The Golden Years

A cold, curious nose with probing whiskers sporting a wagging tail always welcomed this cub reporter at The Newtown Bee.

“How cool, they allow dogs here,” I thought each morning as I reported to work. “Maybe I could bring mine to work?”

As it turned out only Bart, the Golden Retriever, had daily permission to roam the antique-filled rooms to be near her family. Sherri Baggett’s first Golden sauntered between her desk in the sports department and “co-master” Scott Baggett’s back room quarters. Occasionally, a pushy nudge to Grandpa Scudder resulted in a walk around the Borough.

It was spring 1986 and my first home-bred Norwegian Elkhound puppy, Roxanne, found her way to The Bee offices on Church Hill Road. Bart and Roxanne hit it off immediately. The friendly, well-behaved and tolerant Bart let the puppy from hell with her spontaneous puppy antics challenge her stoic maturity … even if they were the same age.

After my tenure at The Bee, I continued to bring puppies from various litters to play with the Golden-in-Residence. This mirror image, this reciprocity going on between Sherri’s Goldens and my elkhounds is haunting at times. It wasn’t until Bart was older that Sherri got Bow and it wasn’t until Roxanne was older that I got Basia. The new pair met in the same fashion as the older generation. Again, Basia and Bow were not even a year apart in age.

Now I had two Golden noses to contend with at the door when bringing boisterous puppies.

With the passing of our standard bearers, Bart and Roxanne, both 14-years-old and again heading for the “Rainbow Bridge” within a year of each other, I looked to the Goldens for hope. So, now it was just Bow and Basia.

But like all people crazy about dogs, and one breed in particular, we needed more. Enter Starr and Obie. Young pups meeting beneath Sherri’s desk, barking and playing staging puppy quarrels most likely ending with an accidental piddle. Oops! Sorry. The tradition continues.            

Besides the puppy moments, other lasting memories fill my senses. Seeing Scudder walking Bow around the Borough gave me visions of what Norman Rockwell might have painted with easel and palate at the ready on Main Street.

In recent years puppy visits became a pack event with more probing noses than I could contend with, including the equal opportunity Labrador Retriever, Deke. While not a Golden, at least he’s part of the retriever family, the black – make that chocolate – sheep of the family.

I applaud The Bee for not only allowing dogs in the work place, but encouraging other canine visitors. Whenever deadline approached and I needed some stress reduction, Bart got a mother lode of head rubs. Thursday morning had the highest ratio of reporter to Golden head rubs. And in the ensuing years, Bow and Starr carried on the tradition for reporters to follow during times of stress at deadline.

This public service of unconditional love extended beyond employees to the endless line of visitors coming through the front door. When a Golden leaves me, the sense of loss I feel can’t be measured or explained in these few paragraphs.

The depth of my tradition with the Goldens hit home last week when Sherri and I discussed Bow’s health. Last year, I lost Basia at age nine to cancer and last week Sherri lost Bow at age nine to cancer – again within a year of each other.

Future elkhounds and I wait patiently and with great anticipation for the next in a long line of Goldens who have given us the greatest moments of canine joy. I can count on a Golden to be there the next time I walk though the door with yet another puppy – but first we must pass muster with another cold, curious nose with probing whiskers sporting a wagging tail.

Lisa Peterson, a breeder and exhibitor of Norwegian Elkhounds, is a Delegate to the American Kennel Club. Reach her at ask@lisa-peterson.com  or Dogma Publishing, P.O. Box 307, Newtown, CT 06470.