I’m uncertain about beginning this activity, even though I feel it’s important and, no doubt, will look backward and be happy for the effort. But, effort it will be.
Within the deep brown eyes and soulful face lies something more. In the most difficult times of my life, of which she witnessed many, Lexie will rise to the occasion and break through the circumstance that threatens to overwhelm me. In those big moments, as well as everyday events, I am certain that Lexie was given to me, not simply as a birthday gift, but as a kindness from a Heavenly Father.
So begins, my attempt to chronicle bits of my life with my best friend and perhaps repay her loyalty, beauty, and companionship, with a record of her life. In subsequent years, may it bring back memories, tears, and laughter.
But, most of all, may it be remembered.
Everyone has a story. This will be Lexie’s.
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| My best friend |
Perhaps, I should have titled this “How to begin.” I have an internal conflict between a fervent desire to begin writing vs a knowledge that I’ll fall short of conveying the true story.
I wondered, this evening, of what do dogs dream? Anyone with a dog has probably witnessed the fitful twitching during sleep or a focused, long-distance stare while awake. Do dogs dream of the experiences in their life? