Reprinted with Permission by Currents Magazine | MAR and APR 2025 | Cornelius, NC

By Mickey Dunaway

NOTE: When I decided to write a column for Currents Magazine about three dogs out of the umpteen Canis Lupus Familiaris  that have been a part of my 78 years, I sent my editor a first draft that was 2500 words, and they were good words, too. I thought they were important to the story. But, alas, my editor didn’t. I have always known since I started down the freelance writing road for Currents Magazine that my columns were to be about 650 words. Sometimes, if she really likes the draft, I stretch the column to 750, and if she is hurting for topics, I can sneak up 1000 words! My editor is doing what editors should do and never asks me to write about a topic. I am free to write about what I choose, except no politics or religion. Again, OK with me. So, in this latest column for Southern Exposures are stories of three dogs who have meant the most to me and my family during my 56 years of married life, with a few comments about canines (always rabbit dogs) that were a part of my younger days).

In 1997, life’s educational journey took us to Owensboro, Kentucky, as a Deputy Superintendent of Instruction. To get started quickly, we rented a nice small house in a 1960s neighborhood. Unfortunately, the landlord had a “no dogs policy,” so we had to adopt out our Yellow Lab, Major, before moving. After a few months, our landlord agreed to let us bring a dog into our family again after seeing how we kept up the place. That dog was a nine-week-old, 33-pound, black bundle of Labrador energy whose AKC name was: Kentucky Coal Dust in honor of our new home.

The day after our landlord said, “Yes” to us having a dog, we found a 33 pound nine-week-old black lab pup from excellent local breeder. His first act was to jump into Sandy’s lap and lick her face. These unexpected demonstrations of love would define Coal for all of his ten years.

Next door lived three youngsters. They loved Coal when I would walk him, and he loved them back. Sitting in my easy chair at the end of a long day of work, there was a knock on the front door. It was the sweet neighbor kids. The oldest youngster mounted up his courage and asked, “Mr. Dunaway, can Coal come out and play?” 

I said, “Sure,” and put Coal’s leash on. I handed the leash over to the youngster—maybe a 2^nd grader—and the next thing I knew, Coal was running down the sidewalk like a jet taking off from a carrier. He jerked the little boy off his feet, and the next thing I saw, the neighbor boy was in the air parallel to the Earth. Gravity took over, and the first thing that hit the sidewalk was his elbows! Coal and I rushed over to see if he was OK. No crying, but his elbows were scraped up a bit, yet he dusted himself off and asked if he could still walk Coal. Of course, I said, “Absolutely,” but I walked with them this time! 

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The first winter after Coal came to live with us, we had a good snow, and I put my snow shovel on the patio to keep the back entryway to the house clear. A couple of days later, I heard a banging on the back door. There would be a rest, and then WHAM! I looked out the backyard window and saw Coal biting the shovel like a big stick. He would run toward the back door, and I would hear another “WHAM!”  Again and again. What a headache he must have had. But Coal never did anything half-speed. We laughed until we cried. 

In his second year, a kindergarten teacher at one of our elementary schools asked if I would come over and read a book to her kids. “If you select the book,” I said. She selected a Clifford the Big Red Dog book. Coal was not red, but he was bigger than any kindergartner in her class. When the day arrived for me to read, I asked one of my colleagues in the Central Office to go with me. I remembered the last time Coal interacted with young kids! I entered the classroom with Coal as the perfect gentleman on his leash. Janice, my colleague, sat close by just in case. Becky, the teacher, had a rocking chair prepared for me, and her kids sat all around on the floor. Coal lay beside me, and most of the class moved closer as we read the Clifford book. When I had finished, every kid just had to pet him, and with the day, Coal found his purpose in his life, and we would return many times to this class during the rest of the year!

One of the most valuable things a dog gives us is unconditional love, but it is not the only thing. They make us laugh or just smile every day. Coal was a master of both traits. To my mind, he still is—EVERY DAY.

In 2005, we moved to Charlotte and a professorship in Educational Leadership at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte. Coal came with us. He was another dog whose relationship with our family left his imprint on us for a lifetime. 

