by David Jonathan Cohen
Once upon a time, there was a small dog who led a large life.
No one knows his name of origin. In the West Virginia prison where his documented story begins, the inmates called him Puddles. He was “the slickest dog in the yard.”
When the guards noticed Puddles, they called the dog warden. West Virginia shelters don’t keep dogs long. Fortunately for Puddles, and for our family, Homeward Trails Animal Rescue, was on the case. It posted his picture and story.
He was just what we were looking for. Our youngest child had begged for a dog for years. My wife Ruth and I are allergic to animal dander. A poodle mix, Puddles was hypoallergenic. He had hair, not fur, and didn’t shed. On May 10, 2008, he arrived in northern Virginia. Ruth, our youngest child, and I met him.
Puddles had to be coaxed from his travel crate. He trembled as he emerged. He rolled over in complete submission and exposed his belly. He was skin, bones, and tick scabs, and suffering from diarrhea.
Romeo’s dimensions were adult, roughly 14 inches high at the shoulders. His weight was nine-and-a-half pounds. (A year later, his still slim, muscular weight was 16-and-a-half pounds.) Our youngest child renamed him Romeo.
Ruth rushed Romeo to the vet, who estimated from Romeo’s teeth that Romeo was about a year old. A week of chicken and rice later, Romeo’s digestion began to improve. When I first walked Romeo, each block ended with his plopping down in exhaustion. Our youngest child doted on Romeo, and Romeo slept in his bed. Our three other children began as skeptics. Did we really need a dog in an already busy house?
My walks with Romeo began as explorations, one walk in this direction, another in that. Romeo’s stamina improved week by week. Our walks lengthened. He and I met Laurel and her dog Jerry. Laurel told us about the morning get-togethers of neighbors and dogs.
The gathering at the baseball diamond, by the church at 32nd and Chesapeake, allowed dogs to play and run together. Its waves of participants began about 7 a.m. and ebbed by 8:30. Among its mainstays were Marge and Mel with their dog Emmy. Romeo and I became regulars.
A few weeks afterwards, a jogger ran down the path between the baseball diamond and the Forest Hills playground. Romeo ran after him. I ran after Romeo. I found him on the grass strip between the sidewalk and Connecticut Avenue, between Appleton and Albemarle streets. I realized I had to reinforce his returning when I called. I couldn’t go home without him.
I began to play catch with Romeo. Laurel introduced me to Zuke’s Minis, treats that Romeo loved. They were three calories each. Each time Romeo brought back the ball, I gave him one Zuke’s. Romeo was quick on the uptake.
Our morning catch became a ritual, so much so that Romeo made a path down the hillock by the church across the grass to the batting cage. Vera, owner of Satie, dubbed the path Via Romeo.
A cartoon by Harry Bliss pictures a man showing his dog a ball: “I throw this ball, you go get it and bring it back – everything else will fall into place.”
Often on those mornings, Mel spotted aircraft from the same spot where Emmy ran. For Mel, the exercise recalled his days in the Air Force in El Paso, Texas in the 1950s.
My outings with Romeo settled into default patterns: to the Chesapeake Street baseball diamond in the morning, down to Davenport Street on 32nd and back along Connecticut Avenue to Fessenden Street at mid-day, and at dinner a loop back to Chesapeake Street. Ruth took the late shift with Romeo just before bed.
Former Senator James Sasser lived on 32nd between Ellicott and Davenport Streets. His son and daughter-in-law visited regularly with their two-year-old daughter, Martha Grey. When Romeo came by, she loved to pat him.
As I walked Romeo one morning, Senator Sasser called me over. His daughter-in-law was expecting a second child. She and his son asked Martha Grey her thoughts about what to name the baby.
Yes, that’s right: “Romeo.”
Romeo introduced me to Bumble, Rooney, Hank, Louie, Wasabi, Solly, Sparky, Chester, Bart, Cognac, Daisy, Howie, Eugene Debs, Norman Thomas, Kavalier, River, Rosie, Bentley, Sadie, Max, Thai, Riley, Buster, and others, from Yorkies to Great Danes, from chihuahuas to Bernese mountain dogs. I also met their owners. Everyone understood a dog person – someone a dog trained properly – remembered the name of the dog first.
Only dog people could discuss with straight faces the merits of different doggie poop bags, the reactions of their dogs to eating turf (Romeo was an aficionado), and the options for dog care if an owner had to travel. Only a dog person could have set aside a burial ground with tombstones for dogs on her estate (Marjorie Merriweather Post at Hillwood) or a memorial plaque for her dogs in her museum of modern art (Peggy Guggenheim in Venice). Only a dog person could have introduced me to the marvelous Natalie, a former vet tech who often cared for Romeo and with him formed a mutual admiration and affection society out of all proportion to his size.
