Well now that Oprah has rounded up Hubbell and Katie and those of us who sigh for the Seventies can stop holding our breaths, only one great question is in the air: who will be Oprah's final guest? I would like to propose Happy, a Yorkshire terrier, who had a brush with fame on Oprah's show, but the bristles fell out.
Happy was under a table next to Oprah at the Hotel Bel-Air some years ago. "What's that dog's name?" she asked me.
"Happy," I said.
"How old is he?"
"I can't tell you that," I said. "He has a book coming out."
"Oh, come on," said Oprah.
"No, really. I have it in my purse." I did, and showed it to her.
"We've been talking about doing a show with dogs," she said, and took my number, as I tried to keep breathing. I got a call from her show and they asked me what I was doing January 16th, many months away, and my recently deceased young husband's birthday, so I thought it was a gift from him.
All through the ensuing months I drove around LA and prayed. "Please, God," I said, "Let Happy be on Oprah. He's such a good boy. And he worked so hard."(He had posed tirelessly for pictures in the book, Happy at the Bel-Air, even balancing himself on the seat of a motorcycle, never complaining.)
But the autumn changed to winter, and I heard nothing. Finally it was January, and still not a word. On the 15th of January, I went into my favorite frozen yogurt store, where they had a new flavor that was not non-fat. I asked the owner if I could use his phone (it was in the days before cell phones.) "If Oprah hasn't called, I'll have that," I said, as I dialed.
But Eureka! There was a message that I was to be with Happy at the hotel the next morning at 9. I could hardly sleep, though Happy stayed cool.
The next morning there was a rare rain, but Happy had a Burberry, and looked very handsome as he arrived at the hotel. They followed him around the grounds with a minicam, and although he was puzzled, he handled it like the gent he was. "Why does Happy like it here?" the interviewer asked me. "Because they never treat him like a dog," I said.
Finally came the day the show was to be aired, coordinated with the book's publication, as Happy stood on the brink of immortality. I was in Hawaii for a publication luncheon given by a friend, where all Haute Honolulu attended, including Jim Nabors. Then we went to see the show. To my horror they had superimposed a prissy voice over Happy's wanderings: "I'm Happy the jet-set dog," it nanced, " and my mother takes me everywhere." Stunned, I was glad he wasn't watching. And to make it worse, Oprah didn't show the book.
Devastated, I returned to LA and called my cousin Susie, a deeply spiritual woman. "How I prayed, " I told her, "please, God," I said every day, "let Happy be on Oprah."
"Gwen," she said to me. "You have to be very specific. You have to say, 'Please God, let Happy be on Oprah. And let her show the book."
Many years have passed, and so of course has Happy. But if she could bring back Barbra and Redford, she could certainly bring back Happy as her final guest. I mean, she must believe in an afterlife, and he deserves another chance. I have a lot of pictures of him, and his spirit is unquenchable. Besides, I still have all those books.