The most graphic example: One day, coming in from work, Coal did not run to meet me. I went to Sandy in the kitchen gravely worried because Coal always came running when, heard the door to the garage open. Something was wrong, and then we yelled as loud as possible: “COAL! COAL!”  But he didn’t come. Extremely worried, afraid, and alarmed, we ran up the stairs and found him—our worries confirmed—in the back bedroom, where he had gone to die peacefully. Coal was still breathing, labored as it was. We gathered him up in a blanket and managed to get him down the stairs. After all, he weighed 120 pounds, and was at this point, totally limp without muscle activity. Not an easy task to get him downstairs and into the car, but we managed it fearing the worst.

Our speedlaw-breaking trip to the Vet brought on an hour of CPR without results except for tears from every staff member in the Vet’s office. Coal was ten. A physical specimen. He had a heart attack. Coal was loved by everyone who spent time with him. So big. So loving. So kind. So gentle.

On his last day, Coal did one of his favorite things—he stole an apple off the side table! There is a lesson in there for all of us.

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Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in.

—Mark Twain

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During our 20 years in North Carolina, we have returned to the Almighty four of his angels. They were unique—each one. Two were labs—Coal, the black lab, Rufus, the Chocolate Lab, Khaki, the Golden, whose hair glistened like a golden filament in a Queen’s gown. Finally, this part of the story is a testament to another regal courtier who carried herself as ceremoniously as royally, just of another species, but no less regal. But first, the story of how our last angel adopted us before we returned her to the Almighty in 2025.

The first part this homage to extraordinary dogs of my life was to Coal (AKC: Kentucky Coal Dust), an extraordinary Black Lab, one of the dogs in my marriage of 50 plus years that left such an impression on our family—to the point that we talk about him almost every day since he left us in 2007.

These three companions were such good dogs for many years—Coal, Khaki, and Rufus. Coal was clearly a the unique dog of the group. When people met him for the first time they often asked, “Is he a Great Dane?”

“Nope,” we would laugh “Just a giant AKC Labrador.”

Ten years ago, with the living spaces on the first floor and the sleeping and laundry on the second floor of our too-large house, we decided we needed to downsize our living space. Perhaps a major part of the decision was that we lost three dogs in six months, and that house became a lonely abode with our bird dogs now looking for birds in Carolina-blue skies above us instead of during our daily walks.

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Mother and Son Reunion

Reprinted with Permission by Currents Magazine | MAR and APR 2025 | Cornelius, NC

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The house that we rented in was an older neighborhood while our smaller house was being built; while a nice house, it was lonely. It was empty even though every unused space was filled with boxes not to be opened until the downsizing was complete. The truth was we were missing an essential cog in our family—a Canis Lupus Familiaris.

Adding a dog to a household is a major decision—closer to adding that first baby than to adding an obedient pet! After Sandy and I talked it over at some length, we decided we needed another bird dog in our life, but smaller and less hairy than our Labs and Golden. After all, Labs are hair grenades, and a Golden’s silky fine hair floats everywhere on the air conditioner’s breeze until it becomes an accepted condiment on the dinner table. 

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Luckily, I knew three good friends who had a history with Brittanys. With the advice of these friends, we settled on finding a Brittany, and we have not regretted a day, but before I go further, adding a Brittany to one’s house is very different than Labs and Goldens—very different. Brittany pups (especially) are everywhere, into everything, all at the same time! Remember, they are curious bird dogs whose job is to run around woods like an Apache helicopter until suddenly they stop at the scent of a quail, grouse, or pheasant—enemies! When given the signal by the hunter, they crash into the bird’s sanctuary like a fullback on the goal line. Once the bird has been flushed and downed, a loving cuffing of Brittany’s hairy ears is all the fuel needed to take off like a Harrier jet off to the next mission. When the day is over—be it hunting or a day at the dog park, Brittanys have extraordinary love for their master, unlike anything I have experienced from another bird dog. Finally and importantly, a Brit’s curiosity has no bounds. In his first month with us, we could find Boomer in any of his favorite places downstairs. We found him curled up inside the warm dryer on top of the clean clothes !

