BIG MAN, little dog

Wit and Wisdom

by Beth Broderick

Ted was still alive. To the bafflement of his doctors, friends, and the emergency personnel at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital where he was a frequent visitor, Ted was hanging in there. 

This was truly remarkable. Ted was HIV-positive and had contracted the disease well before the advent of “the cocktail”, which became available around 1995 and was the first effective medication used in treatment. In addition to this bit of bad timing, his survival was notable because he was born with Marfan syndrome, a condition which causes people to grow exceedingly long and lean, putting stress on the organs and connective tissues. There are some treatments for it, but having AIDS in addition to this serious syndrome made the odds of his continued existence pretty long indeed.

TED BEAT THEM. FOR YEARS.

In the face of any and all adversity, he just kept right on beating those damnable odds. 

Ted was from Chicago. He starred in and wrote two one-man shows, in addition to many other projects. He made a name for himself as a singing priest in a show called ‘Party’ and toured the U.S. with it. He met and befriended my pal Russell when the latter joined the cast in Los Angeles, around 1996.

By 1999, Ted had a stent in his heart and all manner of complications from both his inherited illness and the acquired one, and he accepted it all with humor and grit. He was a memorable talent: he could sing, act, write, and do comedy. He also had a buoyant spirit and would famously check out of many a hospital stay and head straight to dinner or a show. He made friends easily and developed a lot of good ones along the way, including his dear bestie Vincent and a beautiful opera singer named Geena, a gal pal he adored and with whom he was borderline obsessed. He was very close with my friend Russell as well. They talked frequently, and though Ted’s illness was rarely mentioned, it was a way for Russell to keep tabs on his condition.

“Are you sure that is a good idea? Did you talk to your therapist about this?” Russell asked him over the phone, one snowy New York City day.

Ted had decided that he needed a dog, thinking that getting one would cheer him up.

“Yes. She says that I should live my life … commit to living it, and stop worrying about dying. Ya know, I’ve been kinda depressed. It could help.”

Conveniently, Ted had decided that ‘committing to his life’ meant that his therapist thought it was a fine idea for him to go ahead and get a canine companion. 

RUSSELL HID HIS SURPRISE.

“She does? Well, that’s great news, isn’t it? I mean, that’s very positive.” He was actually thinking that caring for a puppy was a big job and might be a bit much for someone with Ted’s health concerns.

“I saw one in a shop on the Upper East Side–a little Malty … she would be perfect; cannot stop thinking about her. I can’t go today, though. The weather is a mess out there. But oh, I cannot wait to get her!" 

Ted’s enthusiasm in this, as in all things, was impossible to resist.

“Well, how about I come get you, and we can drive up there?” Russ proffered. “I’ve got the Jeep downstairs.” 

“Oh my god. Really?! Thank you! Oh my god, I am so excited!”

Later that afternoon Russell picked up Ted, and they headed to the pet store. On closer examination, Ted was not 100% certain about the Maltese puppy and asked to go to another pet store that he knew of, right around the corner.

When they walked in, there was a row of cages three high along one wall of the shop. The dogs inside were all barking wildly, trying to get their attention, all but for the smallest one who sat there quietly in the center of the chaos. The teeny Yorkshire Terrier was completely calm and still when she looked into Ted’s eyes. 

“That’s her! That’s the one!” he exclaimed, tugging on Russell’s arm. Then he turned to a clerk in the next aisle.

“Please? Um … hey there! Open this cage, can you?” He was nearly breathless. “That’s her! You have to open the cage!”

The clerk did so and placed the serene little pup into Ted’s arms. 

Ted swore Russ to silence as he added $1,500 for the puppy and supplies onto an already loaded credit card. Russell thought that if it made Ted this happy, it was worth every penny and any amount of debt. He drove the two of them back to his friend’s apartment, then headed back to his own, satisfied that he had done a good deed.

Ted stayed up late, playing with the little creature, whom he dubbed Margaret O’Brien in honor of his favorite old-timey film star. He held her close as he called everyone he knew to tell them the great good news of her arrival. It was a magical night.

The next morning, he felt a bit under the weather. Later on, he felt a lot worse, and when he finally–reluctantly–called an ambulance. They rushed him to a hospital. A few hours later, things took a turn and his big, joyous heart stopped beating.

Russell was in the waiting room and felt his own heart seize with sorrow when the doctor told him. He believes that Vince and Geena were also there–the memory is not crystal clear–but I am putting them on the scene because, although it may be their story, I am writing the legend of it. The three were truly shocked at the news. Of course, they had known this could happen at any moment, but they had all grown accustomed to Ted's near-mystical ability to dodge the grim guy. They were not ready to hear those words, but then, no one ever is. 

---

Ted’s parents arrived not long after, having rushed to the airport and jumped the first flight out of Chicago on the advice of the medical attendants doing triage at the hospital. 

After a round of greetings and many, many tears, Ted’s mother approached Russ.

“Russell!” she cried as she threw her arms around him. “It was so kind of you!  Ted told us you bought him that puppy! He was just thrilled! Thank you for that!” She wiped her eyes, but it was no use; the tears continued to fall. “He was so happy! His last moments were so happy, and we are so grateful!" 

