Puppy love: paying tribute to a best friend

I’d like to dedicate today’s column to my best friend, political advisor, fashion co-ordinator and personal bodyguard. Milo the dog (see above) is now 17-years old. Regular readers of Miller Time will know that Milo is a long-haired, miniature dachshund who sometimes accompanies me to assignments.

When he was younger, you probably saw him out at various public events. He also holds down parttime employment at the Dragon’s Den on Front Street in Penticton.

I’m not sure what he does there all day, but he holds some sort of management position.

Looking back, Milo was an impulse purchase. The breeder was from Louisiana, but living in Canada while her husband was on a short-term work contract to build a solar farm.

The breeder burst into tears when I asked about her personal impact from Hurricane Katrina. (I’ll save that story for another column.)

Milo’s sister was adopted by my wife’s co-worker. There was still a male dog who wasn’t spoken for, likely because nobody knew this breeder. (She brought her dogs to Canada. The Internet was in its infancy stages.)

As a young man, I could always walk into a pet store, ask to play with a dog, and then say, “I have to think about it.”

I avoid kennels for fear of wanting to take everyone home with me.

So, what the heck, we’d drive out in the country and see Milo’s breeder for something to do on a Sunday afternoon. I had no intention of buying a dog.

One glance at Milo and it was: “When can we arrange pickup? Do you take debit?”

I had never owned a dog but did a lot of pet babysitting … Jack Russells being my speciality.

Milo was to-die-for cute as a puppy. I remember walking along the shoreline of a beach with him tagging behind me, reminiscent of Bill Bixby and little Brandon Cruz in the opening credits of The Courtship of Eddie’s Father.

Quick, cue Best Friend by Harry Nielsen.

In his puppy years, tourists from Asia would stop and take his picture -- never mine, but his. Teenage girls would often shriek in delight as if pop singer Justin Bieber walked into the room.

Milo would glance at girls then yawn. He does, however, prefer women to men. Always has.

We did a four-day road trip together through the northern United States. They allowed him into the country, but not his dog food. A scary moment occurred when he sneezed constantly for about four hours. He didn’t want to be comforted. This happened in Dundee, Illinois, not far from Chicago. I found my young pup a 24-hour vet clinic.

“Is there a smell he’s not accustomed to,” the vet technician asked.

Yes, cigarettes. Even though I’m a non-smoker, because we stayed at the Bates Motel (not literally) the previous night, it was in a smoking room. I was told he would eventually stop sneezing -- which he did -- and no charge from the vet clinic.

Looking back now on what might be his final birthday, there’s so many funny moments – christening the PetSmart in Penticton by being the first dog to have a dump on the floor, Milo discovering pizza, and smuggling him into the Stony Plain Hospital where overflow patients asked if they could visit him. The nurses were kind … they didn’t kick us out.

Milo has been blessed with good health. Now 17 (that’s 84 for a human), he’s mostly deaf and he has some doggie dementia. Everything else works fine, his vet assures me.

My role has gone from doting dog owner to primary caregiver. I’m fine with that.

Milo has lived up to his end of the bargain. He’s been a loyal and loving companion.

When it seems like the whole world hates you -and we’ve all had those days -- a dog will always love you, he never judges you and always wants to spend time with you.