My Pal Mal

   "Whatever you do, do not write about dog-death, especially so soon after your own dog's demise.  You'll embarrass yourself."  "I'll take that chance."

• He came into Illinois Saint Bernard Rescue with a bad case of mange.  His adoption would be delayed until the skin problem cleared.  So I waited another month, and brought him home in June 2009. 

•  He was the first rescue dog whose name I did not have to change.  The rescue folks named him "O'Malley."  O'Malley joins Casey.  Luck of the Irish.  I left the name alone.  Good omen.

• A boisterous one-year old, he needed training so we drove him weekly to a center where the owners were trained as well as the dogs.  In these classes, O'Malley was enthusiastic but never aggressive with people or other dogs. 

• He was wary at first as most rescue dogs are, and with good reason.  They don't come into rescue from a "forever home."  They have not been well treated in their life.  They have more reason to avoid people than to engage them.

• In public I always referred to him as O'Malley.  Over time I earned his trust, and would whisper "My Pal Mal" in his ear.  He loved whispering.

• In the back yard, at the dog park and in a warehouse-sized dog care facility, he loved to run.  It was a sight to behold--a giant breed dog accelerating flat out--and then when a collision seemed imminent--O'Malley would hurdle the dog cutting across his path.

• When our first granddaughter was born, we let a couple of months go by till we all brought her downstairs to meet him.  He sniffed, she grinned and gazed, and he did nothing untoward.  Kinley's parents breathed a sigh of relief.  I felt a surge of pride.

• More than once, that surge of pride. I was accustomed to his size and also aware that visually he was a very striking dog.  More than once he stopped a potential fight at the dog park by simply walking between the two who were squared off. 

• He keep me in line.  If I would fly into a rant, he would turn his massive head, fix me in his visage, and his look  said, "Why are you roaring in such an unseemly fashion?"

• Together we moved through his diagnosis, major surgery, and weeks of chemotherapy.  In this seven month period, he enjoyed his life, even though he had lost the use of one eye.  I especially remember after a walk we would sit together on the back porch, and I would sing to him. Crazy stuff.  "Go tell Aunt Rhody," "The Fox Went Out On a Chilly Night," "Tantum Ergo," "Maids When You're Young Never Wed An Old Man."  He didn't howl or tap his paw, but he listened. 

• So now he's gone.  I am a wreck.  People have made kind comments that I have found helpful.  But it's the powerful presence of absence that wracks my heart. I still incline to his ear: "O'Malley does good things, not bad things, he follows the doggie moral law, and he's My Pal Mal, My Pal Mal, My Pal Mal . . .