Canine pals are there when you need a friend.

Byline: WRITE ON By Norma Howard Moore For The Register-Guard

Why would a story about a dog stay on the New York Times top-10 best-seller, hardback, nonfiction list for more than a year? "Marley and Me," by John Grogan, was No. 1 for months and fluctuates among the top five positions now. I mean this wasn't even a smart dog; in fact the cover calls Marley a neurotic Lab.

I ask myself why people get so silly over dogs. When I go for my mile walk each morning, I pass a house with three Labs. Two are behind the fence in the back yard. The third is an ancient, gray-muzzled, stiff-legged, black Lab who usually lays in front of the house snoozing, weather permitting. When I moved into the neighborhood three years ago, I cautiously ambled past, not looking her in the eye, as dog experts advise. The next time I sneaked a peek out the side of my eye, and she was smiling at me! So the third trip I smiled back and then froze as she approached me. I offered my hand, palm up, as the dog experts advise, and she sniffed it, leaving all of my fingers, and allowed me to rub behind her ear. I'd made a friend!

I was prepared to bribe her into letting me pass every day by offering her a small dog biscuit. Now she comes stiffly in a rolling, arthritic gait, tail wagging, mouth open with the biggest dog-smile I've ever seen, expecting the treat. She is hooked. I am hooked. I love this dog and she isn't even mine!

Her owners put up with me and laugh because they say, "Rosie waits for you." I think Rosie knows I miss my little dog.

OK, so this wasn't the first dog in my life. Somehow our youngest daughter's cat did not seem "human" enough for a companion, so I bought Muffy the Lizard Dog, definitely not a bird dog, but a small, fluffy black mutt with white chest and feet, and big ears. She tried to eat every lizard that ran across the patio.

One day a lizard ran inside the house and under an upholstered chair while I was outside the door shaking the dust mop. I called, "Muffy, lizard!" She barreled into the room, funny big ears erect like antennas, salivating, eyes bugged out watching the chair as I raised the front of it. She grabbed that lizard faster than lightning! I picked Muffy up and carried her outside, squeezed her jaws and made her drop it. It happened another time when one ran into the garage, and I threw a mat over it. I called, "Muffy, lizard!" Same scene. Muffy the Lizard Dog scored again!

Muffy got too old and stiff to jump up onto the footstool, the only furniture she loved and was allowed on. Other problems occurred and I had to have her put down. I cried for days.

My last experience with one of these dear little friends was with Holly, purchased at a pet store when I couldn't stand the loneliness after my husband's death and with Christmas approaching. A roly-poly ball of black fuzz, half poodle and half Lhasa apso, Holly was my buddy for nearly 10 years. She moved with me when I remarried again, into a home with two elderly cats. What a trauma for a set-in-her-ways dog, her owner and the poor husband! The cats slept outside but every time they walked past the glass slider onto the deck, Holly nearly went crazy. Once she forgot the glass was there, came tearing toward it and crashed, knocking out a tooth and breaking others. It wasn't working. I had her put down and cried for more days, swearing never to have a pet again. It hurt too much.

Back to Marley. When the book was published, the end telling of Marley's death, the author received more than 800 sympathy e-mails from other dog lovers. So what is it about these critters who waggle their way into our hearts and homes? I'd like to believe that when God created domestic animals such as dogs (OK, cats, too), he was filling a certain type of need in our hearts for a special friend - a friend who silently accepts us as we are, loves us unquestionably, wants to please, and lets us lavish hugs on him just for the warmth and comfort in his presence. And, oh yes, inspires me to walk every day just to see my friend, Rosie, come loping out the driveway, tail wagging, tongue lolling, and a smile bigger than all get out.

Norma Howard Moore is a freelance writer and 12-year resident of Cottage Grove. She previously lived in Medford where she edited a newsletter and contributed to the local newspaper.

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