Chapter 13 Codi

Many of you were interested and had questions/comments about Greg using Steven as a 'babe catcher'. Here's another story, but Greg didn't use Steven. He used our yellow Labrador, Codi.

We moved to Fort Meade, Maryland in September of 1990 from Germany. Brian had deployed to Saudi Arabia, Desert Shield, Desert Storm in October.

Brian understood me and before he left, he got us a kitten, and said, "While I'm gone, don't get a dog. You have a cat. You don't need a dog."

Those of you who regularly follow me have a pretty good idea that I love dogs, since they play a significant role in my novels. I do believe everybody needs at least one dog.

I followed Brian's instructions until the middle of February when accidentally came across a three-month-old registered yellow Labrador. She was cheap. She only cost four hundred dollars. She was also very cuddly and precious, with huge dark brown eyes. How could I not get the boys a dog? We named her Codi. She had a much longer registered name, but I don't remember all of it.

On one of the phone calls, I told Brian about Codi.

He said, "She better not be sleeping on our bedroom floor."

I honestly said, "She's not." She was sleeping in bed with me. I told the truth, she wasn't on our bedroom floor, right?

When Brian returned, Codi found somebody else to sleep with.

Greg being the oldest, walking Codi pretty much became his job. It was one job he enjoyed. I didn't fully understand why but was happy he enjoyed walking Codi.

Late one night after one of Jeff's baseball games, it had gone into extra innings, I parked the car and noticed a young teenage girl wearing a bikini leaning over a fire hydrant. I thought that was a little strange, until Greg said, "I'd better walk Codi."

"Not tonight, sweetheart. I'll walk Codi. You watch your brothers."

"But Mom."

"We'll discuss it when I return."

When I returned, all the boys were mysteriously in their rooms ready for bed.

I knocked on Greg's door. "May I come in?"

"I'm really tired, Mom."

"Too tired to talk with your mom?"

"Yes."

"Or don't want to have this discussion with your mom?"

He was silent.

"Though so." I opened the door and sat on the edge of his bed. "I take it girls are attracted to Codi."

"Codi's a great dog."

"She is. But you can't use Codi to catch girls. Should I walk her?"

He frowned. "No, I understand."

"Good."

Side notes on Codi. She was a wonderful dog. She flew back and forth to Germany with us. We took her on vacation with us. When Steven was born, she was very protective of him. Codi lived to be seventeen years old. My boys literally grew up with her.

When we were stationed in South Carolina, she was diagnosed with cancer. We made the decision to make her comfortable until her time came.

She would crawl into Andrew's bed and sleep with him. Andrew was in high school. When I'd wake him up for school, he was curled up in a ball and Codi was at the foot of the bed. She had a large pillow in his room.

I said, "Andrew, she's a dog. You can send her to the floor. She has a bed."

"I know, but when I do, she gets confused."

A few weeks before she died, Andrew would carry her outside in the mornings until her legs started working. She'd walk back inside.

One morning her legs wouldn't hold her. My parents were visiting. Dad went with me to the veterinarian clinic while they put her down. I held her as she breathed her last breath.

We didn't live on the Army base but rented a house. I couldn't bury an eighty-five-pound dog on some else's property. I had her cremated. To this day, we haven't figured out what to do with her remains. She sits in a pine box on the top shelf of my closet. When the boys come home, they check the closet to see if Codi is still with us.

We've owned many dogs, but Codi was probably the best of the best. Great with kids, hardly ever barked, very gentle, and adapted to wherever the Army sent us.

Whenever the boys had a fight, Codi would stand between them and give a low growl. As if to say, 'that's enough.' Never any teeth, but it was enough they'd stop.

I would rather have traveled with Codi than the boys. She never asked, "Are we there yet?" She also never got into a fight in the backseat. When the car stopped, I walked her. She did her job and laid back down in the car until the next stop.

I'm sure all good dogs go to Heaven.
Rest in Peace, Codi.