Louie the Labrador

It was sometime in the fall of 2010, while visiting my son James and his college housemates, when we first encountered Louie the Labrador.

He was their house dog in an off-campus home at East Stroudsburg University, and this was James’ senior year. A group of girls across the street could no longer provide the high-energy lifestyle (or patience) required for a young yellow Labrador, and asked if the boys would take care of him.

Not only was Louie a hit with the four boys as they all enjoyed the last few months of college life, but he quickly had the run of the house and was taught how to do things like closing doors by hurling himself at them. I had never seen a dog with so much energy and love for life. He ran around like what my brother used to call, “A fart in a skillet.” I was never sure what that meant, but it described Louie perfectly.

During the winter break before his final semester, James brought Louie home with him as he and his roommates scattered between semesters, leaving the house empty for a few weeks. About eight months before, we had just lost our long-time Wheaten Terrier, Harry. Harry was 16 when he passed. My wife and I were dog people our entire lives, but we wanted no part of another dog at that time. The emotional stress of losing Harry was still fresh in all our minds, and we were looking forward to a “break.”

“Don’t worry,” James said as the rambunctious Louie took over our house for the next few weeks, “He has a home after graduation.”

As it turned out, his roommates’ mother owned a limo service on Long Island, and Louie would be living as a resident and guard dog in the company garage.

That lasted approximately 48 hours.

This social Labrador was not suited for the solitary life of a garage hound. Although his roommate pivoted and decided to bring him into his home, his parents had other ideas. They insisted that Louie be confined to the outside, not the inside.

Guess where Louie ended up?

Life with a young Labrador knows no bounds. He required a lot of exercise each and every day. For the next 14 years, he was King of our Castle. He was everyone’s friend except the mailman or anyone wearing a uniform who dared to walk up our driveway. There were certain friends that he would growl at for some reason, like my friend George or my neighbor Tom, but after a few pets and tail wags, he got along with just about everybody.

He was great at his job, protecting the house and alerting us to possible “stranger danger,” better than any alarm system could. He was uber protective of my wife, which always gave me peace of mind when they walked in the preserve or on Labrador meetups all over Long Island.

Louie was a completely different dog around my wife. He and I had a different relationship. I was his sitting-around buddy, and he would hang out with me while I smoked a cigar.

But he had a sixth sense about my wife. He perked up a few minutes before she pulled into the driveway and then barked incessantly when she opened the door, seemingly mad because she left him for a few hours.

They walked for miles every day, and I mean every day. Forget the mailman; neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail would keep Louie inside. He would annoy the hell out of my wife until she finally relented and got dressed, causing him to lose his mind with anticipation of her grabbing the leash and opening the front door.

Part of me always believed that my wife enjoyed that walk as much as Louie. But as the years wore on, Louie’s need and eagerness never waned, only his ability to walk for long periods. Lately, the mind was willing, but his body was no longer responding.

Alas, time finally caught up to the Lou Dog, and he finally crossed over the rainbow bridge, surrounded by his entire family as he quietly and peacefully passed.

Louie and I became great friends during the pandemic. We both spent countless hours alone in my office while I worked from home, listening to music while he sat on a club chair looking out the front window. I even had him “write” a column for me in the Massapequa Observer about the pandemic from a dog’s point of view (Louie the Labrador Speaks Out).

Louie spent many, many hours on our front porch surveying our Massapequa neighborhood as people made their way down Park Lane, perched on a set of footrests that became his throne. When using Google Earth to pinpoint my house a few years ago, we were surprised to learn that the image contained an oblivious Louie on the front porch.

Many of our neighbors and local kids on the block (just a short walk from Big Daddy’s, the pizza place, and a Chinese food place) knew Louie and his perch on the front porch, waving or saying hello as they passed. He was the unofficial Mayor of Park Lane. There wasn’t a dog walker in our neighborhood who didn’t know Louie.

I’ve been blessed to welcome three dogs into my life over the years, and they have provided love and companionship for many, many years. My parents brought Sparky into our home when I was just 13. We had almost 16 years together. We brought Harry into our family when the kids were old enough to understand he wasn’t a toy. Our family enjoyed his companionship for 15 years.

And now Louie.

We all know the short-term finality of pet ownership when we decide to make them a part of our family. That doesn’t make it any easier when the clock finally runs out. For however long you are together, they provide you with unconditional love.

Tonight, at the end of a long, sad day, I’m sitting on my front porch, listening to music, having a beer, smoking a cigar, and working on this tribute to Louie. Occasionally, I’ll glance over to his now-empty perch, where my good friend used to sit and keep me company, and have a good cry.

Goodbye, old chum.