better.

Coco, however, didn’t have this same warm tolerance for

four-legged animals. Mostly she ignored them after a cursory pass at

socialization. Once in a great while she was openly hostile. Either

way, she made it quite clear to us that it would be fine with her if

we didn’t welcome any other critters on her turf. Ever.

Sherry and I were agreeable with this. In the immediate aftermath

of Coco’s passing, we declared firmly that we weren’t going to get

another dog. Such an act would not only be an insult to Coco’s memory

but unfair to a new dog who would be forever compared unfavorably to

Coco. We felt extremely virtuous about this attitude and supported it

regularly by reciting all the problems we would be taking on with a

new dog.

There was the absence of our son, Erik, who is now living in Los

Angeles. He was the principal reason we acquired Coco, but this would

be our dog, not his, and we could no longer use him as a rationale

for dog problems. Of course Erik spoiled Coco badly and was seldom

available to deal with crises or cleanup -- especially the latter.

But this time around, we would have to fill his role as well as ours.

There were the relentless problems of housebreaking a puppy, which

I’ve done a half-dozen times in my life and had no particular stomach

for again. There were the arrangements we would have to make for

housesitting or boarding a new dog when we traveled.

There was the constant expense of the routine maintenance provided

by our friendly neighborhood veterinarian plus such outrageous

excesses as having the dog’s teeth cleaned regularly. There was the

question of what precedents to set on such matters as where the dog

would sleep and eat. On and on.

So we said: “No, thanks. We’re gonna play this one smart. No

impulsive decisions we might later regret. No compensating for Coco’s

loss by bringing in a quick replacement. We’ll just chill out and

enjoy our freedom.”

And then Sherry met that damned beagle. She came home with an

iridescent look I seem to recall she once directed at me, but she

played it cool. She and the beagle had connected, she said, and that

made her recognize her vulnerability. She didn’t propose buying this

beagle or an immediate exploration of the beagle market. But she had

to admit that it was increasingly difficult to continue kidding

herself that she wasn’t thinking about a new dog. I scoffed at her

revelation for about 10 minutes before I admitted my own

vulnerability.

That, of course, led to a whole new set of rationales. A new dog

would in no way demean the memory of Coco, we told ourselves. Quite

the contrary, it would be a tribute to her that she had worked her

way so deeply into our psyches that we were willing to risk the

problems inherent in trying to fill, at least partially, the void she

had left in our lives. Neither of us cared to run this reasoning past

Coco’s spirit which hovers about her old digs rather consistently.

So now it appears we are dealing not with a matter of “if”, but

rather of “how.” For reasons mysterious in the ways of women, beagles

have impressed themselves deeply and unilaterally on my wife’s soul.

I was blindsided when Coco was added to my family 16 years ago, and

even though my life was enriched, I want to be consulted this time.

The only immediate warmth I feel toward beagles is my long

association with Snoopy in the Peanuts comic strip. That hardly seems

enough on which to base a close personal relationship. I still have

fond boyhood memories of our wire-haired terriers that I would at

least like to throw into the mix.

The new dog, I tell myself firmly, will be obedient as Coco never

was. Will walk proudly on a leash as Coco never did. And will give in

gracefully to reason rather than pushing its own agenda as Coco

always did.

I would also hope that the new dog might fit a little more

comfortably than Coco into the retinue of Big Dawgs that frequent our

neighborhood. I understand that this latter issue is of no importance

to my wife, but at least I want it on the table.

Understand, I have nothing against beagles, which might fit my

profile quite well. I just want to be in the loop this time. I still

have Coco’s bed in my office, and she still hangs out there

frequently. I will take this matter up with her at an appropriate

time. No point in irritating her until we’re ready to act.

* JOSEPH N. BELL is a resident of Santa Ana Heights. His column

appears Thursdays.