When the fourteen years which Nature permits
The power of a dog – Rudyard Kipling
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find—it’s your own affair—
But… you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.
I have had several dogs in my life, and I have loved them all. But there was a dog who came quite unexpectedly into my life, and yet stole my heart in a way no other dog ever has.
His name was Chance.
Rescued by my eldest daughter, Chance came to us as an adult, with a fully formed personality that made him the most unique dog I have ever had the honor to know.
He was tiny yet fierce. A real fighter. He had a huge Napolean complex and would not hesitate to take on dogs several times his size (which is why we couldn’t take him to dog parks).
He was fiercely protective of those he loved. Strangers had to be slowly introduced to him, and he never quite let go of his suspicions. He was mortally offended by the fact that other dogs and people existed in the world. Our poor neighbors: he never took a liking to them, no matter how long they lived next to us, and he never hesitated to let them know he was always keeping an eye on them.
For all his fierceness, he was also a lover. He was the most empathic and affectionate dog I’ve ever known. He had an almost ESP ability to sense when his loved ones were distressed. In those times, he would quietly lay next to his human packmate to console them.
Other times, he just wanted to love and be loved, and he was very insistent about it. If I happened to be lying down, he would often climb up on my chest and allow me the honor of scratching his butt or belly. Other times he would join me in the bathroom, as I performed my morning ablutions, and offered his ass for me to scratch. While I was eating dinner, he would stand next to me and offer me the opportunity to scratch his ass.
He seriously overestimated how much I wanted to scratch his ass.
Chance was also a very good big brother to his “sister”, Bailey.
Guardian of the Garden
Chance appointed himself the Guardian of the Garden. His job was to ensure that squirrels, bunnies and cats were kept out our territory. And he was very good at his job. Squirrels that needed to get from one yard to another had to haul ass along the tops of the fence, as the noisy beast with the razor teeth pursued them.
On warm summer or autumn evenings, as MrsVintage and I sat out on the patio, Chance would do his nightly patrol of the perimeter. He would carefully check the fence line along the whole backyard for any potential intruders, and you could track his progress by the swaying of the flowers and grasses. He would finally emerge from the far end of the border, covered in twigs and seeds, and we could rest easy knowing that the backyard was secure.
Silence
The house seems so quiet now. I feel his absence acutely, especially on the weekends. It’s like there is a hole that follows me everywhere I go. (Bailey is a sweetheart, but she is a momma’s dog. She doesn’t have much use for me, except to feed her and give her an occasional belly rub).
Before, in the mornings, I used to put food in his bowl and he would happily chomp away on his breakfast as I devoured mine. Now I eat my cereal in silence.
When I go into the library to read, I look for him but his little bed in front of the fireplace lays empty. I listen expectantly for the familiar sound of him running down the stairs to join me, but he never does.
When I work in the garden, he is no longer there to keep me company. I pause in my labors and look up, expecting to see him sunning in the grass or eyeballing nervous squirrels, but I work alone now.
Farewell
Farewell Chance, my very dear friend. You were loved, and you are already missed.
You were brave, goofy, annoying, affectionate, intelligent, playful, dignified, a clown.
Above all, a loving and loyal companion.
You truly were a prince among dogs.
And I will never forget you.
