It is
Precisely …
By PS
Gifford
It is
precisely 7:39 on a glorious September Monday morning. I am casually sitting
peacefully in my ‘secret garden’. Although not significantly large in area it
has a surprising old world charm contained within its three ivy covered walls.
It is with delight and awe that I marvel at a pair of delicate brightly colored
humming birds eagerly feeding in the blooms high above my head. This is, for a
transplanted Englishman now living in Southern California, my slice of
paradise.
Whilst I
take another hearty sip from my steaming mug of fresh brewed coffee I find that
the aroma and taste only enhance my senses; making me even more acutely aware
of my glorious surrounding. I can not resist but to smile to myself.
Suddenly I
feel a gentle paw vying for my attention and as my hand reaches down to scratch
affectionately my dog Chester, lying contented at my feet. I cannot but
consider just how far we have journeyed together. As I daydream in the glorious
morning sun, I am commencing to recollect the very first unwieldy steps of that
intrepid journey…
I
reminisce back to July 2002. A little over two years ago to that eventful day I
received an email. The correspondence came from my brother-in-law, Dwight, who
just so happens to be one of the dearest men on the entire planet.
“You have
to see this dog!” The subject line teasingly read.
I already
belonged to two dogs at the time. However, my long time companion, Eddie
Valentino, was in his sixteenth magnificent year. Despite me not caring to
admit it to myself everyone recognized that his time here on Earth was all too
quickly diminishing.
Opening
the email, I could not fail to grin: The image of a fresh faced puppy. The
young dog had a striking familiarity about him, looking an awful lot like a
downsized version of my very own Eddie. My heart skipped.
Quickly
reading on I discovered that he was under the care of animal services, I
was torn as I knew that my beloved wife, Sarah, would never go for having
a third dog, in particular a mischievous puppy.
Having
dismissed the idea as futile, I attempted with much distraction to go about my
usual daily tasks. Yet, I was unable to concentrate. The image of that poor dog
within his cell kept repeating in my mind.
As the
afternoon began to fade, I came to a decision that what harm it would be to go
visit him in person? My mind clearly made up I hastily threw on my shoes,
grabbed my car keys and sped towards the kennels. Fifteen minutes later I was
rushing around the cages, looking longingly for the face that had captured my
heart. Another twenty minutes or so passed. I had examined each cage with out
any success. I was about to give up and reasoned that some lucky soul had
already arrived to his rescue; however, I needed to check…
I spied
one of the workers cleaning a kennel and approached him. He greeted me with a
friendly smile and hello. I quickly blurted that I was here to see the Airedale
terrier mix.
The
workers eyes seemed to light up.
“He is
back here!” The volunteer exclaimed.
I was
quickly directed away from the cages on display, passed an ‘Employees only’
sign to three cages.
“Here he
is!” He said as he pointed to one of the cages.
I peered
in. Hiding in the back corner there he was, snuggled up in a ball and two sad
eyes looked back at me.
“I want to
visit with him,” I told the worker. I was trying to conceal my growing
excitement. The volunteer’s smile assured me that I was making the right
decision.
A few
minutes later we were together and playing in the visiting area. The first
thing I noticed about him was his highly nervous disposition; I swear that he
jumped even at his own shadow. I managed to finally hold him in my arms and as
I gently hugged him I felt his young racing heartbeat against my chest. Within
a matter of moments the racing pulse seemed to ease and it was at this moment
that he licked my cheek…My mind was made up.
“I’ll take
him!” I announced jubilantly.
So there I
was at the service window completing the paperwork, writing the check. All the
while a not so little voice in the back of my head was screaming at me, “Sarah
is going to bloody kill you!”
The lady
behind the counter seemed delighted that I was taking him. She informed me that
I was about to be this dog’s third owner, and the dog was only seven months
old… That he had been dropped off at the pound as a puppy and that a family had
taken him home. They returned him a couple of months later declaring that
he was ‘too much to handle.’ That he barked all the time, was impossible to
take for walks, showed aggressive behavior and was highly destructive…
She looked
at me solemnly and her following words made me fully aware that I was making
the right decision.
“That dog
has been red tagged. That he has been deemed as too uncontrollable to be
socialized and that therefore he had been scheduled for destroying. You just
saved his life”
As my new
hyperactive companion was in my car, heading back to his new home, I realized
that I had to inform my wife. It was on my fifth attempt of dialing that I
actually mustered enough courage to actually complete the phone call…
“Where are
you?” She enquired nonchalantly.
“On my way
back from Animal care services dear.” I cautiously replied.
“Oh?” she
remarked the alarm evidently beginning to ring in her head.
“y y
yyes…” I mumbled, “and I have found the cutest little dog.”
There was
a pause for what seemed to be an hour, but was probably only about thirty
seconds.
“And?” She
finally pushed.
“Well,” I
gulped, “can we have him?”
Another
hour-long pause.
Chester
barked in the back seat of the car and I recall trying to hush him, with little
success
“Do
whatever you need to do,” she answered, evidently resigning herself to her
fate.
“I love
you,” I interjected.
“I love
you too,” came her strained answer, yet I could tell that she was mad at me,
and I knew that she knew that I already had the dog.
As I hung
up the phone, I remember considering to myself.
“Well,
that could have been much worse!”
*****
The
following few months were admittedly quite interesting as destruction, and
nights kept awake from his barking ensued.
I quickly
ascertained that this dog had obviously been subjected to heavy abuse; both
physical and mental. His aversion to anyone in a baseball cap was profound. In
addition any type of long stick, rod or water hose sent him shivering and
hiding…I often doubted what I was doing as I spent another sleepless entire
night lying next to him, attempting to comfort him on the garage floor. Even my
closest friends and family joked that the dog was a lost cause and that I
should simply throw in my hat and surrender him back. Yet, something deep
inside of me simply would not permit it. Even my wife and I argued over it; in
fact the biggest argument we ever had was over Chester.
“If he
goes…So do I,” I used to stubbornly proclaim.
Here is
the remarkable thing though. Something slowly and magically was beginning to
transform within Chester. Step by step he began to learn the most valuable
lesson; trust. Confidence followed he had surely had never experienced before.
A magical, profound, deep connection was beginning between us. Even my dubious
friends and family reconsidered as they began to marvel at the antics of my
loyal, loving, well trained friend
Chester.
*****
It is now
approaching eight and my coffee cup has been long drained. Chester is sitting
next to me patiently and with that perfect posture and I need to go. Go take
the best dog in the world for his morning walk…
The end.