by Lowell Berkowitz
My parents decided to get a second dog after our cat, which we had as a pet since the time I was born, passed away. We went to the animal shelter, and my mother and sister chose what I though was the ugliest dog there. He was a black 2 year old with a white belly and a white stripe down the middle of his forehead. A mutt with a temper and a bad attitude.
They named him Otis James. He was a handful. He had obviously been abused before we got him. He was afraid of anyone's feet coming near him and would snap at the drop of a hat. But he grew on us. We had the groomer cut his hair so that his white stripe became a mohawk, and he filled out into a strong, healthy dog.
We learned to love the little guy, and he and I became very good friends. We loved each other very much, but we were both a bit headstrong. There were many play-times that ended with me yelling and him barking and running under the bed. The only way I could get him out was to quietly lay down on my back. Then he would slowly make his way out and put his head on my chest.
A few years later I went off to college, and afterward moved about 5 hours away. Every time I visited home he seemed years older and shades grayer. He couldn't see or hear very well, and he developed a few tumors, but he always remembered me. I could always lay down and he would still walk over and put his head down on my chest.
My family had a few pets over the years, but Otis was the first one that I was old enough to love and appreciate. My parents were able to give a dog with what must have been a horrible beginning a wonderful life. They pampered him in every imaginable way. He started out a bit rough, but he was a great dog.
Otis passed away as a 17 year old after about 14&1/2 years with my family. I was at work when my mother called and told me, and I was too busy to grieve, but I have rarely stopped thinking about him in the days since. He was a great companion and was a huge part of my life.
I also feel for my parents, who, with Otis's passing, lost a child. They are in mourning, but I hope they can find solace in visiting their granddogs. My sister and I were both recently lucky enough to get puppies of our own. I only hope that we can give our dogs as good a life as Otis had.
I'll always remember him as a little ball of fire, with jet black hair and a streak of white. Chasing a tennis ball while sliding across the linoleum floor and rolling around playing with me.
I will miss him dearly. My little buddy Otis.