Our time together started in Bridgewater, New Jersey in February 1992, one month after his mom gave birth to him, Maggie, Petey, and another sister I can't remember right now. Mom and I drove 30 minutes from Edison to Bridgewater, where Mom's late friend Laurie Giamo, had a blond cocker spaniel, Lucy, who had given birth to four puppies. Against dad's wishes, and mine as well, Mom said we were eventually going to take one. I remember seeing all four of them for the first time. All of them just scampering around a cardboard box lined with newspaper on the bottom. And I was scared. Just three years earlier, I saw a dog that I knew pretty well get killed by a school bus. And it shook me up. But Mom had no trouble picking one up and holding him. And I knew he was coming home with us in due time so I had to change my mind.
In March, we brought home the eldest male DJ, who we quickly renamed Hogan. That first night, Mom, Dad, and I didn't leave him alone. He was scared without his brother, mother, and sisters around him. But he adjusted quickly to our small house. And in what was a rough couple of years in my life, I grew close to him. I remember the first day I had to leave him the garage before I left for school. I was in fifth grade. We put blankets and toys and food in that garage, and then gated it off. As I was walking out the door, he started whimpering. And I couldn't leave him. It took 10 minutes before I managed my way out the door and I felt so guilty.
As the years went on, he definitely grew closest to Mom. He was close to me as well as Dad and Unger when they lived with him and a few of my friends as well. But he was a mama's boy. For years, whenever he heard the buzz of the garage door opening, he would always make a beeline for the door where she would come in. He'd get down on his belly, stick his nose right at the base of the door, trying to smell her, hear her, anything. And you could hear the sound of him breathing out of his nose and he would usually whine a little until the door opened. It was so funny. I always thought it was unfair she hated that he licked her considering how many kisses she gave him.
Grandpa loved him dearly too. He probably walked Hogan more consistently than anyone. He and my grandmother took care of him for as long as 4 months, while Mom and I were getting ready to move. Several times, I drove up from North Carolina and they drove from Connecticut. We'd meet somewhere in Pennsylvania, I'd take Hogan, and then continue my trip on to Chicago.
He was a big one too, about 60 pounds. Every vet would tell us he was the biggest cocker they had ever seen. In North Carolina, he hated to be away from us, but when we went away, we'd drop him off at Camp Canine, and he got along just fine.
There were tough times. College wasn't easy. For four years, I was away from him 2/3 of the time. Supposedly, he would walk into my room and just lay there, wondering where I was. I know I missed him.
I still have a scar from Feb. 23 of this year when he bit me after I came home from Ring of Honor and drove 2.5 hours through a raging snowstorm. I tried to wake him up to take him upstairs. He snapped and caught my right palm and the side of my right hand. The side of my hand is still scarred.
But things like that didn't happen much. He really wasn't that tough, he was just very protective of Mom and I. If he didn't know someone, it took a while before he warmed up to them. I would always tell people not to pet him, just let him sniff their hand.
The easiest way to relax him? Rides in the car. All we had to do was put him in the backseat, start driving, and he would be asleep within a minute. He could have easily been a trucker's dog. And I could tell a humping story or two (or more), but I'll keep it clean. Suffice to say, the three favorite victims were my old friend Kurtz' leg, the pink footrest/ottoman (before it was reupholstered), and any baby stroller when there was a baby inside of it. Make up your own joke.
I remember his intensity when he would have ice cream. We'd buy him a cup, he'd start licking, and wouldn't even come up for air until the bottom of that cup was bone dry. And his appetite! I'll always remember the way he begged for treats in his later years. When mom had to stay home from work for 18 months, that's when he really got spoiled. Instead of just scratching the door where the treats were, he'd start howling at us because he wasn't getting his treat fast enough. He'd scratch the door, or even the oven, and look back at us as if to say "What are you waiting for? I have only two needs: attention and food!" He loved ice cream, cheese, and any kind of meat. If it was cooked on a grill, oh, he wanted some of it. I actually ate steak tonight and it was too quiet.
And there are a lot of things I didn't see. One time, he was walking with Mom at Herrick Lake and passing by these horses and he kept yelping at them in this really high voice. It was like he wanted to fight them, but knew he was insane if he actually challenged them. His running on the Connecticut beaches, getting his fur filled with sand, and having to go to a local vet for a bath and cleaning. After that day, he never got too crazy on a beach again. And oh, how he hated baths. I would lift him out of the tub and he'd run like chicken with no head all over the house. He'd rub his face right against the base of my bed and run alongside the bedskirt, desperately trying to dry his face. And when we were in New Jersey, he tended to get sprayed by skunks. I think he got nailed four times in one summer alone. And that always led to another bath.
About a year ago, Mom drove with him to Florida where she stayed with some friends who had two dogs. Now we'd never really let him around dogs, because he was always barking. But I think that was because there would always be a barrier between him and the dog, whether it was a window, a leash, a wall, etc. But he was amazing with them. He just loved being in their presence. I heard one good story from the trip. The female was sleeping in the living room. And Hogan was curious about her so he started walking around and sniffing her. After about three minutes of this, she woke up, barked angrily at him, and he was so scared he retreated into a corner of the house and wouldn't come out for over an hour.
And the walks we took through the mean streets of North Edison NJ, the forest preserves of West Chicago and Warrenville IL, the Prairie Paths of Wheaton and Wayne IL, the beaches of New London CT, the pine trees of North Carolina, the industrial streets of Pittsburgh, the cobblestone roads of Nantucket. He loved to explore nature and new places. All he needed was his family and he never had a care.
And now he can't really walk. The doctor says it's prostate cancer. I know we need to let him go and it hurts. I haven't really cried yet, though I'm sure I will soon. But almost 16 years. That's about 60 percent of my life. Now the house will be quieter. Maybe a little cleaner too. My heart will be a little sadder. My world will be a little emptier.
So, to the spoiled dope, to the old man, my brother, my friend, I thank you for 16 years.
I hope somehow, some way I'll see you again.
So long, Hogan, I love you forever.
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