Russell held the weeping woman, thinking to himself that even in death, Ted was full of surprises. “I’ve heard that she is just the cutest little thing, and it is so sweet that you volunteered to care for her if anything happened to him. That’s a big relief. Just so lovely.”

Russell had said no such thing of course, nor had he purchased the animal. He had no plans to get a dog, and, being a large, athletic fellow, would almost certainly have chosen a bigger breed. Cradling the heartbroken woman in his arms, he tried to think of a way out of the situation. 

“Ted had the nicest friends,” she said and, with this, turned to Vince and Geena, once again welcoming them into her arms. 

“Perhaps, maybe please God, she will want the little thing?" Russ thought as Ted’s sister came weeping onto the scene. Ted had called her before the ambulance arrived, and she had taken Margaret O’Brien to her place. This seemed hopeful. Maybe?

NO DICE.

The sister was clear that she could not keep her. While she thought the little dog was adorable, she was not in a position to care for it; and so, fate continued to take its course. Russell was not at all sure about this, but for Ted’s sake he made arrangements to pick up the little Yorkie and bring her to his apartment, her new home.

He was nervous around the dog at first. He had never raised a puppy and never been around such an apparently fragile little creature. His was measured with each step, worried that she might somehow end up under one of what he called his big ‘Flinstone’ feet. He was a tad trepidatious, but the little gal melted his big-guy heart, and they became as close as man and dog can be. Russell bought a small carrying case and took her everywhere. If he went to dinner, he took her with him. She also went to the office, to bars and markets, and on trips large and small. She became a seasoned air-traveler and a darling diminutive addition to every occasion. 

When Andrew, Russell’s great love and future life partner came on the scene, Maggie–as she came to be called–instantly fell in love with him, and Andrew adored her in return. The three became a tight family unit.

She lived to be seventeen years old and was a treasure, a most excellent dog. When the day came, as it must, it was hard beyond measure for them to say good-bye.

I would posit that, until recently, most American men–gay or straight–did not feel comfortable toting around a teeny pet. Real men had Shepherds and Labradors. They did not cotton to being seen with a Chihuahua. There was even a huge parody around it in the gay community of the late 70’s, when men fashioned leashes around plastic male action-figure dolls and dragged them down the sidewalk on Santa Monica Boulevard. This was called ‘Walking Gay Bob’, and it was funny, if ridiculous.

Apropos of nothing, my friends John and Don, known to many of us as ‘The Gay Twins from Arkansas’, had an artificial limb that they called ‘My Po’ Leg’ which was a favorite possession. They would clothe it and fasten a shoe to its base and then catch it in the car door and drive around, dragging it alongside the vehicle. Folks honked and waved, trying to alert them that someone’s leg was caught in the jamb, but they simply stared straight ahead, pretending not to hear a thing, with My Po’ Leg bumping along the road beside them.

The twins are true originals in every way one can think of. This has nothing whatsoever to do with big men and small dogs, but it flashed to mind and, well… 

WHO RESCUED WHO?

I think the prevalence and popularity of rescue dogs has forever changed how all of us identify with our pets. Sure, I have some pals that still order pure breed pups and rare types of cats, and I am not judging that.There are mitigating factors like allergies and small children in the home and whatnot that can make folks very cautious about selecting a pet. It is a big commitment, and it is very important to get it right.

Then there are, of course, the cool-ar-oos, AKA the hipster crowd. I live at the apex of Beverly Hills and West Hollywood, where many a ‘show pony’ dog can be seen sporting bright green or pink dye jobs and fancy studded collars. There, too, a lot of pretty young girls are on the scene carrying miniature Pomeranians around like an accessory. I suppose these fashionable animals denote status in the same way a designer bag might, or a diamond-encrusted necklace. 

Those folks are in the minority now though, as most of us amble down the sidewalk and through the parks with a dog who found its way to us through a rescue organization or a shelter. This is a wonderful development. To my mind this is a hopeful, hopeful sign, and boy-howdy do we need more of those.

It warms my heart to see lots of big guys wending down the road with a small dog or two on leash and a small human in a stroller. So many men are now proud of their parenting skills and care not that their furry friends are often itty bitty, mis-shapen, snaggle-toothed rescue yappers. 

I have great faith in the new generations I see operating in the world today. They believe in a lot of important things. In addition to embracing mutts, humans, canines, and otherwise, they hold corporate accountability and environmental justice at the forefront of their values. If they continue on this path and pursue these convictions with economic clout and a determination to show up at the polls, they can–and will–start to build a better world.

My friend Sara has pointed out many times that the word DOG is GOD spelled backwards. When I see big men tenderly caring for the small and vulnerable among us, I am reminded that the Lord works in mysterious ways.

After a long period of mourning and adjustment, Russell and Andrew decided to get a new pup. He is a terrier, of course, and his name is Ted. 

On we go …

---

Wit and Wisdom is a reader-supported publication. To receive special posts and support my work, consider becoming a paid subscriber.