Oogy The Dog Only a Family Could Love Read Free

white fur on the rest of his body. The left side of his muzzle, the side of his face that has been rebuilt, twitches ever so slightly. I am amazed, as I am every day, at what he has gone through to get here and, despite it, the level of trust he has reposed in us from the start. He turns and gets that goopy look on his face he shows me at such moments, and I pull back just in time to avoid a big, sloppy kiss. I have been told that dogs lick people because they want to know what they taste like, but Oogy has known what we taste like for years and the licking has never diminished. The boys and I are convinced that his licking us is his form of kisses. With a sigh, Oogy momentarily rests his head on the top of the couch. Suddenly, his head jerks up, and he barks at something out there, only he knows what. As is often the case, I have no idea what he is barking at or whether he is just imagining something. But I never fail to thank him for protecting us. After a few more moments of intense listening, he puts his head back down.
    The boys clunk downstairs, still not running on all cylinders, and head for the kitchen, where they keep their backpacks. They pull out certain books, insert others, check homework binders, and make sure they have what they need for the day. There is some discussion as to whether it is a “B” or a “C” day, which controls their class schedules. Once they have gotten organized, they come back into the family room for another ten minutes of TV. They know it is time to leave when the highlights portion of the sports show is over. They pull on their sneakers while they watch. Each boy is wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, but in a different color; this is their unofficial uniform. Jennifer dashes by to gather her laptop and another cup of coffee. She exits the kitchen and races for the driveway with no more than a breathless “Bye!”
    In the kitchen, the boys pull on sweatshirts, hitch up their backpacks, and pick up their lacrosse sticks. Dan then suddenly remembers that he has to turn in his wrestling singlets and runs upstairs, where he rifles through the laundry basket until he finds them and then returns to the kitchen. The car they usually drive to school has to go in for inspection today, so they are riding the bus. Oogy climbs off me to be with them in the kitchen, wondering if this will be the day he gets to follow them to wherever it is they go six days a week — five days of school and either practice or a game on Saturday. I follow Oogy into the kitchen. He and I watch as the boys exit the back door to begin the trek up the street to the bus stop.
    “Have a good day,” I tell them. “See you after practice.” Then I ask if either one of them has any requests for dinner. Neither of them does.
    “Love you,” they each say as they head out the door, and every time I hear that, I am surprised. That they can articulate it. That they direct it at me.
    Shortly after the boys have left, and while Oogy and I are still in the kitchen cleaning up, the trash truck stops at the foot of the driveway. In an instant, Oogy has wedged himself through the door and dashed into the yard, barking joyously, the resonance of his barks mingling with the trundling of the can being wheeled up the driveway, the shouts of the workers out in the street, and the grinding of the truck gears. Oogy barks at the man emptying our trash cans as though seeing this is the greatest thing that could ever happen to him. The man talks to Oogy the whole time he is dumping the contents of our several small cans into the one huge canister he wheels along. Oogy says good-bye and comes back into the house.
    When he sees me putting on my sneakers, he gets excited, starts dancing and barking, thinking I am going to take him somewhere.
    “Calm down,” I tell him. “I’m only going out for the paper.” He either does not believe me or wants to convince me otherwise, and as soon as we go outside, he starts for the van. “This way,