I have very fond memories of Newman, a golden labrador.
I adopted Newman when he was only about a year old. His previous owner had cruelly abused him, hitting him so hard over the head that he developed epilepsy (the vet said it was probably due to scar tissue on the brain). He had been rescued and was in the SPCA pound, waiting for either adoption or euthanasia. I came past one day, our eyes met, and that was it - love at first sight!
It took him a few days to realize that I wasn't going to beat him, but as soon as he'd accepted this, he became the most lovable, soppy thing you can imagine. I had a terrible time persuading him that while it was fine for him to sleep next to my bed, it wasn't fine for him to sleep on it - particularly when I was in it! A 100-odd-pound Labrador makes an uneasy bedfellow, let me assure you . . .
He had an inordinate fondness for games. When I came home, he'd leap on me, chew my forearm (very gently, of course), and insist on romping around on the lawn for a bit. He also loved chocolate, and would go to any lengths to find it. I didn't give it to him, of course, as the vet told me it was bad for dogs - but on more than one occasion, Newman would ferret out a box of chocolate biscuits from the larder, or a bar of chocolate from my desk, and I'd come back to find the remains of the box or wrapper scattered around the lawn, and him lying there knowing he was about to get into trouble, but with an undisguisedly self-satisfied look on his face, as if to say "It was worth it!"
He was also omnivorous, and loved fruit. Apples, pears, grapes . . . he'd wolf them down. This caused a huge problem with the grape arbor where I lived. There was a walk over 100 yards long, with vines growing up each side and over the top of the path. We liked to harvest the grapes and eat them, as they were beautifully plump and sweet - but Newman made sure we didn't get that many! During grape season, every day, he'd solemnly walk up and down the path, and any bunch of grapes within range of his mouth got systematically stripped of its fruit. He'd come in after half-an-hour drooling grape-juice, with grape skins all over his jowls, looking ridiculously happy with life. (Never seemed to affect his appetite for supper, though . . .
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To my great sadness, when I left South Africa to come to the USA in 1997, I couldn't bring Newman with me due to the great expense involved, and the quarantine regulations here. However, I found him a home with a group of priests and brothers in an oratory - six brothers and priests, nine dogs! He fitted right in, and although they tell me he missed me terribly, at least he was happy with good company. He passed away in 2002, and I hope he's enjoying the heavenly grapes in the doggie hereafter right now.