BY KYLE LOVERN

My wife Vicki has been pestering me to read the book “Marley and Me” for several years. She read it long ago, and I did watch the movie with her but had never taken the time to read the book. Like she has said many times, the book is much better than the movie.

Now that I am retired but still writing a column for the Mountain Citizen, I decided I had enough free time to read the book, which was written by newspaper writer and columnist Josh Grogan. It was first published back in 2005. Grogan is the same age as me and also has Scotch-Irish ancestry.

Now I am wondering why I took so long to read it! Like many other times, I should have taken my wife’s advice years ago.

She kept telling me the comparison between Grogan and Marley, with me and our dog Petey (we also call him Pup-Dog), was strikingly similar. After all, he worked in newspaper and so have I for the better part of my life. He and his wife got a dog, a Labrador retriever, and we took in Petey, a stray, 12 summers ago.

Needless to say, it has been one of the best moves we’ve ever made, even though I was hesitant at first.

This little Beagle-hound mix climbed down the rocky hillside across from our house that hot summer in late June. I had just gotten home and was looking out the front door, trying to decide whether I should cut the grass. It was just so hot – so I thought I would wait until the shade came over. As I peered out our front storm door I saw this floppy-eared dog, white with brown and black patches. He stared at me and we locked eyes. I yelled for Vicki to come and look at him.

He left and I waited for an hour or so before I hit the lawn with the mower going full blast. Up and down the yard I went, and here he came back. He started following behind me. I guess he knew a sucker when he saw one.

Vicki also saw him, and she came with some bologna and a bowl of water. At a closer look, he didn’t look like he had been taken care of very well. His neck was red and raw where a collar or rope had been so tight around him. He was dirty and tattered. “You’ve done it now,” I said. “He’ll be hanging around waiting for more food and water.”

So it started. Even though he was running around the entire neighborhood trying to make friends, Pup-Dog ended back up on our front stoop each night. Eventually he brought us presents. A tennis shoe here, next a small lawn tool, and one morning several small potted flowers that our neighbor had not yet been able to plant. He apparently had a nocturnal streak and ventured around up and down the street, bringing back stuff to our house at night.

One young teen came down and said, “Your dog got our shoes from the front porch.” Vicki said, “He’s not really our dog, but go check in the garage and see if you can find your shoes.” We kept all of his “presents” stashed in our garage, and there was a stack of shoes for her to choose from.

Vicki was smitten right away – but I had to be pulled in, kicking and tugging. I thought he was a sweet dog, but not necessarily a pet. Boy, was I going to be proven wrong.

When we would leave the house and turn back into our subdivision later, Petey was waiting at the end of the street. When he recognized our car, he would bolt up the hill, beat us home, and be waiting with tail wagging.

I came home one night and it had been storming, so Vicki had let him in the garage. We have come to find out he is one of those dogs that does not like storms, hard rain or even wind. (Now he has doggy tranquilizers to calm him down during these scary moments.)

I got up one Saturday morning and Vicki was picking ticks off him and combing his fur. Believe me, this was a big deal for someone who hates bugs, especially ticks, spiders and about any other crawling insect. She was sitting there in our backyard with a plastic bottle full of ticks and a brush to smooth out his fur.

I knew I was in trouble and about to give in. I had a couple of dogs I was close to while growing up. I never thought that would happen again. I didn’t want that to happen!

I came home a couple of nights later, and guess who was in the living room with Vicki? Yes, it was Petey. Vicki always said, “If looks could kill.” I just didn’t think he was an inside dog. Boy, was I wrong.

I eventually gave in. Eventually, he was “our dog.” We gave him his first bath. We worked with the local Save Our Strays to take him to local veterinarian Dr. Linda Knowles to get him “fixed” and to get his shots.

I gave in and let him stay in the house. He fooled me. He was immediately housebroken and has never had an accident in our home. He was so smart he would go to the door and let us know. Now he just gives me a look and a small grrrr to let me know he needs to go for a walk.

The male bonding had begun and had gotten stronger and closer. He was now my buddy.

It is truly amazing how smart he is, from sitting to shaking hands, and in so many other ways. He won “Best Trick” at our church talent contest for “sniffing it out.” I cover his eyes while Vicki hides a treat and he can sniff it out every single time. We dote on him like he is truly our biological child.

Petey has also really kept me in shape. The first thing I do in the morning — rain, snow or shine — is take him for a long walk so he can do his business. He goes for several other shorter walks during the day, and the neighbors have gotten to know him.

For the most part, he is friendly and thinks everyone should pet him. But if a stranger comes around, he will guard the door and is a great watchdog. I always felt like he would protect me and Vicki, even though he has a sweet disposition.

Petey sleeps about anywhere he wants now. He has his own bed, a full-size people’s bed situated beside a window so he can lie and look outside when he wants. He also has a couple of dog beds, and there are a couple of certain places he likes to sleep at night. If it is storming, his place is beside me, where I can reach down and pet him to try to calm him down.

We could set our clock by him. He is not going to let me sleep in very long. He knows when it is supper time just like he could look at the clock and tell time. He also knows about when 10 o’clock rolls around and it is time for his last trip outside for a potty break before bedtime. It’s simply amazing.

Vicki has gotten a little jealous over the years at how Petey and I have bonded. She tells him, “I got you in the house. Now you ignore me and stay right with Pawpaw.” That is what my name is for him because when our granddaughters were around at the same time and it just seemed to fit better than daddy. Vicki is definitely his “Mommy” though. She’s the one who makes sure he gets his medicine, stays up with him when he is sick and always cleans his eye boogers out.

He is my shadow and follows me around the house. If I go to another room to watch a ballgame, he goes with me. Yes, I admit it, we’ve spoiled him – especially me.

But no matter what I’m called, he is my best friend. Petey is getting up there in age. We don’t really know when his birthday is because he just mysteriously showed up. So we figure he is a little more than 12 since it was a little over 12 years ago when he came into our life.

He has been a blessing. We’ve had a few ups and downs and it’s like having a child – maybe worse – because if you take a vacation or are gone for many hours, you have to get someone to take him out and feed him. He has gotten very sick a couple of times, but thanks to our vet, he has pulled through.

There are so many comparisons between Petey and Marley, except that I think Petey is perhaps better behaved and not as rambunctious as the dog in the book. But there are so many other likenesses with the dog in the Grogan novel and our Petey – particularly the bond between man and his best friend.

Like someone said, dog is God spelled backwards. Maybe there is something to that. They certainly are delightful creatures full of unconditional love and loyalty. No wonder so many of us get so attached.

Petey has been a wonderful blessing to our home, and the joy he has brought is truly amazing.

The life lesson here is that a husband should listen to his wife on such things. She was certainly right in this case and I am forever grateful.

(Kyle Lovern is a longtime journalist in the Tug Valley. He is now a retired freelance writer and columnist.)