A Real Dog's Life: Lessons From Dufus the Wonder Dog

Some canines are our best friends, some are our guardians, some are workers, some are comfort animals, some are our babies. Dufus was just…a dog, with one ear up and one always flopped over.

Dufus the Wonder Dog was the first dog we ever had. We never intended for him to be called Dufus, but some nicknames just stick. When we got him as a tiny 11-week-old pup he was goofy, and we started saying things like, “Come here you little dufus!” And so, Dufus became his name—Doof, for short. 

We got Doof from the Animal Rescue League. We chose him because he was the only blond in a litter of alleged huskies; all the others looked like husky pups, but not him. It made us wonder if he was part of that litter at all. Whatever the reason, his unique color made him stand out, and we knew he was the pup for us. 

He arrived in 1978, right at the end of the “street dog” era, when dog owners would just open the door and let their dogs out, trusting them to come back by suppertime. Street dogs had friends, rivals, territories, and fights. (In our neighborhood, the one dog who defended his tiny territory most fiercely was the Chihuahua on the corner. Even I crossed the street rather than confront that little beast!) 

Jane and I knew all the neighborhood dogs, and everyone knew Doof. If someone had a cookout, Doof was there. If I went for a walk with him on a leash, people I did not know would stop and greet Dufus by name, having read the name tag on his collar while he was out hanging with his homedogs. 

Having not grown up with dogs, we had no real experience raising them. And boy, did we do so many things “wrong” compared to what we do today. We fed him table scraps, let him gnaw on uncooked bones from the grocery store, poured bacon grease on his kibble. We even gave him garlic pills to fend off mosquitos! (Garlic and onions are NOT good for dogs!) We did not allow him on furniture—including and especially our bed.

We’d let him out after supper, and he might not come back until midnight or even later. If I went in the car to go find him, he’d jump right in when he heard me. As best I could tell, he had a range of about a half-mile radius around the house, which was in a densely populated city area of Lynn. 

At about 6-8 months old, it was time to consider neutering. Jane was aghast at the idea of anyone “mutilating” her dog. So, when we were at the vet for shots, she asked him if he could do a vasectomy. You should have seen his face! “Well…ah…yes I can…it’s actually an easier and less expensive surgery…but nobody has ever asked me that before!” So, Doof had his vasectomy. Speaking of things we did “wrong”: Although he was unable to reproduce, his hormones and sex drive remained fully intact. When the female dog of a neighbor a few doors away was in heat, Doof would hang outside their house and howl. The neighbor would angrily call me up demanding I retrieve him. Our attempts at reassuring him that our dog could not impregnate his female fell on deaf ears. 

Needless to say, we never considered a vasectomy for one of our dogs again.

Anytime we went to that vet after that, we’d notice the vet tech pull Doof’s chart, look at it, and then grab another vet tech, whispering, “This is the one!” 

Dufus had a perfect lifetime record when it came to chasing cars. At about one year of age, he chased his first car…and caught it! OK, it ran over his foot. He had to be in a cast. Not likely a fun experience for him, but Doof did extremely well with the cast. The day of the appointment to have the cast removed, I got up in the morning and Doof had already chewed it off. Perfect timing!

Thankfully, he never chased another car.

However, there was one day he did get hit by a parked car. It’s true! I was driving home from work, not realizing Jane had gotten home first and had let the dog out. When he heard my car, he was running full speed alongside looking at the car side window. Just as I saw him in my sideview mirror and before I could slow down, he ran head first into a parked car. Knocked himself out cold. He was down for about 30 seconds before he shook himself off and walked home.

The favorite thing for Doof and I to do together was a long walk in the woods. He was always out-front investigating. Occasionally he would flush out a pheasant. (Ring-necked pheasants are not native to the US. They were released here as game birds. A few who escaped the hunters could be found in local forests, although the last one I saw in Burlington was well over 10 years ago.) 

One day, walking back from the woods, I decided to take the street route, so I leashed Doof. About 50 yards from our house, an unleashed male dog came out of nowhere and attacked Dufus. Doof was 75 lbs and this dog was the same size.  My wrist was through the leash loop so when they pulled hard I could not release myself. I was attached to 150 lbs of angry canines in a very nasty dog fight. It was so loud that the neighbors were looking out their windows to see what was going on. There was no way I could safely try to separate them. Suddenly the attacking dog’s owner rushed out and confronted me, bumping chests with me! 

I tried to tell him that his dog was the aggressor, but he was not listening. Suddenly, there was a cry of pain, and his dog ran home, the guy going after him. I put Doof in the house and went back, knocking on the guy’s door to discuss the issue. He was very angry, about to get into verbal fisticuffs, when his wife called to him. He turned and said, “oh god, the dog is bleeding” and slammed the door in my face. I walked away selfishly saying to myself, “Good for you, Doof, you won the fight!” 

Dufus was really an outside dog, much preferring to sit on our unroofed front landing where he would happily greet any visitors. When the Blizzard of ’78 came he refused to come in. When the stoop was covered with the first foot of snow, all we could see of Doof was an indistinct mound of snow where he was sitting with just his face sticking out. We dragged him in and cleaned him off, but he just wanted to go back out. We let him out a second time, but the snow was too deep and accumulating too rapidly to let him stay out. (Maybe he was a husky after all!)

Unfortunately, all dogs must come to an end. When he was just shy of 11 years old, Doof started losing weight and doing a lot of vomiting. We took him to the vet and tried all their suggestions, but nothing worked. He was down to skin and bones.  We finally brought him to Angell Memorial in Boston, where they found Dufus had advanced stomach cancer. In retrospect, the diagnosis was not surprising. We could never control what he ate when roaming the streets, including on trash days. 

I started this story by saying we did everything wrong with Dufus, our first dog. I’ll end the story the same way. The vet at Angell Memorial called us with the test results and said Doof was suffering and should be euthanized. We agreed and said please do it. He called back within 30 minutes to say Doof was gone. It is bringing tears to my eyes as I write this. Thirty-six years later we still have pangs of regret and guilt that we were not there with him when he died.  We should have gone to Angell Memorial. We have had seven dogs euthanized since then, and I was holding each of them at the moment they passed. Another died in Jane’s arms on the way to the emergency ward. None ever died alone. 

Wherever he is, I hope Doof forgives me.

Epilogue: About 10 days later we were able to pick up Doof’s ashes at Angell Memorial. I was very surprised to see that they were in a beautiful brass urn that we could not open without destroying it. To this day Dufus the Wonder Dog sits on a shelf in our living room—except when, on occasion, we throw the urn in a backpack and take him for a walk.

A few months later, I picked up my sister’s ashes from a funeral home. They came in a plastic storage bag in a cardboard box…for many times the cost. Go figure.

Bill Boivin is a scientist, retired from 30 years of active duty with the United States Public Health Service. He is a Burlington Town Meeting Member and Conservation Commissioner. He and his wife, Jane, grew up in Lynn and now live in Burlington with their 2 mini dachshunds, 7 chickens, and Maya, a ball python. Bill and Jane have shared a love of nature, gardening, and wildlife for over 50 years. They have fostered, healed, raised, and loved a remarkable variety of animals in their time together. Learn more about Bill.