My mom loved dogs, and I could tell you many stories to show you how much. But today, here’s one.
My mom moved a lot and almost always lived in apartments. She had very little money. A dog of her own was impossible. She wanted a big dog, and pet deposits and vet bills were beyond her.
When I was in high school, my mother bought herself a dog. This cute guy pictured above. He was expensive, but he made her happy. His ears, she told me, were just like the ears of the dog she’d had when she was married to my father, and that dog’s name was Jack. So, part in honor of her beloved Jack (who was shot to death by a stranger driving by on a motorcycle) and in part to make him sound like a character in a Jack London novel, she named her new companion Cinnamon Jack.
One evening I spending the night with my mom, and she was in the bathroom going through her usual getting-ready-for-bed routine. I scooped Cinnamon Jack up and set him in front of the bathroom door to wait for her.
Cinnamon Jack successfully surprised her. In her fuzzy, cream-colored bathrobe, she leaned against the doorframe and laughed. She picked him up and carried him to the loveseat where she sat down and kept him in her lap.
It became a thing after that. Every time I visited, I would place CJ to greet her when she opened the door. Eventually, she bought me a dog of my own for my college dorm room, and I named mine Beowoof (English major that I was).
I’m glad CJ is still with me.