Last December, I lost Chota Peg, my 9½-year-old cocker spaniel who died unexpectedly right after Christmas. What followed was the usual litany of questions for any dog owner — get another right away or wait a while; get the same kind of dog or something different; what does one do with all of those toys and blankets, her leash ... ?

I mulled it over for nine months — nine not particularly happy months, in which I filled the void of coming home to an empty house by staying out of it as much as possible.

I went out to dinner; I traveled; I accepted invitations to “crash” at the homes of friends for extended weekend visits. All fun, and all very welcome distractions. I told myself I had some degree of freedom again — I didn’t have to worry about “getting home to the dog” or making “baby-sitting” arrangements when I left town.

But those relaxing diversions couldn’t disguise that my house no longer felt like a home — it was just a nice place to live, with no sign of life other than myself or the television.

My biggest obstacle to making all of that go away was the nagging feeling that, if I took the plunge, I would be “replacing” Chota Peg. On a very crowded train last February, I brought up that very question with a nice New England lady who had lost her share of dogs in the past. “You’re not replacing her,” she told me, “you’re just sharing that love with another one.” Her words stuck with me ever since.

And now I share my space with Issa, whom I named after a dog in a work by the ancient Roman poet Marcus Valerius Martialis. (If that sounds highbrow, I found the quote on an Internet site about Maltese dogs, which will not stop a lifetime of explaining just where I got Issa’s name.)

Issa is just over 3 pounds, and is so tiny I have to keep her household wanderings confined; she’s small enough to slip through my second-floor hallway banister. She sleeps on my bed, as did Chota Peg, but her legs are still too short for her to make the great leap to the floor.

Her small size — she will grow — is compensated by tremendous energy; she literally leaps into the air when happy and charges around the living room at something approaching NASCAR speed. She is already learning how to play “tugger” with an old towel.

And so begins a new chapter, one both unexplored and familiar. A house has become a dog’s house, and, in turn, a home once again.


Stephen Kopfinger is a Sunday News staff writer. His e-mail address is skopfinger@lnpnews.com. blog comments powered by Disqus