Our dog Gringo

You may ask why, in the midst of war in Israel, when so much of our lives is unsettled, plagued with worry, challenge, and fear, I am compelled to tell you about the life of a dog. Truth be told, I simply cannot suddenly, in my old age, become a military analyst. What I know about war is that it is bad for everyone. No more. No less.

But I have a few little anecdotes to share while you and I await the resolution of the conflict.

Gringo was our first dog. We got her when we were newlyweds in 1960. I honestly don’t recall where we found her, but I know she was born in a downtrodden neighborhood in my birth city, Newark. She was adorable, but then again, did you ever meet a puppy who was not adorable?

We quickly discovered the error in our ways. She was a prolific shedder, and our home was always filled with flying tufts of black hair, invading every aspect of space in the small Huntington Terrace apartment. By then, it was too late. We were smitten, both by our own new status as man and wife, and by our charming companion, the slumdog who thought we were her parents.

Gringo’s life could have gone differently. An errant car could have found her vulnerable and quickly dispensed with her. But such is life. Some are luckier than others. Gringo was one of the favored. She even eventually embarked on an international journey to Israel. No fortune teller could have foreseen that!

But back to the beginning. We were indulgent adopters. We spoiled her relentlessly. She slept on our finest furniture and never had to eat tasteless dry, crunchy, bagged dog food. Mostly my mother would get lots of liver scraps from our local kosher butcher, Joe, broil them, and feed them to Gringo. That dog adored that liver. And on the very worst days, when Joe couldn’t provide, she would eat Alpo, which she pretended to disdain, but really enjoyed.

Her life was going along very nicely indeed. She had summer weekends with us in our Catskill Mountain place in Parksville. There she had freedom and many admirers. Life as our dog was turning out quite nicely.

Until….

In October 1963 I came home from the hospital with a baby girl. We were thrilled. Gringo was not. She would not go near the baby. And it was quite clear what her thoughts were. She wanted us to return our precious bundle of joy.

You may think that Gringo got over that first reaction. A video about two years later would dispel that kind of thinking. There is our little family in the backyard of our new home in Clark, gathered around a brand-new above-ground swimming pool. Our little girl is splashing around with abandon, having tons of fun. It’s a really hot day, and Gringo is panting. She is thirsty.

My husband suggests to our daughter that she bring Gringo a pail of water to drink. We all love that idea. Maybe Gringo will start to like her and stop the continual growling at her, which has persisted since that baby, now a toddler, arrived. So the plan develops. Merely fill a pail with the unchlorinated pool water and bring it up to the foxy nasty dog.

Plan is executed. Kid fills pail, shleps it up the few steps to where Gringo is escaping the heat. Water is spilling. Pail is heavy. Kid finally reaches dog, who looks at her with scorn, and although obviously thirsty, refuses to drink and descends stairs, with haughty look.

That scene is replayed three times, up the stairs, down the stairs. Stubborn mule nasty dog refuses the fresh, cool, greatly desired water.

Eventually our family welcomed three more kids. She despised each and every one of them. Permanently.

Four kids grew up in a house with a dog who hated them. Nonetheless they all grew up to be dog lovers. I don’t know why. Gringo never ever let them pet her and growled and bared her teeth if they even tried. Eventually they just stopped trying.

And then, in 1973, which turned into a very momentous and terrible year for our Am Yisrael, we were sent on assignment to Jerusalem so that my husband could do a project for its government. All the preparatory logistics were arranged, including ulpan for us and private Hebrew lessons for the children. We rented the house and were set to go. With Gringo. She was now 13 years old, as contrary as ever, and suffering with heart failure. What choice was there. Really? None!

Husband did his very best to build her a fancy shipping crate with a water system that was quite ingenious. It would supply her with unlimited water throughout what was to be a harrowing journey for her. He spent hours designing and implementing it since she would spend many hours aloft and at a layover at London Heathrow. We feared her demise. We feared wrong. She was always a survivor.

We arrived en famille, dog included, on March 25, 1973, a few months before that fateful Yom Kippur when war erupted.

Gringo joined us in the shelter several times. We were unscathed. So was she. Maybe our lucky dog brought her magic to all of us. All the residents in the six-story building at 3 Rehov Etzel in Jerusalem survived the war. Incredibly, no civilians in the entire country were killed at all. But, tragically, 2656 chayalim perished defending the Land.

The war had no apparent impact on Gringo. The story was different for the kids. Israel became, and remains, a powerful part of all their lives and the lives of their children and grandchildren.

The time to return to New Jersey arrived. Gringo was now more than a year older. Old age certainly did not mellow her. She remained cantankerous, especially in the presence of our children. She obviously also was not more healthy than before. Nonetheless, we needed to return with her in tow, and she survived.

Gringo slept through an attempted burglary back in New Jersey. She was failing. One morning my husband went down and found her on the kitchen floor. She had rigor mortis. Died in her sleep, age 15, without fuss or prolonged suffering. A lucky death for a lucky dog. As miserable as she was, our kids mourned her. And so did we.

Rosanne Skopp of West Orange is a wife, mother of four, grandmother of 14, and great-grandmother of nine. She is a graduate of Rutgers University and a dual citizen of the United States and Israel. She is a lifelong blogger, writing blogs before anyone knew what a blog was! She welcomes email at rosanne.skopp@gmail.com

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