The Story of Zero

As you know if you read my last blog my son was born one snowy February day, but he wasn’t the first treasured family member to come to us in the dead of winter.

One bitterly cold January night, friends of ours saw a black object ahead of them on the country road they were driving. After watching a van drive over it, they stopped and discovered that the object was actually a small black dog, frozen solid and unable to move. They took him home. As he started to thaw, he went into convulsions, but with the advice of one caring local vet who took their call at 11 p.m., they were able to help him to survive until morning. Because it was 17 below zero that night, they named him Zero. When he thawed, they realized that he also had a broken leg.

Zero came to live with us about a week and a half later. He was still very traumatized and withdrawn when we took him in. He never barked and walked with difficulty. We had to carry him up and down the back steps when we took him out, because he couldn’t manage steps with his broken leg. Mostly he just liked to be on the couch with us, either on a lap, or snuggled next to us.

When we took him to the vet, we found out that he was a Terrier “mutt” and that he was probably about 7 months old, still a puppy. The doctor said that his broken leg was partially healed and the only way to fix it would be to re-break it and set it again. He said that this wouldn’t be necessary unless we wanted to show him. Show him? Where, we wondered. At the Terrier Mutt Show?

In a month or so, Zero was fully healed, with a vengeance. In fact, he blossomed into one of the most tenacious, incorrigible little terrier mutts you’ll ever know. Not only was he walking, he was running - he was, in fact, a perpetual ball of energy. His favorite toy was a bandanna with a knot tied in it, and when he held it in his mouth he was so strong that you could hold him in the air by the bandanna. It was his best and only trick. And barking? He had one of those shrill yippy barks that terriers have and he could bark without a break for hours, if he was so inclined.

Zero wasn’t exactly what most would consider a handsome dog. One friend said that he looked like a Brillo Pad with legs. He was covered in wiry, black hair and he was about 12 pounds, sopping wet. The vet was concerned that he was underweight, but actually he was the only one in the family with a high metabolism. At the vet’s recommendation, we tried putting fatty acid supplement on his dog food, but then he wouldn’t touch the stuff at all, defeating the purpose entirely. He was the only dog I ever knew who ate and loved broccoli.

He loved to run free, and lived to sneak out of the house. This wasn’t too much of a challenge, as he was much faster than the sluggish people he lived with, and could slip through the tiniest open crack in a door. Attempts to catch him were futile. He would terrorize the neighborhood- ripping up flower beds and bothering other neighborhood pets, returning when he was good and ready. The full extent of his infamy became apparent when I was voting one day, and one of the poll workers asked where I lived on Fern Street. When I described the house, her eyes narrowed and she asked, “Wait a minute! Do you have a little black dog?” I didn’t think quickly enough to deny it.

He was a ferocious little watchdog- territorial and absolutely loyal to and protective of us. He didn’t seem to know that he was very small. He would attack visitors unless we held him until they were in and seated, but would run after them, biting their ankles, if they presumed to move around the house.

This fierce protectiveness led four well-meaning doting grandparents-to-be to practically stage an intervention with my husband and me when I was pregnant. We were having a baby now, they explained, and they were very concerned that Zero might try to hurt the baby. While we couldn’t positively guarantee that Zero would not try to harm the baby, we couldn’t possibly think of getting rid of him, either. He was a member of the family, and we loved him. Besides, who in their right mind would take him? After a few frantic days of circling and sniffing when the baby was born, Zero decided that the baby could stay and became just as protective and territorial of him as he was of us. He actually put up with more from the kid than he did from anyone else.

Well, Zero did bite the child once, but it was only because my son, who was three at the time, playfully and happily jumped onto the dog when he was sound asleep. Yes, that’s right; he did not let a sleeping dog lie (that’s a proverb for a reason). Zero woke up and bit – and it just so happened that my son’s lip was there. It was a superficial bite, and my son was initially upset but essentially unharmed. Zero on the other hand was despondent. He slunk around after me the rest of the day, dejected and apologetic, which was impressive mostly because it was unlike Zero to show remorse of any kind for his misdeeds.

The night he was found by our friends was not the last time that Zero would defy death. He ran free on busy streets, and he once ate more than half of a chocolate Sarris candy bar without incident, despite the fact that chocolate can be dangerous for dogs. We would joke that he was part cat, because in addition to having nine lives, he could walk along the back of the couch, and whine like a cat if unhappy.

As Zero aged, he also mellowed. He played less and slept more and even let people enter the house without much of a fuss. One night when he got loose he didn’t come back, which was not like him. We found him a few streets away. While we couldn’t know for sure, we think he passed away from natural causes. He was 18 years old. We buried him in the backyard, and mourned him. We really did love that cantankerous little dog.

I understand that at least one author has written a best-selling book about his bad dog that was made into a hit movie starring Jennifer Aniston. There was never a better bad dog than Zero – the least I could do was pay tribute to him in this blog.