Dog Friend

Among the many toys, books and clothes Ada got from her family and admirers during the recent gift-accumulation season is one that no parent on vacation wants to see: a three foot long plush dog. This dog was a gift from my father's office staff, who believe that Ada is theirs. This group of five women in their forties to sixties routinely scold my father for not bringing in pictures of Ada, forcing them to look at her pictures online. They waited patiently for 18 months for us to visit, and when we finally got to town there was no way not to make the trek to the office to see them and parade Ada in all her toddler splendor. It worked out well, as I got my father to give me some free medical treatment while the ladies cooed over Ada, who obliged by laughing, talking and running up and down the hallway eating saltines.

Ada loves her big dog. She's always been a fan of dogs, and approaches real ones with cautious fascination. I am amazed to see her crouch low when she sees a new dog, instinctively moving into a non-threatening position. (Of course, at just under 3 feet, she's pretty non-threatening to most dogs anyway.)

Her interest in dogs reminds Chris and me of a story that our musician friend Ron tells. Ron was visiting the web site of a Swedish musician. The site includes some writing about a song by the Swede, inspired by the man's dogs. For many years the Swede had two dogs. Eventually the older dog died, and the younger dog was left distraught, wining and howling his loss. The Swede decided to incorporate the dog's sad cries into an avant-jazz piece he was writing. Ron read this story and contacted the Swede, saying he'd like to work with him and commiserating about the loss of the dog. The Swede wrote back to Ron, telling him how glad he was to know about Ron, that like him "you too are dog friend".