The Mighty Casey
December 24, 1995 - August 12, 2011
The greatest dog in the world was laid to rest on Friday, peacefully fading
into canine afterlife. No doubt Casey's new universe will include an endless supply of every
imaginable consumable treat, all within easy reach: no counter tops to scale or
reprimands for having an insatiable appetite for almost anything--but especially
human food.
Casey joined the family five years before the turn of the century and
endured into its second decade. In dog years she was old--very old; in the human
equivalent, she was ancient (about 108). Her "cousin" Hillary, also a
Vizsla who came into the world at about the same time, lived a great long
life--and died two years ago.
Our Casey was a true homebody, never straying far from the patio and always
preferring the company of people. Vizslas crave attention and affection and
behave more like classic "lap" dogs. Even when she was full-grown, Casey
wouldn't hesitate to pile on to you or put her face in your face or her paw on
your leg--gently intruding on whatever you were doing for a dose of human touch.
She made a lot of friends that way, including complete strangers, who often
greeted her with a "hi sweetie" or "what a sweetheart" refrain. Indeed, she was
beloved.
Though Casey was no watchdog, she did let the others in the local animal
kingdom know on whose homestead they were treading. She eventually made peace
with deer, probably because they visited so frequently. Bear were another story:
her voice went up two octaves at the very sight, hair tense and up on the back,
alive in sheer hysteria. At the other extreme, there were skunks, and Casey's
curiosity was appropriately acknowledged: she was twice christened, and when she
re-entered the house, she couldn't hide her humiliation. While it took weeks for
the stench to fade, it only took her a day or two to get her mojo back.
But it was Casey's preoccupation with food that was the thing of legend. In
her prime, she was a master thief: creative, crafty, and most of all,
persistent. Among her trophies: an entire gingerbread house, loaves of bread, a
tin of coca powder, tomatoes from the garden, a pan of brownies, a whole chicken
leg (bone and all, stolen at a picnic out of the hand of a guest). Her tastes
sometimes strayed from food and included sun glasses, retainers, tar paper,
mulch, bar soap, Q tips, paper napkins, candles. Those occasions didn't always
end well, but before long, she would be back in the game.
Mark Twain once said, "It's a good thing a dog has fleas, they keep its mind off of being a dog." Maybe there's an analogy here for Casey. She wasn't bored being a dog, she had a mission. Maybe it was her relentless pursuit of the next item of food that kept her youthful and alive for so long; maybe her insatiable appetite actually added years to her existence. Not because of the additional nourishment, but because she was "in the hunt." Maybe that's Casey's legacy for the rest of us: Whatever the pursuit, there is something to always being hungry.
MJM, 8/14/2011
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