The Best Dog Ever

Three years ago, an important memory and anniversary came rushing back when I took down The Best Christmas Tree Ever. Recently, I realized another anniversary is here...one that, coincidentally, is in keeping with this macabre practice I have with graves and death dates. Fifty years ago, in mid-July, the Best Dog Ever went to his reward. We still talk about Toulouse and the memorable things he did.

My father was a commercial artist. We named our pets after artists. When sister Patti came along, our beagle, Van Gogh took exception to the new arrival. He decided the house was not big enough for the two of them. Since my parents were not about to give up their cherubic new daughter, the dog had to go. The next puppy in the house was Toulouse. He was small and cute. Full grown at 145 pounds, he was less cute but a great dog.

Toulouse and my Father, 1956

My dad’s boss at his Manhattan office had a female Saint Bernard. Ms. Berna had a boyfriend...a standard poodle...let’s call him ‘Pierre.’ We never learned much about the scoundrel except that this unchaperoned tryst left Berna with nine mouths to feed. Dad brought one of them home.

We were lucky that Toulouse grew to have what I consider the best qualities of both breeds. He had the size and gentle disposition of a Saint Bernard along with the tight, less allergenic hair of the poodle. And he had the poodle’s brains. He was a very smart dog.

Toulouse and my Sister Pat, 1957

People sometimes talk about whether dogs understand your words or if it’s the tone of our voices that register...happy and affectionate versus stern and reprimanding. We found a good way to test this on Toulouse. When the house was empty, he had this habit of sleeping in my bed. He never did that when we were home and since he’d rush to the door as soon as the key hit the lock, we never actually caught him in a bed. The evidence however, was clear since the bed looked like a bomb dropped on it...and no, he was not smart enough to actually MAKE the bed before we returned.

Anyway, one day we came in, greeted the dog, saw the bed and scolded him. He felt the scolding was totally inappropriate since dogs think every time you leave them alone, you’re abandoning them. They’re thrilled you’ve come home and this is no time for discipline. So he growled at us--while still wagging his tail--so you understood this was not a big problem. Seeing this as an opportunity to test the tone vs. words theory, we greeted him differently the next time he destroyed a bed. I greeted him, tousled him, pet him all over, calling him a good boy and said how glad we were to see him again. But I also added a couple of words, in the same happy, affectionate tone, about whether he was the one on that bed. Again, he growled his disapproval at the mention of the damn bed. Regardless of the tone of voice, he decided if we left him alone, it was going to cost us a made bed and we just had to deal with it.

Anyone else notice a dog in the room?

Christmas, 1953

Toulouse could even spell. This story probably has grown a bit out of proportion to the facts but I believe it is true since I was there and, as a scientist, I never lie or exaggerate...much. We were at the dinner table and, since we have seen Toulouse perk up when we talk about what we’ll do with certain bones from the meal, we tried to communicate more subtly. Someone said, “Should we give the b-o-n-e to the d-o-g?” and to the table he came.

Red and Rover comic by Brian Basset, July 3, 2014

Taken from gocomics.com

Imagine my surprise when I saw the daily comics in the Washington

Post and this first reference to our favorite dog’s name.

He died at age 12...sadly, a virgin. We fantasized later what it would have taken to seriously breed Saint Poodles so everyone could appreciate this blend of canine qualities. We imagined doing it well enough to have the Kennel Club certify it as a legitimate breed...The Ringgershound, he said, conceitedly.

Of course genetics and breeding can be a tricky proposition. When the renowned actress, Mrs. Patrick Campbell wrote to George Bernard Shaw, she said they should have children together because, with her beauty and his brains, they would be perfect. His reply expressed the fear that their children would have his beauty and her brains. Better to leave Toulouse as the singular canine he was.

His Last Portrait, July 1964

He liked to lie on the cool concrete in the shade of the front porch. His last months were hard as he battled the hip problems that often afflict big dogs as they age. I never saw my dad cry but remember my mother telling me that’s what he did after coming home from the ASPCA after they put Toulouse to sleep.

I hope he has 72 virgins with him in Dog Paradise.