Mornings With Barney by Dick Wolfsie (e book reader .TXT) 📕

At the announcement that Uno had won, poodles stuck up their noses, Shar-Peis rolled their eyes (we assume), and Afghans, who were already suffering from some bad international press, were unimpressed. Beagles, you see, are kind of a lunch-bucket dog. When they came to America, they came to work, not to sit on someone’s lap or lounge on a Persian rug. I’m more liberal on immigration than most politicians but seeing some of these exotic dogs at Westminster made me think maybe we should have a fence around the U.S. border. Not that this would stop a beagle, but it might deter Irish setters, who would simply crash head-first into the barrier.

Uno made me realize there was more to tell about Barney and I was sure that after his victory, a whole new decade of beagles would be around every corner and in every garbage can. Uno’s demeanor on TV in the following days was a giant billboard for hounds looking for homes. Just like 1001 Dalmatians catapulted that breed to new popularity, beagle adoptions rose in 2007-08. For those of you who went out and got a beagle after Uno won, this book is a confirmation of the love and loyalty you have no doubt enjoyed. And some of the hassles you have endured.

If you are still deciding what kind of dog you want, let this be a loving word of warning.

A Final Word

In August 1991, I was outside the recently closed state mental hospital just west of downtown Indy, waiting to do an interview with the state health commissioner. Barney was on a long leash attached to the telephone pole when a Volkswagen bus rounded the corner. Barney darted into the street in pursuit of a squirrel. Marcus Collins, the first photographer assigned to Barney and me, yanked on his leash, pulling the beagle back from the intersection. The VW whizzed by, missing the beagle by a hair.

No yank in history (other than Mickey Mantle) would so affect my life. I just didn’t realize it then. It was too early in the career of this rising canine star.

Barney and I would spend the next twelve years together. The number may not sound that impressive but consider this: During a similar length of time I somehow skated past junior high, wisecracked my way through high school, and negotiated four years of college. Let’s throw in two years of grad school. At the time of Barney’s death, he had been with me half the length of my twenty-four-year marriage and most of my son’s life.

It was twelve years filled with ups and downs: in relationships with family, friends and coworkers, as well as in the stock market. My son went from toddler to teenager.

And there was 9/11.

Wall-to-wall media coverage followed that horrific event and thus a moratorium was imposed by management on my daily segment with Barney. In light of the tragedy, airing our antics might have struck viewers as frivolous and inappropriate. We both sat it out. The two weeks following the attack were the longest time that Barney and I did not do our thing on TV. Both of us sat on the bench.

In a way, people needed the diversion we provided, maybe more than ever. But all of us in the media had a hard time deciding what was a respectful way to grieve, relieve the stress, and cover the news. There was no recent precedent in any newsroom.

The first day back on the air, I explained our absence. Then, somehow, it was business as usual for the next two years, up until Barney’s death. I really believe that the beagle helped all of us in some small way handle the difficult months that followed the tragedy.

Barney was always my rock. While his behavior was unpredictable, his role in my life and others’ lives never varied. He woke up next to me every morning, then he trotted off to work with me. His role was simple: Be himself. Ignore the rules. Have fun. See you again tomorrow.

At the beginning of this man-and-his-dog story, I sometimes I wondered if I really wanted to be identified, not as talk-show host, or a reporter, or a writer, but instead, as Barney’s dad. That insecurity evaporated quickly as I saw the impact Barney made on the community. I will never know if a different dog could have gotten the job down. Maybe Barney wondered if he had picked a different TV personality if things would have worked out quite so well.

I will be linked forever with Barney. When people bring up Barney’s antics, I take pride in what we did together. My license plate for the last seventeen years, BARNEY 8, is in more ways than one moving proof of that. I am now less recognizable without the dog. There was a time it bothered me a little if people remembered Barney’s name and not mine.

No longer . . .

“Hey, weren’t you the guy with Barney on TV?”

“Yes, I was. Thanks for watching.”

Here’s the bottom line: Without Barney, I would have still gotten plenty of laughs, acquired a few loyal fans, and maybe even racked up a few awards. But I wouldn’t have captured a single heart.

There’s a little beagle in all of us—yearning to try something new, searching for an adventure with hope that along the way we can touch a few lives.

Thanks, Barney, thanks from all of us.

Acknowledgments

This book was written entirely from my head . . . and heart. I never had to go to the library, never surfed the Internet or Googled anything. So unlike some authors who wax on about their research assistants and experts who collaborated on their manuscript, I don’t have to.

My good friend and fellow writer Mark Olshaker encouraged me, actually coerced me, into writing this book, and provided his professional guidance every step along