“A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance: but by sorrow of the heart the spirit is broken.”
Proverbs 15:13 KJV
After I read John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley in Search of America , I knew my next dog would be a French poodle. I researched quality breeders, drove three states west, and picked up a black, curly-headed standard poodle I affectionately called King Louie.
Technically Louie was a companion dog—an odd choice of breed for ranch work—but after four decades of living with herding, working, and obedience breeds, I was up for a change. All-boy and dominating, King Louie spotted other canines and sized them up. Dominant females, Louie respected. But his pom-pom tail lifted like a sword if he sauntered nose-to-nose with a male.
Louie was an excellent traveler. He would jump inside the pickup truck, and my husband would take him to a local tractor auction to give Louie the social life and spotlight he craved.
The first time my poodle and husband attended an auction, I stayed home. A neighbor stopped by the end of my driveway and rolled down his window. “That dog’s a chick magnet!” he said. “I’m going to get my own.” I pictured seven women bent at the waist, petting King Louie’s soft curls and kissing his neck and face while my husband held the leash.
I regularly took Louie to the car dealership, where we sat inside the waiting room full of customers. My striking poodle stood as still as a show dog as customers walked around him and ran their fingers along his top knot and back like professional judges during a call-back. King Louie preferred to roll onto his back in the center of the group, turn his head, and scooch his body around, looking at everyone to get them to laugh.
Our poodle also loved car and truck rides to the grocery or hardware store. Passing drivers did double or triple takes when King Louie sat shoulder-to-shoulder beside my husband. “Does your husband have a girlfriend?” a neighbor asked, her voice hushed to a whisper. I giggled. If only she had made another pass to inspect if this black-haired girlfriend snuggling close was human or canine.
Some of my most touching memories of Louie took place at the nursing home, where we visited ninety-one-year-old Frances. She adored poodles and grew up owning the breed. Due to mobility issues, she couldn’t care for a pet.
“Bring Louie!” Frances said at the beginning of each phone conversation. “I miss him.”
My heart melted. After a bath, dryer, and comb, I walked King Louie into the nursing home. Antiseptic as strong as smelling salt burned my nose, but even though my poodle sneezed four times, he kept walking with his head held high. When the clapping exploded, Louie jumped into the air, landing on all fours and facing the group of gray hairs.
“Welcome back!” a woman shouted. “Over here, boy!”
Frances sat in a wingback chair near the center of the room, her glasses falling from the bridge of her nose and her eyes moist. My poodle pulled at the leash, dashed toward Frances, and heeled on her left side. He needed to be close so she could stroke his back and press her fingers into his soft curls. The purple veins on the top of her hands looked regal against Louie’s black coat.
Within seconds of approaching Frances, four wheelchairs circled King Louis and the wingback throne. I watched the half circle of wheelchairs inch forward. One of the female patients accidentally ran over Louie’s front paw, but he didn’t yelp or run. He set his chin on top of the woman’s lap and stood still while her writhing and jerking arms dropped along his back like a beating drum. Somehow Louie knew she needed to lean against him. His legs didn’t buckle. Nor did he blink when her fingers accidentally hit an inch above his nose.
Like an angel sent from the Good Father above, Louie knew how much Frances and the other patients needed a merry heart to get them by until they reached their heavenly home. King Louie taught me the true meaning of Proverbs 15:13 and how “A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance.”