Our children who began as skeptics? Romeo trained them, too. He comforted one after surgery. He took another on walks with her brother and later, her boyfriend. Romeo extended his reign to the extended family. When our great niece, then nine months old, cornered him and yanked his ear, he didn’t nip or paw her. He let out a yelp and backed away.
Romeo may have been the least alpha dog in the western world, with one exception: With puppies, he asserted seniority. On Fessenden Street, he and I encountered Edge, then 11 months old and roughly 10 times Romeo’s size. Romeo barreled into Edge’s shoulder, knocked him to the ground, stood on his throat, and growled down at him.
The thought occurred to me that one snap from Edge would have reduced Romeo to mincemeat. Nor did size deter Romeo from barking furiously at every white-tailed deer. Again I thought, one well-placed hoof, and you’re done for. On every occasion, the deer turned tail and ran. An ancestry of wolves carries meaning.
No wolf, though, would have waited for our family to sit for dinner before he went to his food. No wolf would have jumped on an ottoman to join in a weekly family ritual and gently paw my backside so I would pet him through it. No wolf would insist on sprawling on anyone who chose to lie on the living room couch where every cushion bore Romeo’s imprint.
Perhaps a wolf would have alerted us to the postman at every delivery, and to every passerby, human or animal. At 5 a.m. one day, our sentinel Romeo began to bark endlessly. Awakened and annoyed, I tried to shush him. When I took Romeo out at 7 a.m., I found a rear window of our car smashed, the car unlocked, and the steering column airbag gone. Romeo had done his best to let us know. (He had experience with outlaws.)
Romeo transformed my experience of our neighborhood. His past led Margery Elfin to write in the Forest Hills Connection a 2012 article, “Pooch Profiles: An Ex-Con In Forest Hills.” His walks brought me to volunteer with Northwest Neighbors Village, as I explained in 2015. And walking Romeo, I met a mother of a four-year-old named Romeo, a grandmother of an 18-month-old named Juliet, and women who pulled over their cars, rolled down their windows, oohed and aahed, sometimes offered him treats, and began to chat. It’s a good thing I didn’t know about the effects a dog could have when I was young and single.
This fall Romeo’s vet sent him and me to an internal medicine vet. The specialist diagnosed underlying conditions. They were inoperable. She prescribed daily medication and special foods. Romeo, Ruth, and I carried on, until Friday, December 6.
Romeo and I played our usual half-hour of catch that morning. I went out. When I returned, our house was a mess, and Romeo was lethargic. I rushed him to an animal hospital, where a vet suggested hydrating him, medicating his nausea, and keeping an eye on him. Her physical exam found nothing unusual. Ruth and I were scheduled to go out of the country the next day and meet one of our children, now working in Europe.
By Saturday, Romeo had not eaten or drunk. I carried him back from a short morning walk and rushed him back to the hospital. The emergency vet on duty gave him 50-50. I talked with Natalie. We left. On Monday, December 9, Romeo died in the hospital, with Natalie by his side.
Dog people have comforting myths for the loss of their dogs. Do an online search for “the rainbow bridge” sometime. I’m not big on notions of an afterlife. If there is one, though, I have a strong sense of what it looks like: “I throw this ball, you go get it and bring it back – everything else will fall into place.”
RIP, Romeo, loving and beloved.
Justine Hedgepeth says
Bernie and I send our love to your family, and Romeo who always tolerated B.!
David Cohen says
Justine, thank you. Romeo and I loved seeing the two of you on the run!
Laurel Christian says
Dear David,
This is a wonderful tribute! I read most of it through tears! Romeo was indeed a special dog – most of all to his family, but also to all who met him….including me. Just as Romeo will live forever in your hearts, he will in mine too. He was a favorite and special friend to my Jerry. I do hold onto the belief that there is a Rainbow Bridge and that Romeo is there playing with all the friends that arrived before him…including Jerry. My deepest condolences to you, Ruth and your family. With tears, Laurel
David Cohen says
Dear Laurel, Thank you. As I’ve said often, you were my dog guru. Your advice and friendship made a big difference to me and to Romeo. I look forward to continuing to benefit from both! With deep gratitude, David
Emily Greenberg says
Romeo was so lucky to have been taken by your family. I am a dog person too, we have now an almost 2 yr. old Corgie named Millie. For all the dogs we’ve have had in the past, I’m still a sucker when it comes to spoiling her. As often as my husband and veterinarian daughter tell me I shouldn’t do so, I explain it’s in my dna
and it can’t be helped.
