Best Dog Ever

And lessons she taught me

I am a dog person. I hail from a long line of dog-loving people. Each of our canine family members has been truly cherished. Most of them joined us as pups, living their whole lives with us. For those that did not, our family had been well acquainted with their prior people, knowing details of their origin, care, and history.

Faith was an outlier. Faith came to us in June 2018 from Tillamook K9 Rescue when she was nearly ten. Unfortunately, Faith had been a guest of TK9R more than once. Faith’s Staffordshire Terrier lineage placed her under the Pitbull umbrella— a group with a fraught reputation at best.

When Faith came into our family, we had lived void of canine companionship since the spring of 2013 when beloved Border Terrier Newman died after a good long life. Upon Newman’s death, Joe proclaimed, “No more dogs. It is too hard on my heart.” Sharing his heartbreak, I couldn’t argue. There was no discussion. After all, we had grand dogs in the neighborhood that I happily cared for when needed, an arrangement our extended family enjoyed. So, it wasn’t as though no dogs were around to love.

But five years without a dog? I had never lived dogless that long. It was becoming unbearable. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. Besides, my life had recently taken on a completely different rhythm. Caring for grandkids during the school year and working in our family fishing business during the summer replaced my former traditional Monday through Friday forty-hour work week. This new schedule gave me flexibility like never before. If I had a dog, it could come with me to both jobs. If I had a dog, I could take it wherever I went. How wonderful would that be?

The problem was the broken record playing in my brain, “No more dogs.” I could not unhear Joe’s voice. The more I considered initiating a conversation about wanting a dog, the more I mentally whipped up a one-sided wrestling match. Finally, with great trepidation, I brought up the subject. Fully prepared with my well-developed, thoroughly thought-out case, I mentioned how much I wanted a dog. Barely having my opening statement out of my mouth, Joe said, “Well, if I were you, I would get a dog.” That was it. No discussion. No convincing. Speechless. I sat, taking it in. Well, O.K. then. The red light had instantly and unexpectedly turned green; so much for the time, energy, and anxiety invested in crafting my case. That sure had been an unnecessary waste.

Even though I had kept quiet about my longing for a dog from Joe, I had whined frequently to my dear friend Cate, remarkable Cate, whose love, knowledge, and empathy for animals are legendary. If an animal within 100 miles needs food, care, or a home, Cate knows all about it.

The first day Faith was available for adoption, Cate called and said, “There is a dog for you at the shelter. Go now.” That’s it. Knowing that Cate knew all that needed to be known, I asked only how to get to the shelter. Instructions provided, I quickly rounded up the grandson trio. We jumped in the Prius and were off. It was a stunningly beautiful, bright, sunny day, the first official day of summer vacation for kids and the last work day for teachers—perfect timing; sharing the adventure of meeting this mystery dog with the kids added to the excitement.

Once we arrived, before even seeing Faith, we learned a bit of her story. Today was the day the shelter had required Faith’s owners to surrender her, breaking the cycle of neglect. Faith and another dog owned by this family were repeatedly allowed to roam their neighborhood, becoming nuisances and causing Law enforcement to impound both dogs at the shelter. As a result, the shelter would no longer permit the dogs to return to the family as they had previously.

The manager brought Faith out to meet us. Faith greeted us slowly, sniffing us one by one. She looked deeply into our eyes and took everything in. Faith’s presence struck me. She was calm, peaceful, reserved, and quickly drawn to the grandsons. Faith adored kids. All kids.

Kids were one of the few things Faith got excited about.

Sensing how special she was, I was ready to commit. It required tremendous self-control to keep from saying, “I’ll take her.” My hesitation was all about Joe. He knew nothing about this. I wanted him to meet her under optimal circumstances. My mind raced a mile a minute. Once more, I began to build my case. It didn't seem very easy; how to make this happen? My internal conflict must have been visible as we all stood around Faith in the glaringly overbright, hot sun. Intuitively, the manager proposed a solution, generously offering to bring Faith to our home for a visit at our convenience.

Faith came to visit a few days later, finding her forever home. It was as if she had always lived with us, becoming my sidekick.  The next morning, Faith’s first full day with us, she accompanied me to the charter office at 0dark30 as I checked passengers in for their fishing trip. She promptly curled up contentedly like a pill bug when she got in the car. Faith was never interested in hanging her head out the window like most dogs. Instead, she became compact, fitting in the kid's car seat. The trip could be 5 miles or 500 miles.

As walking is one of my favorite activities, our next stop was  Barview Jetty Park for a beach walk. Faith had a comfortable pace, a few notches below mine, causing her to follow rather than lead or walk beside me. Over our time together, I adjusted my speed to hers. We took two walks every day, rain or shine. Through our walks together, Faith showed me how to slow down, show up, and pay attention.

Observing me intently from her first day, following my cues, and being content with what unfolded, Faith asked for nothing. Her keen attentiveness kept us from realizing how deaf she was for a long time. Our unfenced yard (we would not have any more dogs) and Faith’s inability to hear leashed us together.

Faith barked maybe a dozen times in the five years we were blessed to have her with us. She didn’t seem to have much to say. It was quite the bonus when we were on our walks. Faith would casually walk past the loudest, most wildly barking dogs, not glancing in their direction. Faith also took care of herself without fuss. If she was uncomfortable in a situation, she just left. More than once, I found her on the closet floor to escape being annoyed by another dog. Faith was welcome everywhere, disappointing her friends when she opted to stay home in her comfy bed rather than tag along. Faith stayed home more often this year.

What was it that made Faith the best dog ever? It wasn’t so much about what she did or didn’t do. It was simply who she was. Faith was the quintessential best friend; present, dependable, gentle, and unconditionally loving. Loving as only a canine can be.

Perhaps you have been lucky enough to experience a connection like Faith, and I shared. If you have, you have received a gift like none other. Faith was my faithful companion. Losing her has brought surprisingly intense and unique grief— clean, uncomplicated sadness both deep and vast as the ocean.