Oogy

not long ago I told Jennifer that now I know what it must feel like to date George Clooney. It’s not at all uncommon for people to come up to me when I am out with Oogy and ask, “Didn’t I see your dog on TV?” “Haven’t I seen your dog on a book cover?” “Was that your dog in that magazine?” It’s never me that they recognize or acknowledge. And that’s perfectly understandable. There aren’t a lot of one-eared, eighty-five-pound all-white dogs around. Once you’ve seen Oogy, it’s not hard to remember him.

When the boys left for college, we worried how Oogy would adjust to their absence and considered adopting a companion for him. I made it a point to devote a lot of time to him and, in fact, he adjusted well to being home without them. He was neither depressed nor anxious. After a while, I also realized that the best dogs I’ve ever had found me, and stopped searching. What I hadn’t anticipated was the debilitating effect that the boys’ absence would have on me.

Their departure shook me, as I lost what had been the centerpiece of my life for the preceding eighteen years. I dropped thirty pounds. Sleep was a rare commodity, the waking hours blended into a fog, and each day became just one more thing to get through. Then, gradually, Oogy and I saw our roles reversed—it wasn’t just me taking care of him, but him taking care of me, and because of the book, we found ourselves getting out of the house together and interacting with people we’d never had the chance to meet, all of them deeply committed to the rescue, protection, and care of animals. When the boys returned for their first-semester break, and I realized that my relationships with them had not ended but rather were evolving for the better as they matured, I emerged on the other side of what had been a very dark period.

Oogy and I have been visiting schools on a regular basis. We relate Oogy’s story and how the book came to be; we talk to the students about dog fighting and the misconceptions attached to the so-called bully breeds. The kids respond to Oogy, what he’s been through and what he represents, and he responds to them in turn.

We have also been asked to participate in a number of fundraisers for animal rights and rescues and, recently, to get involved with efforts to change the law in Pennsylvania requiring isolation for dogs seized in raids on fighting operations. We consider ourselves beyond lucky and are grateful for the opportunity to be able to give back. Sharing Oogy’s story, using it as an instrument of illumination, makes each day feel important.

Jen is enjoying a new job as an environmental health and safety attorney with a recently formed company. She fills her time with a variety of activities including volunteer work, yoga, and dance. Dan and Noah are thriving at college. Dan attends a large state university some 2,500 miles away. He wanted, he said, a different cultural experience and, we knew, to assert his fierce sense of independence. Noah accepted a partial scholarship to a small, liberal arts college nearby. He is on the lacrosse team, which provides us opportunities to see him at his games. Despite the distance, they are in touch with each other on a regular basis and, when together, they are immediately in synch.

Oogy is considered to be a senior dog now—at eight and a half years old he’s about the same age as I am. He no longer has the manic energy he exhibited in his younger days, but a look at my outfit confirms that he is still full of mischief: There are teeth marks in the shoes and on the brim of the baseball cap I am wearing as I write this. And I am deeply appreciative of the unique relationship he and I share, which has brought me rewards beyond my ability to adequately articulate them. Someone recently asked me, “If Oogy could talk for ten minutes, what do you thing he’d say?” I responded, “Oogy and I talk all the time. You just have to learn how to listen.”

Shortly after the book was published, I heard from a woman who lives across the state from us. Her husband had sustained a severe head injury as an infantryman in Iraq. He had lost the ability to concentrate and cannot work. She read him our book and now he wants to meet Oogy, and we plan to make this happen. She also told me that they have a rescued Staffordshire Terrier and, when her husband has nightmares, the dog will lick him awake and then cuddle next to him.

Oogy is a gift, but not only to our family. I am deeply gratified that his story is shared by and belongs to many others. Oogy embodies courage in the face of adversity, love, and dignity on the other side of terror. He reminds people that there is hope in the presence of despair.

You can see it in his face.

Larry Levin

April 24, 2011