A dog's life

This morning I started working on the drawing of the two Sheltie dogs for the woman who won a graphite portrait that I donated in last year's Fairy Tale Ball silent auction. The pups are adorable, as you can see. (Lilly & Gracie at right)

As I was sketching, I couldn't help but think about the dogs I've had the pleasure of knowing in my life. I decided to write this particular dog chronology post mostly for myself, but if you're reading, I hope it might cause you to pause and think about the special canines in your life and how much they meant/mean to you.

My family got the first dog of my life when I was 3. He was a Norwegian Elkhound mix named Ole. He was a very good dog and had the standard Elkhound curly tail. He had special barks for people he knew, which was very handy because we knew who was pulling into the driveway without ever having to see the vehicle. (This isn't Ole but is a close likeness.)

When Ole was approaching old man years, we got a Border Collie puppy, who we named Bandit. Ole was insanely jealous, but after awhile he grew to tolerate the energetic and annoying little playmate. After Ole passed away, Bandit became very protective of the family and didn't take well to strangers. He nipped at the UPS man more than once and bit one of the neighbor kids (who was provoking him, but that's another story). But to us, he was our faithful best buddy. He would attempt to herd the chickens and livestock and unfortunately, cars. He got fatally hit when the guy driving the power company truck came barreling down our driveway to take the monthly meter reading. I was in college when it happened and I'm so glad I wasn't there. I couldn't bear to see my poor Bandit lying limp on the driveway, alive but paralyzed. My folks had to put him down. (Again, not Bandit but he looked like this, with the brown eyebrows and cheeks, except he had one pointed ear and one that flopped over. So cute.) 

Over the years we had several stray dogs drift on and off the farm. There was Sparky, a cute little blond mix with long fur and boundless energy. There was good-natured Ol' Duff, the black lab with a white muzzle, who despite his age and arthritis still remembered hunting commands and would take off after rabbits and squirrels only when given the appropriate cue.

Then along came Jake, 1/2 Collie 1/2 German Shepherd. My parents found him in an online ad ten years ago. He was about 3 years old at the time and belonged to a woman in the Twin Cities who was getting married and planned to travel with her husband, and therefore couldn't keep him. She wanted to give him to a family who had room for him to run. I was living in St. Paul and my parents drove out for the dual purpose of visiting me and adopting Jake.

He was a handful. He loved life on the farm. But my parents quickly learned that he, like Bandit, loved to herd... cars. My folks were really at a loss as to what to do. They felt it was inhumane to keep him tied up, particularly after his previous owner's wish for him to be allowed to run. They tried discipline and rewards to keep him from chasing cars in the driveway. He was stubborn and regardless of rewards or punishment, he could never resist the chase. He got himself into major trouble one day, when he ran all the way to the road and under the wheels of a tractor trailer.

Miraculously, he survived. My mom found him in the ditch and immediately ran to him. He was too big for her to carry so she sat praying, holding his poor broken body until dad came home and they were able to bring him to the emergency vet. He had two broken front legs, ligament and tendon damage, cracked ribs and other injuries I'm sure I'm forgetting. After all that damage, his legs healed but not fully. He semi-regained his ability to walk, but hasn't been able to run since the accident. That may have been God's blessing in disguise. He has lived a long life on the farm, barking dutifully when cars pull into the driveway but not running after (or under) them. Jake is now in his teens and has a full white muzzle. He is missing some teeth and has gotten kind of crotchety in his old age, but despite that he is still a good boy and a good friend. He will still "speak" for a treat and will roll over onto his back for a belly scratch.

A couple years ago, my folks adopted a neglected elderly Golden Retriever named Anna from a rescue organization in northern Minnesota. She is such a happy old girl now and keeps Jake company. She is so good-natured and loves attention. As mom says, "she sashays around the farm like she owns the place." I'm so glad she is able to spend the latter part of her life feeling happy and loved.

I have only been a dog owner once. Not long after my ex-husband and I moved to Virginia, I fell into a pretty bad depression. We had moved here for his job with the General Assembly, however I had no job lined up, knew no one here, and was desperately homesick. I spent my days looking for jobs online and feeling more and more isolated and lonely, not to mention pressured to get a job.

Admittedly, as the job search seemed to be proving fruitless, I spent some time on petfinder.com looking for a potential furry friend to keep me company (unbeknownst to my ex). One day I came across a homely little 8-month old pup with a mug only a mother could love. That night, I showed the picture to my then-husband and to my surprise, it didn't take much cajoling to get him to agree to drive up to Baltimore to meet her.

When we did, it was instant love. We knew Lucille was ours. Her foster mom drove her down to our apartment a couple weeks later. The first few months were very trying. Lucy had boundless energy and did not like sleeping in a crate. She barked when we left, she barked when we got home, she barked when she was excited, which was most of the time. Thankfully our neighbor across the hall was hard of hearing and our downstairs neighbor was never home, otherwise I'm certain we would have been evicted.

But despite her crazy nature, we loved her. It wasn't until after we had adopted her that we learned she was a "Puggle" -- a so-called designer hybrid between a Pug and a Beagle that were all the rage. Apparently her first owner paid $700 for her. We had no idea what a bargain we'd gotten!

Unfortunately when my marriage ended and I moved out, I wasn't able to take Lucy with me. I had "visitation" but that meant in order to see Lucy, I had to see my ex. I tried it for awhile but the contention and the stress and the torture of having to leave her each time were too much. Not to mention the confusion and anxiety Lucy must have felt every time I left her. I decided it would be best to just say goodbye and let her live her life without me.

It was soooooo hard. It is still hard. I miss her a lot. I think about her goofy antics and the way she would run circles around the other dogs at the dog park. I taught her a bunch of tricks that I wonder if she can still do. I miss how her paws would smell like an old vacuum cleaner bag. I miss how she would sigh contentedly and curl up in a little ball beside me on the couch. I miss singing "Tiny Dancer" to her in a silly voice. I miss my friend.

I hope that some day soon I can adopt another dog. Meanwhile I have great cats to keep me company. Here's to all the dogs out there and those in doggie heaven... we are better people for having known you!

*WOOF*