Bob Barr

This chocolate Lab Provided Endless Joy, Communion
The Atlanta Journal Constitution
September 26, 2007

Four years ago, syndicated columnist Charles Krauthammer published a column, "Of Dogs and Men," recounting the life and death of the family's beloved black Lab. Being the owners of a chocolate Lab then about 2 years old, my wife and I read, chuckled about and thoroughly enjoyed Krauthammer's heartwarming analysis of why dogs and humans bond so well.

I filed "Of Dogs and Men" in a folder, along with other writings I deem especially noteworthy. There it resided, along with several pieces by author Mark Helprin, pages copied from Ayn Rand's "Atlas Shrugged" and a copy of Ronald Reagan's seminal "Rendezvous With Destiny" speech of October 1964. Sadly, I was moved last week to retrieve Krauthammer's missive on the love of a Lab, when our now 7 1/2-year-old Lab, Riley, was struck and killed by a car.

While those like Michael Vick who raise or purchase dogs as tools for blood sport would scoff or sneer at the notion of someone feeling sorrow at the loss of a dog, I think the vast majority of people understand what Charles Krauthammer meant in describing his family's loss of "a creature of the purest sweetness," who "dispensed affection as unreflectively as he breathed." I know I do.

Losing a pet dog of many years creates a void hard to fill, at least in the short term. Partly this is because on a day-to-day basis, we don't realize just how much a part of virtually everything we do around the house is affected by our canine companion; Labs perhaps more than most breeds. They truly do live to love their human owners; asking little in return save food and water, flea and heartworm medicine, regular sojourns to the yard to do their "business," occasional walks and mercy when they have "messed up."

Riley, for example, slept in our upstairs bedroom, and consequently rose with us every morning as soon as we stirred. From the first moment I or my wife's foot first touched bedroom carpet, Riley was there by our side. Whether this was to protect us from some unseen danger lurking in the dark recesses of our house or — more likely — to remind us by her presence that feeding her was the highest of priorities, she was at our side from the moment we rose each day until the nightstand light was turned off.

While dogs obviously do not communicate with the spoken word (despite numerous hilarious cartoons depicting otherwise by "Far Side" cartoonist Gary Larsen), Labs especially communicate quite directly and effectively through their eyes, tails and other body parts. A nudge from Riley's wet nose while sitting at the computer late at night fighting writer's block trying to meet deadline for my opinion piece due the next day, quietly shouts, "Hey, what about me? Don't forget about me; I'm here. How about some attention, Master?"

And that tail. Labs possess particularly powerful tails, the result, apparently, of breeding as water-borne retrievers. Riley, who, strangely for a Lab, did not particularly like the water, used her tail for other purposes; and did so as a symphony conductor. My wife and I counted about a dozen distinct movements of her tail, each designed to signal a different, nuanced mood. Most clearly and frequently, were massive, almost bruising swings of her tail from right to left and back again, whenever either of us or one of our kids or grandkids entered the house. Then there was the 360-degree Ferris-wheel sweep signaling pure joy, whether in reaction to her dog food being poured or being told she was "going for a walk." We still don't know how she could use her tail in so many different ways and movements, but whether it was to signal contrition, joy, fear or anticipation, she communicated a great deal of information to us without ever uttering a word.

But the eyes of a Lab truly are the canvas on which they paint their emotions. Looks from Riley's eyes were as eloquent as any essay in conveying some of the deepest and most heartfelt of emotions and desires. Those eyes could — and did — cause anger to dissipate and resolve to melt faster than any spoken plea. The eyes of a Lab, reflecting the unhampered love of one of God's creatures for another, eloquently remind us that both we and they are products of the same Almighty hand. My wife and I are terribly sad that an errant driver took that joy from us; but sadder to me still is the fact that there are those like Vick, whose hearts are so hardened they fail to recognize the joy of such creatures.

Bob Barr occupies the 21st Century Liberties Chair for Freedom and Privacy at the American Conservative Union Foundation.