We got Nolan on August 13, 1988 from a breeder named Jeanette. I remember she had a box or two filled with beautiful black schnauzer puppies. At the time, they weren't beautiful to me, as my heart had randomly settled on the English Setter breed, so I was coming to the boxes with a "Whatever" look on my face. It was really up to my parents, who had so wistfully gravitated towards the Schnauzer breed, ever since a giant one had ended up on our front lawn, frightened, hungry and lost. They fell in love with this gentle giant as they cared for it, all up until the time the owner came and claimed him. It was then that we learned that dog's name had been Nolan Ryan.
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So it came down to two pups who were brothers. One called "General Patton" and the other one Jeanette called "Sweetheart." We took a liking to "Sweetheart's" open and playful personality, but not to his name. It was ripe for replacement. I remember conducting an elaborate contest at home, too. The family would VOTE on the name. I submitted entries such as Magic, Astro, Jordan, even Hakeem! It was all moot in the end--my parents' hearts had settled on Nolan Ryan. Does that make my folks total rip-off artists? Well...I like to think they were "paying homage to."
We also found out that May 15, 1988 was Nolan's official birthday. Always the rebel, I liked to celebrate the day he came into our lives, the end of summer date. In that way, he always had two mini-birthdays. I don't remember what we'd give him, nyla-rings in his earlier years, no doubt. Rawhide materials to chew on. Sweaters and fashion as he got older. But the one thing that stands out in my mind is how he would even earn his own "loot bag" on the birthdays of my sister and I! My parents would do up a lunchbag for him, draw a little devil on it, and insert into it some sort of Anonymous toy (faceless, mouthless, nothing-a-baby-or-dog-could-choke-on-less) and the infamous "recycled dollar." This piece of currency was used over and over in 13 or so birthdays. My parents must have been afraid Nolan would get "jealous" of us humans and our spending power, and thought that dollar just might curb his appetite. He never did spend it. Wonder why...
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Nolan peacefully left us on May 26, 2006. He was 18 years old and 10 days. That's what I call a full life! He was such a loved young dog, in both of his hometowns of Houston, Tx, and New Orleans, Louisiana. He was best known around the hoods for carrying my dad's Oil company trucker hats in his mouth on his walks. His profile is still up on dogster.com, and I still haven't figured out how to make his entry an "In Loving Memory Of" with a heart around it!
The reason I wanted to honor him on this blog today is because I am thinking about how cool it would have been if I had known how to skate when I was younger. Surely, a geeky 12-year old girl on her skateboard, skating her dog, would garner some looks and catapult me to a whole new level of cool. Possibly even gotten me a boyfriend (if I allowed it). Maybe even a future focused on sports (I was a helluva track runner). I might have eventually taught Nolan how to skateboard, and gotten us on America's Most Astounding Animals, prematurely pushing Nolan into a bitter life in the limelight.
Hm. It's funny to think of your life in sliding doors. What if...
But I love the life and times that I did have the privelege of enjoying with Mr. Nolan Ryan Mathur. The dog who made me forget all about the English Setter in about 1.5 hours. As we drove him home in our Nissan Stanza, I turned around and looked at him in his box. He propped his paws up on the edge of the box, standing up to look at me. Then he started to do that Michael Jackson move, where they stick their arms straight out in front of themselves, point, and gyrate their necks. He did it without the arm part, of course. I was delighted and said to everyone, "Look, he's dancing!" Then we heard a rumbling sound in his throat. And then he puked all over the carseat. Nolan's first bout of carsickness. He had me at barf.
Here's to our long walks in the field, my friend.
The reason I wanted to honor him on this blog today is because I am thinking about how cool it would have been if I had known how to skate when I was younger. Surely, a geeky 12-year old girl on her skateboard, skating her dog, would garner some looks and catapult me to a whole new level of cool. Possibly even gotten me a boyfriend (if I allowed it). Maybe even a future focused on sports (I was a helluva track runner). I might have eventually taught Nolan how to skateboard, and gotten us on America's Most Astounding Animals, prematurely pushing Nolan into a bitter life in the limelight.
Hm. It's funny to think of your life in sliding doors. What if...
But I love the life and times that I did have the privelege of enjoying with Mr. Nolan Ryan Mathur. The dog who made me forget all about the English Setter in about 1.5 hours. As we drove him home in our Nissan Stanza, I turned around and looked at him in his box. He propped his paws up on the edge of the box, standing up to look at me. Then he started to do that Michael Jackson move, where they stick their arms straight out in front of themselves, point, and gyrate their necks. He did it without the arm part, of course. I was delighted and said to everyone, "Look, he's dancing!" Then we heard a rumbling sound in his throat. And then he puked all over the carseat. Nolan's first bout of carsickness. He had me at barf.
Here's to our long walks in the field, my friend.
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