Tytell - My Lucky Dog

MY LUCKY DOG Mellon Tytell For John Tytell, my love at first sight There is no love. There are only acts of love. Denis Diderot Contents It was the best time of my life. A young boy put a picture of Hunter in the window of a pet store in Vermont. His dog was up for adoption. We brought him back to our house on Colvin Hill Road in Danby. We brought him back to our house on Colvin Hill Road in Danby.

In the thirteen years we had him we never had to say B-A-D D-O-G. He had been kept in a kennel for six weeks. The minute he arrived home, he curled up in his crate and heaved a giant sigh of relief. Your dog is a little wild, said a neighbor to my husband, John. But he didnt have a mean bone in his body. People always tried to guess Hunters breed. People always tried to guess Hunters breed.

Some said he ran like a greyhound. A hundred miles an hour, said a kid. Hunter was in love with Byron. It was mutual. Hunters other home was in Greenwich Village. We moved to Vermont. Fortunately, I found Dr. Fortunately, I found Dr.

Linda Squires, who came over every week to treat him with acupuncture. Soon Hunter was able to trot to the crest of the hill, a good half a mile away. I think Hunter missed the City too. He enjoyed exploring the urban landscape, especially the art scene in Chelsea. Some friends and family called me nave and silly for giving up my husband, career, and social life to take care of a dog. But when the planes were striking the Twin Towers, John, Hunter, and I were in the pumpkin patch on our neighbors farm down the road. But when the planes were striking the Twin Towers, John, Hunter, and I were in the pumpkin patch on our neighbors farm down the road.

John had decided to take a sabbatical to be with us. Every day we would take long hikes. Hunter barked at the cows, but they couldnt care less. Time passed. Hunter became a grand old man. He could no longer sit. He could no longer sit.

His spinal cord wasnt sending messages to his paws. Before, he would run up the road to visit Byron. All I needed to do was turn on the old Honda and he came flying home. Dressing up was something he adored. I knew that Hunter would leave me for any man who walked into the room. To me, Hunter was more fascinating than a Pollock or Picasso. He was a good sport, always tolerating my obsession with taking pictures of him.