 |
||||
  
 
 |
Wife of a journalist spends some time in her husband's shoes By
Allison and Dan Chase
It's not easy being married to a journalist. Just ask my wife, Allison, who has, since the day we met, been left in the stands while I've done postgame interviews, wondered why I can't use her as a source for one of my articles, and had her grammar corrected on a daily basis. But on the other hand, it's not easy being a journalist. And that's why I'm giving Allison a chance to step in my shoes. Despite her feelings of incompetence before sitting down with the laptop computer, I'm proud to say that the following column was written entirely by a dietitian, whose love for her late dog was equivalent to my love of baseball. I'm also proud to say that my only participation was taking care of the introduction and editing. I would hope that the following column would not only appeal to lovers of man's best friend, but offer perspective from a nonjournalist point of view and prove that anyone can, through the power of words, touch the lives of many. Oh and one last thing: while I appreciate Allison accepting this assignment, I hope she never asks me to step inside her shoes. No offense, hon, but telling people what they can and can't eat would be a difficult task--especially since I can't even eat right myself! Without further ado then, I give you the lovely Mrs. Allison B. Chase, R.D. ‹ I am here to write about a very sensitive subject ‹ my late dog, Buffy. He was taken to the veterinarian and put to sleep not long after the death of Charles Schulz and, in a figurative sense, everyone's favorite dog Snoopy. I remember the day we got Buffy like it was yesterday. It was 1983, and I was the ripe old age of 6. My parents decided it was time to obtain a family dog due to the sheer terror my 5-year-old brother and I felt every time we saw the neighbor's miniature poodle. Collin, my brother, and I, ate on top of the table that first dinner Buffy joined our family. Our little sister and brother, Megan and Dallin, who were 3 and 1, respectively, loved the poor little mutt who was what I called the neighborhood mix. His mother lived down the street, the father and grandfather were next door neighbors that lived up the other street, and his half brother lived not far from the mother. They were a close-knit group. Gradually, I realized Buffy was not a maniac, but merely a normal, extremely playful puppy. It became easier to pet him and in time, hug him. Over the years as difficult times hit our family, Buffy was a source of comfort and strength. I can honestly say that Buffy helped every member of our family get through the death of Dallin in 1984 as well as my teen-age years, which were nearly unbearable for the entire family. But Buffy was there every time I cried, complained and felt the typical adolescent hate and pain. He always knew when something was not right and would follow us into our rooms as we would shut the door on everyone else and cry. He knew the right thing to say, which was always nothing. He would look at you with those big, harmless brown eyes, let you pet his soft, white fur, and nudge you with his cold, black nose when you stopped, as if to say, "You still seem sad. Keep petting me and things will be all right." And they always were. As years crept by, Buffy became slower and suffered from dementia. We would often find him running into flower pots on the floor. We could no longer move furniture around for fear of Buffy suffering a concussion. The experience most heartbreaking, but funny as well, was when my husband, Dan, and I were downstairs and heard a thud, thud, thud and saw Buffy wagging his tail as if he really hadn't fallen down the entire 14 stairs. Later that same snowy night, he scared us half to death when we heard him barking but weren't able to find him until someone opened the blinds. And there he was, down in the window well, looking like an abominable snowman. He continued to grow even slower and suffered from more severe dementia as he would find himself in a corner of the room and couldn't determine how to get out. Let's just say the white carpet is now a faint yellow in many places of the house. Buffy had one last hurrah in August when Dan and I were married. Our open house was in my backyard, and I partly chose this location because I wanted Buffy, who was a member of my family in every sense, to be a part of the best day of my life. He received a haircut and wore a bow tie to match the other tuxedo-clad men. They were a handsome sight. Our family had a glimpse of 1983 as Buffy tore out the back door into the yard and ran around. We all chased him as we had done so many times earlier, even if it was for only 30 seconds. Next to an oak tree in our backyard is a plaque where my dad tearfully lay Buffy to rest.
--Allison is the wife of Hard News Cafe contributor
Dan Chase
|
Archived Months:
January
1999 January
2000 |
||