Wagnerian in the perfect projection of his bass bark, full of life and eager to perform like many Italian tenors, and nearly human in his understanding of the humans around him, Count was an amazing dog. A Labradoodle (half Labrador and half poodle) he was above all sweet. I have had more than a 
dozen dogs in my life, and never has there been one so consistently sweet.
Throughout his nine and three-quarter years of life, I never saw him once become angry with other dogs or people, even joggers who suddenly appeared, though those on roller blades did get a bark. He was never expected to be a watch dog, but the sheer volume of his unforgettable bark when anyone came near our front door certainly frightened off any potential intruder, not to mention UPS and Fed-Ex reps.
We have three Labradoodles; of them Count was my son’s dog whom he trained with such care that Count never needed to walk with a leash. Whenever my son arrived home, he ran to him; my son Speight was his lodestar. Count was so well trained that he stopped at every street corner and never did anything risky. He traveled with my son as far as Georgia, with plenty of stops in between, and in Seattle accompanied him on countless outings.
I should add that because of his color my son named him Count Chocula after the cereal; though his personality did not suggest either the Conte Di Luna or Almaviva, I always called him “Conte” to put him in an operatic if not appropriate context. Including the day he left us he never lost his appetite and relished every scrap he could beg or discover, in addition to reveling in his regular food. The same was true, despite my best efforts to the contrary, with rain water, collected on streets or in puddles, vintage wine to him.
Linda, my wife, loved Count as well, taking care of him, making sure he looked right, and welcoming him to her bedroom where he often slept. In his last days she sang quietly to him sometimes for hours at a time to take his mind off the pain from his cancer.
From about the age of two he walked four miles with me every morning (I clocked more than 6000 morning walks with Count, missing only when I was out of Seattle) and at least a mile or two over the last year or so until his last few weeks. In most of his life he loved to run and never tired of returning thrown balls, stopping only when I gave out.
Why else do I call him so remarkably sweet? He never manifested anything but love to all those who approached him. He tried in gratitude to lick the hands of anyone who offered him treats, winning friends even from those who are not drawn to dogs. His size notwithstanding (he weighed about 90 pounds) his demeanor was such that no one ever shied away from him.
The malevolent cancer that took his life did not affect his personality. He was not only unforgettable but as close to the ideal companion as any dog could be. He left us on December 17, no doubt happy to forgo the pain he had experienced for the previous month. I am not a Roman Catholic but I will always be grateful to Pope Francis for saying, “Why not?”, to the question as to whether there is a heaven for dogs. Requiescat in pace, Count, you will never be far from the thoughts of Speight, Linda, or me.
I am so glad to receive your column again, but I’m sorry it was occasioned by the loss of this beloved member of your family. My condolences to you all.
I am so sorry about your loss, especially this time of year. But, I am very glad you had such a wonderful presence in your life. Thanks for sharing his story.
Speight, I loved your post. Happy memories, happy holidays, happy 2019!
Speight, I had wondered what happened to your blog but am deeply sorry it is back for such a sad reason. My condolences to you and your family on the loss of dear Count. Losing a pet is like losing a family member. I, too, believe in pet heaven and the very Wagnerian Rainbow Bridge, which our pets cross when they leave this world and are restored to health, awaiting our reunion with them. May your happy memories of sweet Count comfort you this Christmas season and always.
Though the subject is a sad loss, it’s great to have you back online in your blog!
How lucky you were to have such a wonderful animal companion. He must have been a treasure for you and yours.
So beautiful a tribute.. Thank you Speight. Joyce
Dear Speight,
so sorry to read this post — take care when you do your walks remembering Count.
xo
Michele
We are so sorry for your loss. Count was a wonderful companion, and you loved him well to the end. ““Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night.” (Edna St. Vincent Millay)
So sorry for this loss to your family. A dog’s affection is unlimited so its absence is felt strongly. May you be comforted by the memories of the good times you and your family shared with Count.
Did you see Jake Heggie’s IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE in San Francisco? I did. If you did, what did you think of it?
A very moving obituary, Speight. As it happens, I have just read Thomas Mann´s “Man and his dog”, a marvelous essay in which he explains his relationship with his dog. Please try to read it if you have not read it, so you can feel a Nobel Prize holding your hand.
Lots of love to you three.
I’ve only now discovered your blog, Speight, in the course of researching Ben Heppner’s performances here in Seattle. While I intend to go back and soak up your thoughts on opera, with great interest, I must first take a moment to express my condolences for your family’s loss of beloved Count. Anyone who has ever had such a cherished canine companion knows the depth of such a loss.
I don’t know if there’s a heaven for dogs, or a heaven of any kind, for that matter. But if there is, none could ever deserve it more than those wonderfully sweet creatures who brought such friendship and joy to their human companions.