Mornings With Barney by Dick Wolfsie (reading books for 4 year olds .txt) 📗

as the hotel manager placed the pillow on the ground, Barney, who had been otherwise distracted by about a million State Fair odors, made a beeline for the cushion, sniffed it for a few seconds, then proceeded to roll over on his back and fall asleep belly up . . . all in about twenty seconds, just before we went to a commercial break. “I don’t think I could afford that kind of advertising,” said the general manager of the Westin. “How’d you get him to do that?”

I knew that the rest of that day was going to be difficult for the aging hound. After the morning show, we returned home so both of us could enjoy our daily nap, a custom that had spanned our entire career together.

The routine was standard: I’d grab a book, prop up two pillows against the headboard in my room, then lie back and begin to read. Barney would rest his head on my stomach. In ninety seconds we were both sound asleep. With that method, it took me three years to read Tuesdays with Morrie.

The plan that day was to return for the State Fair celebrity parade, an annual event that featured most of the WISH-TV personalities. Barney had been in nine of these events, always outshining the newsmen and newswomen who never quite garnered the same fan response from the crowd.

“Barney! I watch you every day!”

“Wow, it’s Barney!”

“Look, there’s Barney!”

He reveled in every minute of it as we rumbled down the main drag at the fair in a wagon pulled by a green John Deere tractor. I held him in my lap, propping him up so the masses could clearly see him, often taking his paw and waving it to the crowd. The other Channel 8 on-air personalities waved as well. As many admitted later, all eyes were on Barney.

Once the parade was over, though, I had a problem. The temperature was nearing 90 and I had a book signing and tickets to watch Garrison Keillor that night at the Fairgrounds Coliseum. Even with the brief respite at home, I knew I was pushing the old guy.

One of the WISH-TV staffers, marketing director Carol Sergi, sensed my concern, so she offered to drop Barney at my house on her way home around 5:30. Barney was clearly feeling the effects of the weather and I knew he’d be glad to be taxied back to the air-conditioned house. But I still wasn’t overly concerned with his present condition. There was a huge crowd at the fair that evening—and more cows, pigs, and horses than you could shake a shovel at. Overall, everyone seemed to be coping with the heat and humidity.

I attended the Keillor concert and even had a chance to meet him backstage before the show, then found my seat and was thrilled to be sitting right behind Governor O’Bannon and his wife, Judy. We exchanged hellos and they asked how Barney was doing. Toward the end of the event, I snuck out a little early, hoping to beat the exiting crowd. I also wanted to get home in time to bathe Barney. He had spent a few minutes that day in the cow barn with me and had enjoyed the aromatic benefits of rolling in manure.

I found my SUV in the giant infield lot and negotiated it out onto the main highway, then headed toward my house. My cell phone rang.

“It’s Barney,” my wife said. “There’s something wrong.”

“I’ll be right home.” I hung up. I jammed on the accelerator. The cell phone rang one more time. It was Mary Ellen again: “Don’t have an accident. It’s too late. He’s gone. Barney is gone. Please be careful. There is nothing you can do.”

I banged my wrists against the steering wheel. I wanted it to hurt. I wanted to feel something. I couldn’t find the tears. Not yet. I remember saying, “Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!”

How odd to talk to yourself like that. Even then, I knew how strange it was. My life is performing in front of people. But there was no audience there. Just me. In a car. Alone. I was still ten miles from what would be one of the most difficult moments of my life.

For the next several minutes, all was just a blur. I knew he had not suffered, and that I had avoided the unthinkable: the prospect of someday putting him “down.” I missed him already. Damn. I wasn’t with him at the end. Then more questions. Could I have done something? What would I do tomorrow without him? What would I do ... from now on?

I shot into the driveway, slammed on the brakes, shut off the car, and barreled up the stairs to the extra bedroom where Barney always napped. I’m not sure why I hurried. It was over. The inevitable had happened. Barney the beagle, my best friend, my business partner, was gone.

The Heavenly Bed spot was Barney’s final TV appearance. Would I have wanted to know that this was the last time our viewers would see him and the last time the two of us would be a team? Or did I want to enjoy that Barney moment in the same way I had enjoyed the thousands before it? In the end, I was glad for the latter. I also knew that if Barney could have planned his last day, it would have been at the State Fair: 50,000 people, hundreds of smells. He didn’t have to die that day. He was already in heaven.

I picked him up, draped him over my shoulder, buried my head in his neck, and sobbed. Mary Ellen stroked Barney while I held him. Brett just kept staring at me. He had never seen me cry. This frightened him. I remember the first time I saw my father weep. It made him seem more human than I ever realized. I doubt Brett was truly saddened by Barney’s passing, but he grieved for me. He must have wondered what