We live on Linnean near Albemarle, so I’m somewhat surprised I hadn’t met Romeo on my walks, Hmm, maybe I have…. In any event, I am very sorry for your loss. I know how sad that can be.
David Cohen says
Emily, thanks for your empathy and sympathy. I will confess that my family too accused me of spoiling Romeo.
By the way, your daughter’s practice at City Paws Uptown became our go-to place. Please give my best to Eldon.
David
Alison says
A beautiful tribute to a remarkable dog, Dad. Romeo, we miss you so much and will be forever grateful for your presence in our lives. <3
David Cohen says
Ali, thanks for your kind words. Love, Dad
Caroline K James says
What a lovely tribute, David, to your very well-loved Romeo. Sparky, Solly and I miss him greatly and feel honored to have known him. With loving memories, Caroline
David Cohen says
Caroline, thanks so much. I hope to see you, Sparky, and Solly sometime soon around the playground. David
Pat Kasdan says
A lovely story, David! I am forwarding it to my “Dog Person” cousins.
David Cohen says
Pat, thanks for sharing the story, and for your kind comment. David
Margery Elfin says
This is a literary triumph. I congratulate David and certainly vouch for his beautifully written story.
All of us dog people loved and admired Romeo.
He was a star among us.
As Laurel believes, there’s a group of our beloved dogs waiting to welcome him
to heaven..
Marge
David Cohen says
Marge, thank you. Please give Emmy an extra pat for me David
Hope Knútsson says
What a moving, loving tribute., We have become grandparents to a wonderful dog named Gormur for the past 5 years and it has enriched our lives immensely. We get to spend time and do things with Gormur a few times every week and it has helped our family to deal with extremely difficult experiences. I understand your loss and send my family’s condolences.
David Cohen says
Hope, thanks for your empathy. Gormur is another special dog, and Ruth and I were lucky to meet him. David
paul pearlstein says
What a beautiful tribute Romeo! You and Romeo were peripatetic in the neighborhood and always available for a pleasant chat. David, your dog training and pet care is as good as your photography. Could Romeo go with you on your shoots?
David Cohen says
Romeo occasionally earned his kibble by calming nervous portrait subjects.
Ellen says
Beautiful story heartbreaking to lose such a special part of your family….
Paul says
We love our dogs (and cats) and deeply mourn their passing, when the time inevitably comes. Perhaps I sensed in your elegy that besides the pleasure of his company, Romeo taught you a thing or two about being his better human — and that, for me, is the best thing about caring for a faithful pet.
David Cohen says
Thanks for your thought. For me, a part, yes; “best thing,” I’m not sure.
Riley says
Lovely tribute to Romeo. Sorry for your loss.
David Cohen says
Thanks for your kind comment
Orit Frenkel says
David-What a lovely and appropriate tribute for a special dog. I was fortunate to meet Romeo most mornings first with Bart and now Bruno. He was indeed special and lucky to have had you and your family. Bart is waiting for him over the rainbow bridge.
David Cohen says
Orit, thanks for your kind comment, and for bringing Bart to mind. I suspect your experience with Bart and your family–yours, your children’s, and his deep connection–was much like ours: a beloved part of daily life.
Amy says
Dear David – As I said, you and Romeo tell a good story. Thanks for sharing these lovely thoughts. Amy and Rosie.
David Cohen says
Amy, thanks for your kind comment. Please give Rosie an extra pat for me. For readers unacquainted with Rosie, she’s a low-slung dog who invariably carries a large branch in her jaws–hence, “branch manager,” “she wields a big stick,” and “she’s branching out.”
Mike Finley says
David, Buster and I will very much miss visiting with you and Romeo.
David Cohen says
Thanks, Mike. Please tell Buster he’ll still get his belly rub .
Mike says
Without Romeo, Buster and I were afraid we wouldn’t often see you. We hope we do.
Leslie Rowan says
Teddi and I will miss him dearly, I will never forget that he would always stop when he would see my car and wait for me to call out ‘Romeo’ . He introduced us to wonderful treats and we will always remember our walks with him. As they say ‘ all dogs go to heaven’ , thankfully we had him as our friend, thank you for sharing his story
Leslie and Teddi
David Cohen says
Leslie, I miss having Teddi sit on my feet! Thanks for your warm memories and kind words.
Natalie says
Dear David, Ruth, and family,
After many attempts, I finally brought myself to read your beautiful memorial post. I knew it would bring me to tears. I still miss Romey dearly. I think of him often when walking by the tennis court and Fessenden trail. Thank you for bringing him into my life.
Natalie