Ode to Oliver...

(Reprinted from July 12)...


Sadly, our wonderful little cocker spaniel, Oliver, peacefully passed away in his sleep while at my side early this morning.

Oliver has had a difficult past 6 months, but maintained his distinctive spirit until the end. Even so, he went rather quickly, as is often the case with aging dogs. Yet his demeanor was still sweet as ever when I took him to the groomer and vet earlier this week. I sensed Oliver's days were short, but wanted to at least have him dignified and clean for his last hurrah, and his final haircut was indeed one of his best.

Oliver also stayed true to one of his trademarks until the finish. He loved sitting on my lap whenever driving with me, and I never had the heart to move him away. Although a bit slower, he did the same with me in his last ride to the vet earlier this week. Much as he did the very first night I met him, way back on leap year day, February 29, 1996, when Mark Cuneo brought him into the TGS office. Mark had found him at a gas station in the Fairfax district when he brought him into the office, hoping someone might want to claim this adorable cocker puppy. I gladly did, thinking at first that we would have no trouble adopting out Oliver to one of the many children in our neighborhood. By the time I was halfway home, however, Oliver had abandoned the little bed I had made for him in my backseat, instead preferring to sit on my lap as I drove. At that moment I knew I was going to keep him, and he indeed continued to sit on my lap in the car whenever we drove for the next 11 1/2 years.

Those of you who knew Oliver were undoubtedly touched by his kindness, sweetness, gentleness, and happy-go-lucky spirit. I don't think Oliver ever had a bad day. Not a mean bone in his little body. Everyone enjoyed him. I loved him very much, and he reciprocated many times over. Oliver was also the one dog of ours who would run to me first; the bassets and Gigi the chihuahua would almost always first run to my wife or one of the girls. They loved Oliver, too, but he was truly my forever dog.

If a little bit of Oliver rubbed off on me, I am certainly better for it.

In closing, I can think of no better epitaph for Oliver than a conversation I had with my dad a while back. We would often bring Oliver and the other dogs to my mom and dad's house to play. My dad knew how we came across Oliver, and suggested we give him a nickname. "I think you should call him Lucky," said Pop, "because he was so lucky to find a nice dad and home."

I had to smile. "Maybe so, Pop," I said. "But I think the real lucky one was me."