My Name is Glazer…by Marilynette Cox (Part 9)

The author, with her beloved Sara and Glazer, at their home in Colorado.

The Mount Dora Citizen is pleased to offer the story of the life journey shared between Glazer, the Boxer, and her family – as told by Glazer.

The Bathroom

The bathroom is my second favorite room in the whole house, the first of course being the kitchen, home of The Red Can and The Cookie Jar.  The bathroom has two great things, the toilet bowl drinking fountain and the shower play area which is also a great place to get a drink.  Most people assume that I drink water from the toilet because the water is fresher.  Well, I admit that they do seem to change that water quite often, but the real reason is hygiene.  Have you ever seen what a Labrador can do in and around a water bowl?  It is disgusting.  I bet if you gave Sara a four foot long trough she would still dribble water all over the floor around it, and let’s don’t even get into backwash.  The only problem with toilet drinking is that all toilets are not the same height and they don’t all have the same amount of water in them, especially these newer models.  I have been forced to stand on my tiptoes at times.

The shower play area/drinking fountain is cool because the person goes in and then water comes from the ceiling and if you stand just right, you can crane your neck around and get all kinds of good water.   And, depending on whether it’s a man or woman, they usually spend a lot of time in there, so you can drink to your heart’s content.  Of course, the right side of your head and your right ear get all wet but that’s okay because then you can sling water all over the bathroom and make a stately exit.

A Day in the Life

These days, as opposed to the days when mom and dad worked, we don’t have much of a set schedule, seems like everybody just pretty much does what they want, when they want.  It has worked out very well for Sara and me since somebody’s almost always here.  This is very important to a dog.  So, it usually starts out like this: dad gets up very very early and we get up with him, unless it’s one of those times where it’s the middle of the night, and we are not stupid, we stay with mom and sleep.  But usually it’s me, dad and Sara.  We go outside, we come back in, we get a cookie or cookies, and we all settle down to wait for mom.  Dad and I read.  Mom does not get up until the sun comes up, ever.  Sometimes I go and sniff in and out really loud under the door trying to get her attention but unless it’s light outside, it’s no use.  Finally she gets up and, to her credit, other than brushing her teeth; she heads straight for The Red Can.  I have trained her well.  Having dined sufficiently, Sara and I are now ready for touring the estate, you know, figuring out if anything went on during the night.  Cat cross the yard?  Fox, maybe?  Nothing much really important happens until 2:00 p.m., at which time it is Snack Time!  Snack Time used to happen at 3:00 p.m., but then one year when the clock time changed and ours didn’t, we moved Snack Time to 2:00.  We start looking expectant, hovering near the bowls, and looking at the clock anywhere from 1:47 to 1:52, just so no one has forgotten what time it is.  So that’s really about it until bedtime.  And you think dogs just live to eat.  What a crock.

The stories in this series were written about my beloved Boxer, Glazer.  We lost Glazer on April 11, 2006, after what, as you can tell, was a long and delightful life together.  Well, it was long I suppose in dog years: 13 years, 1 month and 6 days.  I can tell you, it wasn’t nearly long enough for me and my husband.  Her sister, Sara, died on the last day of August of this same year.  Sara was also 13.

Last one together, April 2006
Last one together, April 2006

Living with a Boxer is probably, well not probably – it is one of the greatest things in life.  I had a Boxer named Ginger before Glazer, and while she didn’t have the same character traits and personality that Glazer had, she was a tremendous joy to me as well.

Since that time, we have rescued other Boxer boys and girls, and each one has enriched our lives in that purely unique Boxer way.  I will end this story with a saying that brings me great comfort.

“It came to me that every time I lose a dog, they take a piece of my heart with them. And every new dog who comes into my life gifts me with a piece of their heart. If I live long enough, all the components of my heart will be dog, and I will become as generous and loving as they are.” Author unknown.

The author, with her beloved Sara and Glazer, at their home in Colorado.
The author, with her beloved Sara and Glazer, at their home in Colorado.
Marilynette Cox, Guest Columnist