Remembering dear old Jocco . . .

It’s fairly well known among my friends that I don’t like Dogs, and some look at me in disbelief, and I forgive them. After all they, not their dogs, are my friends, and if they wonder how come? Well let me tell you.

A long time ago there was a little reddish-brown cocker who was just plain hell-on-four-legs, and he quickly erased any previous loving thoughts I ever had for the canine clan. His name was Jocco, but that isn’t what I called him, and what I did is unprintable.

He was a one-man dog, and that man happened to my brother-in-law, Jake. But there came a time when Jake moved and couldn’t take Jocco with him, Jocco slowly changed his allegiance to my husband.

Oh, he tolerated anyone who would feed him, but that wasn’t me. He ignored me completely and if ever was forced, by some turn of events to notice me, he did so with reluctance and obvious dislike.

See, there was a catch, for as long as he was a one-man dog, he expected his ‘man’ to be just as one-sided in his affections, and drove him wild to see any display of affection by his ‘man’ to anyone else, and at one time, it was considered real hilarious (not by me). And it was thought funny, to watch the dog growl and show his teeth, when my husband would put his arms around me or pull me down to sit on his lap.

Jocco would stand there growling, and I suspect he would have jumped at me if the real culprits had not been there. Yes, it was funny, but it was also mean and cruel, but just try to tell that to a couple of laughing, men.

It didn’t really matter, for we lived a few blocks away, and so the two of us, Dog and Woman, had little time together, and until Jake had to move, the dog never left that place. But with Jake’s move the dog mourned, pined and then . . . found out where we lived, and would have lived with us, too, if he could have. But I wouldn’t have him in our home if I could help it, but at times I simply had no choice. And so Jocco learned where we lived.

One blizzardy afternoon I came home from work and that dog was sitting on my doorstep. He was cold, icicles hanging from his fur, paws the same, and  I couldn’t get in my own door except by getting past him, and he wouldn’t move. Impatient to get in, he growled and snarled at my reluctance, and as soon as my key turned, he pushed me aside and was in the house before I could cross the doorstep, and I hated him.

He settled himself in a living room chair, licking his frozen paws, smelling as foul as only a wet dog can smell, and generally defrosted himself while I inwardly fumed.

Once I got my coat off, I was so angry at ‘whose house is this anyway? mood, and determinedly took the broom and tried to drive him at least out of my living room chair, but Jocco, as determined as I was, jerked the broom from my hands and then, with flashing eyes, sat down and proceeded to tear into the bristles of that broom. I was licked and both of us knew it. And he was probably as glad as I, that he didn’t live with us.

I came home around mid-nite one time and my husband was already sound asleep with Jocco asleep on the foot of the bed.

As I walked back and forth, kitchen, bathroom, closet, getting ready for bed, that dang dog’s eyes never left me, and each time I approached the bed, he rose on his feet, bared his teeth, growling at me and relaxing and settling down only when I stepped to Kitchen or Bath.

Finally and every word of this is true, I had to waken my husband, so he could give that dang dog a hard whack and got him off the bed. So I could get in.

No, I don’t like dogs, I know all this was the fault of those two crazy men, but just the same, Jocco loved his part of the act, and now, every one of that canine breed could disappear off the face of the earth and all I’d say . . .if someone called my attention to their absence . . . would be, “My my, I hadn’t noticed.”

But inwardly I’d be cheering, long and hard, and thinking, “It’s about time.”