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We soon found a five-month-old male Brittany pup. His official AKC name was Soli Deo’s Athos The Aristocrat—the last in his litter. After meeting with kennel owners and meeting our potential next birddog, we agreed on a hefty sum. Don’t get me wrong, The Aristocrat has been more than worth every dollar, but we emptied our wallets to be a bird dog family again. That is what happens when your new pup’s mother is both a field and ring champion! 

We picked Boomer up after a week while the kennel owner taught The Aristocrat some walking manners. In the meantime, the task of a “call name” was our main task. With three grandkids, that was no easy job. Finally, with the approval of the grandkids, we agreed to call him Boomer. What a perfect name for our new bird dog who seems to explode looking for birds on every walk! A dog who invents games to get us to play with him. Boomer is remarkable for his ways of communicating his desires to us. If you do not get up and answer his demand, he will stand before giving you the Brittany “evil eye” until you cannot stand the pressure anymore! I can only imagine that after fifteen minutes of giving a bird in the field the Brittany-stare, the bird gives up and flies away, figuring he has a better chance with the hunter’s skill than that evil orange and white ball of energy who has not moved in 20 minutes.

By the way, he steals my shoes every morning just to have me to chase him around the house. He will stand around the corner, just out of sight, and wait for minutes until I come to chase him for the shoe. He never eats the shoe. Just gets it slobbery wet!

Boomer’s influence on us will always be immense. Loving, active, curious, communicative, handsome with copper and white splotches, a runner if a door is cracked who knows his way back home.

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And then, a nine-year-old female Brittany joined us in our retirement. This is her story … and ours.

On the Saturday before Labor Day in 2000, Dawn, the wife of the husband-and-wife owners of Soli Deo Kennels sent me an unexpected text. Dawn, Mark, and I had become friends over the stories I had written for Facebook about Boomer’s exploits and how he immediately filled our home with love and humor. Life had been hard on their family, and they could not continue Soli Deo Kennels. She called and asked if we would take on another Brittany, Chloe, since Boomer was part of her last litter. Without a single thought, we said, “Yes.” What an opportunity to rejoin a canine mother and her son. Chloe was nine when she came to live out her life with us. 

Gentle Chloe, the gentlest of Brittanys, was a field and ring champion. We dubbed her Little Missy, Little Diva, and Miss Chloe. Where Boomer’s playfulness and humor defined his primary traits, Chloe demonstrated charm over playfulness. 

Before a walk when her lease came out, Chloe would snuggle her head under my chin in thanks for another walk. Boomer would turn circles, barking, “Let’s get the walk underway.” Once out the door, Chloe sashayed anywhere we walked like the Southern Belle she was. Boomer immediately began searching for birds. We had to teach Boomer the skills of walking on my left side, sitting, and other good-mannered dog behavior. Chloe was born polite!

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Sadly, we lost our treasured canine retiree in late February from dementia. Chloe would have been fifteen in June. In our twenty years in North Carolina, whenever we lost a four-legged family companion, I wrote a story about them for Facebook with a lesson for my UNCC students.This is Chloe’s story. 

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Rest, sweet angel. You have earned every minute of an eternity as peaceful and gentle as you were in our lives. In your last few months, it was painful to see dementia take you away from us so quickly that we only caught glimpses of your nobility and dignity. As your dementia triggered you to pace your days away, we saw less and less of our Little Missy in your eyes. Knowing that you now are at peace, free of the accursed dementia, brings peace to us but not to Boomer. He misses you the most in sad and subtle ways.

Chloe gently influenced her adopted family for the five years she graced our home with her royal presence. 

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Now for the inevitable question? Is the predictable pain of loss worth adopting an older dog? Damn right, it is. Chloe will be with us for the rest of our lives in our memories, her last paw print in plaster, and her ashes in a wooden urn among our other special Canis Lupus Familiaris.

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If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die, I want to go where they went.

– Will Rogers

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The Dog Wall our Bedroom!

The Average Dog is a Nicer Person than the Average Person — Andy Rooney