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Editorials June 11, 2008
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Ten years of Glory

Mitch Clarke is executive editor of The Times in Gainesville, Ga. He can be reached at mclarke@ gainesvilletimes.com.
Ten years. It's hard to believe it's been that long.

I had wanted an all-white English bulldog. I've been a University of Georgia fan my whole life, and I liked the thought of having my own Uga around the house.

It had to be a male, too, because I wanted to give it a Georgia-related name and there are a lot of good male possibilities: Buck, Herschel, Dooley, Munson.

But Doc, the veterinarian in my hometown, tried to talk me out of it. I didn't want a bulldog, he said, because bulldogs have all sorts of health problems.

They have trouble breathing. They have heart problems. They have skin problems. They have hip dysplasia. And they are extremely intolerant to heat. As a result, Doc said, a bulldog wouldn't want to go for long walks or chase a tennis ball.

He also tried to convince me that I wanted a female dog. Male dogs, he said, are bolder and more aggressive and females make better pets.

But I was undeterred. I have problems breathing a lot of times, too, and I'd just as soon sit in the air conditioning as go outside on a hot summer day myself. A bulldog and I would be a perfect match, I thought, especially if that bulldog was named Munson.

Ten years ago this weekend, I went to my mother's house in Blakely. Mrs. Janet, Doc's wife, said he had been caring for a dog that had puppies a few weeks early. They thought I should get one of the puppies.

"What kind is it?" I asked.

"It's an English springer spaniel," she said.

Not only wasn't it a bulldog, it was a breed I'd never even heard of. I had to look it up in the World Book Encyclopedia to even know what one looked like.

It was a pretty enough breed. It wasn't what my heart was set on, but I agreed to ride out to see the mother and the puppies.

The mother was a beautiful sliver-and-white springer. Eight puppies played in the back yard. Ignoring Doc's advice, I began to play with some of the male puppies. I'd pick one up and look at it, then put it back down and walk over to where another puppy was playing.

Every time I'd put down one of the male puppies, I'd notice this one female puppy standing next to me. No matter where I walked, this female puppy followed me.

It appeared I wasn't going to get to choose a puppy. A puppy had already chosen me.

For the first two weeks we were together, she didn't have a name. Remember, I wanted her to have a Georgia-related name. The only name I could come up with was "Georgia," and every UGA fan I knew that had a female dog had named her "Georgia." I wanted something different.

Unfortunately, I couldn't come up with anything. I had almost decided to name her "Ilsa" for the Ingrid Bergman character in my favorite movie, "Casablanca."

Then one morning, my mother called. She and Mrs. Janet had come up with a name. Glory. It was perfect.

For 10 years, she's been my faithful companion. She really has been the perfect dog. She was easily housebroken and she seldom chewed on anything she wasn't supposed to chew on. People often complement her on being so well trained and well behaved. I wish I could take credit. She did most of that on her own.

When I was first approached about making her a therapy dog, I was skeptical. They are called "springers" for a reason. She's very excitable, and she loves nothing more than to jump on me - and anyone else who walks through my front door.

I was afraid that on our first visit to a nursing home, Glory would jump on a 95- year-old woman and knock her down. But she didn't. In fact, she senses exactly how much each of the patients wants to interact with her.

About the worst thing I can say about her is she sheds. As someone who is follicularly challenged, I'm jealous of her ability to grow hair. I've vacuumed up enough dog hair in the last decade to make a couple dozen springer spaniels.

Ten years. It just doesn't seem possible. Although she's in good health and still very active, a little bit of gray hair is appearing. Her best ball-chasing days are behind her and I know that one day, sooner than later, I'll be without her. I try not to think about it.

I do wonder, though, now that she's 70 in dog years, shouldn't she be getting a senior citizen's discount at the pet store?
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