Horse & Pony Feb-Apr 2021

A good dog

I planned to write about the Maritime hay shortage for this issue. Then my dog died, and while I was feeling the familiar heartbreak of goodbye, I was also working hard to remind myself how lucky I was to have had her, and those who came before her.
Lucy was almost 15 years old. She was a spicy little thing, running a tight ship – sorting cats, managing dogs, reprimanding animals on TV, and generally just being bossy. She was a big, boisterous dog in a compact little body.
Horse people are inevitably dog people. We often have favourite breeds of both. I’m not partial. I just like a “good” horse, and a “good” dog. Simple, right? 
A lot can go wrong along the way. My daughter and I have had lots of horses and ponies over the years – often green, and complete with an eyebrow-raising backstory. In most cases, it’s worked out in the end. My life experience with dogs has been similar.
Bridget was one in a hairless heap of Border Collie type puppies found dumped in the woods one winter. Unlike most of her siblings, Bridget survived and was successfully nursed back to health by our vet. She asked us to give Bridget a home when she was well enough, her little paws still hairless when she arrived. Gentle and sweet, she was a quiet, loyal companion for many years.
Dear Chester was one of an unwanted litter of mixed breed pups. He arrived in a box randomly one day in the back of my husband’s car. He lived to old age, blind, the last few years. He was close to perfect; his only vice was his daily visit to a friendly neighbour’s back door. A woof resulted in a cookie, a pat, and a smile. And back home he came. Both parties were happy, and it was a year or two before we knew it was happening. Chester died under the wheels of the horse trailer one hot summer day, napping in the shade. A horrifying lesson learned about checking under your rig before you drive away. 
Barney the Beagle was from a litter of 10 male pups in the care of the local SPCA, born a few days after his mum was found tied to a tree, a bag of dog food at her side. Barney was the fattest, laziest pup in the litter, handpicked by my five-year-old son. He was the opposite of perfect, but where there were children, there was Barney. When my son started university, there were early September visits from his buddies to say goodbye to their friend Barney, in case he didn’t make it through the school year. He lumbered along to third year. 
And then there was Dodger (the new Chester), a Bernese-Labrador cross leftover from a litter the year before. He really was perfect by any measure and lived to see his 14th year.
With family dogs, unlike horses, you don’t need to worry about working soundness, rearing, bucking, or bolting (unless you have a soft spot for hound types). And “good” can be more subjective. I appreciate being entertained more than I appreciate perfect manners. 
Ours have been “at home” dogs, so the requirement list has always been quite short, and often full of trade-offs. For example, I forgave the odd murdered rooster for the value of a devoted, smiling Beagle glued to the heels of my son.
We are down to one dog now, after a 27-year run of multiples – another Bernese cross who came to us at 10 months old, not house broken, not socialized, and a bundle of nerves. He’s blossomed into the loveliest family dog. 
I like the idea of multiple dogs. It’s nice for the dog, and fun to get to know another unique character. Down the road it will be time to start looking for a friend for Wally, but like hay, it appears demand has outstripped supply in the dog department. 
An upside of COVID-19 is new people discovering the heart-bursting act of loving a good dog.