The vice president of Chrysler Corporation announced he would be heading to Colorado to present Thurston Crosby Gershenberger III an award as the top customer-relations manager in the Western Region.

Panic ensued.

Why? Because Thurston was our dog.

My father never liked being told what to do, in business or in life. So when Chrysler dictated in the 1970s that each dealership must hire or appoint a customer-relations manager, Dad submitted the name Thurston Crosby Gershenberger III.

Thurston was the dog’s name. Frank Gershenberger was the name of the guy who gave us Thurston. He had moved into a domicile where pets weren’t allowed. The rest of the dog’s impressive moniker were flourishes added by Dad.

Gershenberger, a car salesman who worked for our family, assured Dad that Thurston was a full-blood basset hound. It soon became apparent that Thurston wasn’t full-blood anything. He had a beagle’s body length with the short legs and long ears of a basset hound. His ears were so long that as a puppy, he often stepped on them while walking, causing him to do a barrel roll.

Considering his unknown parentage, Dad dubbed him a “bastard hound.”

After submitting Thurston’s name to Chrysler, Dad joked that he was going to put a tie on the dog and sit him behind a desk. Thurston’s sad, basset hound eyes would be perfect for his new position.

The joking stopped when our local factory representative excitedly told us that Northglenn Dodge had achieved a very good customer satisfaction rating, and that Thurston was going to be recognized for his accomplishment.

Dad was mortified. Thurston was oblivious.

After coming clean to the factory rep, he and Dad fomented an escape strategy. They reported to Chrysler that Thurston had been offered his dream job in Seattle. He was torn by loyalty, but felt he had to accept the new position.

More about Thurston

Thurston slept almost exclusively on his back with his hind legs and head cocked to one side and his forelegs and long ears cocked to the other. When the doorbell rang, he would flip over and have his legs running before he hit the ground. He looked like a Roadrunner or Fred Flintstone cartoon.

My oldest brother, Dennis, loved to tease the dog and his preoccupation with the doorbell. Dennis would ring the doorbell and slip around the corner before the dog got there. He’d then act as if the doorbell never rang. Thurston would stand in front of the door, defiant, until Dennis opened it. Thurston would take a long look one way and then the other.

The dog eventually caught on to the ruse. He would look out the door, give Dennis a disapproving look and a snort before returning to his resting place.

He never stopped running to the door, though. The prospect of meeting and greeting someone new was just too powerful.

Come to think of it, he really would have made a great customer-relations manager.