Memories of Ozzie E. Sedge

Margo Oxendine, Contributing Writer

Margo Oxendine

While I am laid up at home, recuperating from finally getting my first new knee, I’ve had a lot of time to think. And I find myself thinking, among other things, about dogs I have known and loved.

One of the many memorable darling doggies was Ozzie Erdman Sedge. Ozzie was a purebred Polish sheep dog — very shaggy, and very smart. In fact, Ozzie Erdman Sedge  — we called him “The Oz Man” — was the smartest dog I ever knew.

Here’s the prime example that comes to mind. When I used to stay in The Oz Man’s house with him, he had a big basket of toys. Twice a day, we’d go outside and romp on the nice lawn; I’d toss whatever toy or two or three I’d brought outside. Oz would scamper after it and bring it back to me.

Sometimes, though, he’d bring it back inside the house and put it in the basket, returning with a different toy. We’d play with that for a while. Finally, play time over, here is what would happen: The Oz Man would bring all his toys inside and put them back into the big basket.

Yes, he’d actually pick up his toys and put them away! Tell me now: What toddler can grasp that concept? Not many, I’m guessing.

The Oz Man had a sharp, deep bark, and hated the doorbell. That bark was scary if, say, you were the UPS guy, or anyone, really, who rang the doorbell. The loud Oz bark even scared me, and I loved the guy.

One night, I went out into the yard; it was late and dark; I was in my nightgown. I guess I’d gone out with The Oz Man so he could have his final evening constitutional. Well, he galloped inside ahead of me, and somehow managed to shut the door. Wouldn’t you know, it locked.

So there I was, outside at the front door in my nightie, frustrated. While wondering what to do, I just happened to lean against the doorbell. Oh. My. The wrathful barking was awful!

“It’s me, Oz!” I called out. To no avail.

Finally, I made my way through the dark, forested side yard and came in the back door, which was fortunately unlocked. When I got to the foyer, there was Oz, still barking at the door. He seemed surprised to see me.

I’ve always loved riding in cars with dogs. The Oz Man was a great passenger … most of the time. My bank gives out doggie biscuits if you cruise through the drive-up window with a dog in the car. Brownie does not care for doggie biscuits. But boy, The Oz Man loved them. As soon as I’d turn into the bank lot, he’d be standing on my lap, all 70 shaggy pounds of him. When we pulled to the window, he’d honk the horn, demanding his biscuit. With Ozzie in the car, it was biscuit first, then business.

Once, I had overlapping dog- and house-sitting duties, and got permission (I think; I meant to, anyway) for Oz to join me and two other big dogs about 30 miles up the road. I envisioned a rousing, fun party, and that is just what happened.

First, I had to gather provisions. The house we were headed to is in the gorgeous middle of nowhere; I had to bring all my favorite foods. That included marvelous chicken salad from the erstwhile Homestead Market, a place I miss terribly. And lots of fresh-baked soft rolls on which to spread it. This stuff was quite costly, but I didn’t mind; it was, at the time, my very favorite food.

So, I picked up my market stuff, and then stopped at the grocery store, leaving The Oz Man in the car. I returned just five minutes later to find him with chicken salad sticking to his whiskery face, munching on a soft roll. There was nothing left. To top it off, he had used my new, expensive jacket as a placemat, imparting some greasy glob marks that remain to this day.

The Oz Man moved to another state, and I never saw him again. I miss him to this day, even though he’s long gone from this world. I’m sure he’s romping somewhere in Doggie Heaven, and teaching other dogs to put their toys back in the basket. I just hope they have chicken salad there.

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