© by Ellen Gordon

In the fall of 1991, our son, T, fell in love for the first time.
I don't mean the kind of love you have for your first car, or a
pair of Jimmy Choo shoes.  No, this was the real deal -- the Norman Rockwell
type of love between a boy and his dog.

Porkchop was a beautiful Dalmatian, his coat had lots of spots,
he was sleek and trim, and always seemed to be smiling.  In T's eyes this
dog could do no wrong, though at times I'd beg to differ.

We have a photo of the two of them.  T is curled up on the couch
sleeping when he was about 6, and Porkchop is there with his head
resting on T's head with one paw protectively draped across his
shoulder.  They seemed more like litter mates then a boy and his dog. We
began to refer to the two of them as "the mutual admiration society".

Every morning we'd wake up to find Porker stretched out across
our son's bed, with T curled into a little corner.  Porkchop rarely let T
out of his sight.  He parked himself either next to, below, or on top of
that boy.  He was always able to sense exactly when T would be walking
through the door and had this uncanny ability of knowing just what kind of
mood T was in.  He was there barking madly and jumping the day T hit his
first homerun.  He was also waiting, sitting quietly with his head down as
our son walked in after getting his first speeding ticket.

With each new rite of passage our son went through on his way to
becoming a man, there was Porkchop at our son's side celebrating or
commiserating.  All the snapshots we have recording our son's life include
Porkchop -- his first little league game, his first
girlfriend, and his first day of high school all include his dog.

The day he got his driver's license Porkchop is in the seat next
to him.  At his prom, Porkchop is there nuzzled between the happy
couple.  At graduation, it was cap, gown and a spotted dog.

After T went away to college, the poor old fella would wander in
and out of their room, finally waking me up each night as if to say, "You do
realize he's not home yet.  Do something!"  So we did.  We started letting
him sleep with us.

Sadly, as we watched our son grow up, we also watched Porkchop
grow old.  I began dropping hints to T over the phone, trying to
brace him for the inevitable.  Finally a few days before this last
Thanksgiving, Porkchop took a turn for the worse.  His back legs
would no longer hold him.  He became confused.

T was coming home the next day so we decided to make our dear
friend as comfortable as possible until then.  On their last night
together, T spread a blanket on the floor and carefully curled up
with his best friend -- litter mates once more.

I don't think either got any sleep.  In the morning we were
concerned as to how we'd get the poor guy into the car and over to the vets
without hurting him or him hurting us.Then the most amazing thing happened.
Tilghman sat down next to him whispering words of love and comfort through
his tears, and then he tenderly scooped his beloved dog up in his arms and
carried him out, gently putting him in the car.  Porkchop just covered his
tear stained face with his last kisses.

Our son, Tilghman has become a kind and wonderful man, and we
know a big part of that is due to the unconditional love, support and
loyalty he received as a member of "the mutual admiration society".

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