Laddie was a rebel. My father always used to say that he’d spent more time and money bailing the family dog out of trouble than he had any of us kids. While I gave my dad more than his share of sleepless nights, Laddie was the cause of most midnight phone calls. Our wild longhaired collie who defied all of Dad’s attempts to restrict his freedom would often disappear after supper to wreak havoc upon the neighborhood. Then in the middle of the night, Dad would receive a phone call from an irate neighbor whose well manicured lawn was being somehow violated by our Laddie. Dad would shrug on his bathrobe, hop in our car and scour the neighborhood for the miscreant. Once or twice, Dad had to go down to the dog pound early the next morning to spring the mangy beast when some unsympathetic neighbor called the police instead of him.
Laddie’s exploits were not confined to these attack and destroy missions around the neighborhood. Just as children tend to do, Laddie found just as much trouble to get into when he was grounded at home. If he were confined to the house, he would leave a large surprise for Dad on the white carpet of my parents’ bedroom. If he was left outside, restricted to the fenced in backyard, well, there were holes to be dug, usually in a spot where Dad had just spent hours planting and cultivating an expensive rose bush or bed of flowers.
One afternoon Dad arrived home to discover the front door standing wide open. Assuming that we had been burglarized, Dad cautiously entered and began exploring the house. Imagine his surprise when he discovered Laddie and several of the local dogs stretched out on the good living room furniture, muddy paws and all. Talk about wild parties! I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d have found a few beer cans hidden under the sofa when, after Laddie’s friends had been chased out and Laddie properly chastised, Dad attempted to clean up the mess.
Poor Laddie. I couldn’t help but sympathies with him. As a teenager, I too was often the cause of my Dad’s anger. Neither of us set out to create trouble. If anything, we both preferred Dad's approval over his disapproval. I’ll never forget the way Laddie’s eyes would shine and his bushy tale would swoosh back and forward when Dad gave him any positive attention. I suppose if I had a tale mine would have wagged as well when Dad directed his praise my way. Unfortunately at that time in my life I was dealing with the same wild cravings as Laddie was. This resulted in my receiving more criticism than praise from Dad.
Time passed and Laddie and I grew older, if not wiser. Laddie was beginning to feel his age. Consequently while the midnight forays did not entirely cease, they were becoming less frequent. I on the other hand was stepping up my own late night escapades. Now twenty-one, I had discovered the bar scene and found it increasingly difficult to make it home much earlier than 3 am. I would turn off my car’s headlights and slip stealthily up the driveway trying to avoid detection. After gently opening and shutting the front door, I’d tiptoe down the hall to my room, praying that no one heard me. Still Dad always knew exactly what time I got home and even when he didn’t reveal that knowledge to me deep down inside I knew that he knew.
Every so often he’d be sitting in his favorite chair smoking a cigarette in the moon light as I came creeping in. He was always ready with a lecture on why nice girls don’t stay out until 3 am. Of course, I resented his lectures almost as much as I was crushed by his obvious disapproval. Part of me wanted to rush over and hug him and tell him I was sorry (for I truly was) and that it would never happen again. The other part though, the confused, restless wild part, wouldn’t allow me to do this. Instead, I would return his concern with cold sullen silence while I dreamt of the day I could afford to move out on my own.
It was not long after one of these nights that Laddie disappeared. Initially we weren’t too concerned. We figured he'd either come limping back in a day or two or someone would call to let Dad know that Laddie needed bailing out again. Only this time the phone didn’t ring. Nor did Laddie return home. By the third day we were all getting pretty worried, all of us that is except for Dad. His attitude was, that dog has caused me nothing but trouble since the day YOU brought him home – good riddance!
Finally on the fourth day the phone rang. It was a young woman calling to let us know that she had found Laddie, weak but still alive, floating near the edge of the lake upon which we lived. Apparently, he had fallen off a cliff into the lake, and the bank was too steep for him to be able to climb back out. While this part of the lake wasn’t quite deep enough for him to drown in, he’d been forced to remain semi submerged in the water, waiting for someone (perhaps Dad) to come rescue him. Laddie had always had a great fear of water, ever since he had fallen into the lake as a puppy and Dad had fished him out, half drowned and trembling with fear. It must have been a nightmare for him, trapped in the water for days, struggling to free himself. Thankfully the woman and her boyfriend had spotted Laddie while boating. They were able to pull him out and take him to the town vet.
Dad immediately hopped into his car and took off to the vet’s. He returned several hours later with the half unconscious dog. He gently carried him into the garage and laid him carefully on a pallet of soft blankets. This time he had no lecture for Laddie, no cursing or complaints about how much THIS little escapade was going to cost him. I understood the moment I saw them. Laddie was dying.
The Vet had shaved off most of Laddie's long brown fur leaving only his thick white mane. Most of his tail had been shaved as well, except for the tip. All this left him looking like a greying decrepit old lion. He was bandaged here and there and painted with a yellowish foul-smelling disinfectant. What little strength he had was depleted further by a bad case of pneumonia. All he could do was lie there. He didn’t even have the strength to eat. The worst part, the part that confirmed my fear that he was dying, were the maggots. They came from many small wounds on Laddie and seemed to be everywhere. They hadn’t even waited until he was dead to begin their feast. I felt helpless to stop them. In truth, I didn’t even have the courage to try.
Dad had always had a weak stomach, leaving mom to take care of the messier side of our childhoods, so when I looked into the garage later that evening and found my father kneeling next to Laddie, patiently picking the maggots off him one at a time, it came as quite a shock. Watching them, I thought of something my father had said during his most recent lecture to me. Rather than maintaining my usual icy demeanor that night, I had given into tears. Dad, always at loss with a weeping woman, softened enough to say, “the only reason I get on you about these things is because I love you and I want to keep you from making mistakes that will make you unhappy.”
I suppose that I had always known that my father loved me and that, like most parents, his lectures were intended to spare me pain, not cause it. Now as I watched him working away on Laddie, I gained a deeper appreciation of that love and what it must have cost my father. I realized those times when he seemed to be constantly picking on me had been as miserable for him as they were for me. He had only done what he felt he had to do to keep me safe. As I watched the two of them, I knew that long after Dad was gone from this world his love and wisdom would remain with me, just as he remained with Laddie that night, patiently picking away at the maggots.
Epilogue: Although Dad did his best to save Laddie, he eventually accepted that Laddie was suffering and it was time to let him go. He took Laddie back to the vet and had him euthanized. Even though Laddie was the “family dog”, Dad shouldered that responsibility to spare the rest of us. I moved out on my own shortly after this so Dad no longer had to worry about me when I stayed out late. I’d like to think he was finally able to get a good night’s sleep but now that I’m a parent, I doubt he ever really did. He died young - at age 60 - and I find some solace in picturing him and Laddie exploring the afterlife together.
