I’m not particularly an animal person. I like pets fine, and I love seeing wildlife, should a deer/rabbit/squirrel pass outside my window. I’ve even had the exciting privilege of seeing a black bear right outside my kitchen door. I think animals are beautiful (well, not rats or hag fish) and know they can be smart, empathetic, protective and loyal, and more besides. But I’ve never really been a pet person, through all the years I’ve been a member of a family that had pets, in the form of cats, dogs and a horse. I get why people love their pets, but it’s not really me. The other reality of pets, with the possible exception of tortoises and some parrots, is the certain knowledge that you will have to say good bye to them. A friend commented to me the other day that one way to contemplate your life’s measure is by the dogs that have shared it. And so, despite the fact she wasn’t really my dog, today I’m saying goodbye to the puppy/dog who marked a 13 year or so section of my family’s life.
Her name was Bijoux.
She came to us as a puppy– a few months old and just separated from her litter mates. She was welcomed by our then-getting-on dog Brutus, and my two under-10-year-old kids. Brutus left us about 3 years after Bijoux joined the family, and that event of saying good-bye to him was a lesson in how dogs feel compassion, and grief. Bijoux wandered the yard and bayed mournfully for days looking for her pal. Her grief was as hard to bear as the kids’.
Throughout her life she was stubborn, willful and determined. She was almost impossible to keep penned, and she dispatched racoons, rats and squirrels with alacrity, but must have had some sort of secret agreement with rabbits, for they would hop right past her without concern.
Bijoux did have surprisingly good manners. She never licked or sniffed or climbed up on people without an invitation, and on the rare occasion she was inside during meal time, never begged at the table. She was mainly an outside dog, but had a bed in the kitchen, and if she wanted in, would tap at the kitchen door. It was the most elegant movement– not a scratch, but rather she would daintily lift her front paw and tap once to be let in. Just a gentle little dog-knock on the door.
She may have, like a lot of dogs who spend most of their time with humans, considered herself more person than pet. She would jump up onto a lawn chair, the couch or your beach towel with no qualms at all.
Blue-tick hound crossed with black-and-tan hound, Bijoux definitely had a hunter mind set, but could be gentle. Down at the river one day, she came across a duckling momentarily separated from its mama and clutch. She pounced and the duckling became one mouthful. “No! Bijoux!! SPIT IT OUT!!!” we yelled… and she did… and came away, and a few minutes later the probably-still-slightly dazed duckling paddled back to its relieved mother and they left the area.
There are a dozen or so years of funny stories, and stories of exasperation, too, where Bijoux’s selective deafness rendered her the source of profound frustration. And there were many heartwarming tales, as well, like how she was terrified by the sound of shooting or fireworks and one time ran away from the sound of a nearby goose hunt. She was found a few kilometres away, in the company of an elderly lady. Bijoux had joined her for her walk, and despite the fact that the lady was even less a dog person than I, commented what a gentle, well mannered dog Bijoux was, and how she waited for the lady to rest and catch up to her if she got too far ahead.
At the end, Bijoux became a little anxious, and lost her willfulness and insistence on independence. She needed to keep one of her humans in sight, and if there was physical contact, so much the better. We had the luxury, and the responsibility, of knowing we were saying good bye. And despite my protestations of not really being a pet person, I spent a few nights getting up to let her out, to wait at the door to make sure she came back, for I feared she might wander off, as dogs do, as part of that ancient mystery of knowing their time is done. I even cleaned and cooked some kidneys for her, when no other food tempted her. And I hate cooking offal.
On the last morning, she walked happily alongside me down the drive. It was a recent new routine, rather than locking her in her much-hated pen when I left for work, I would instead walk her next door to my daughter to care for. She wagged her tail, knowing she was going to spend the day with one of her kids, tucked up on a soft bed, on a softer rug, with almost constant petting. This time, I was the companion who had to stop every few feet for the elderly lady to rest and then catch up.
She was a good dog, and will be missed. Even by me.
theUncoordinatedCoordinator 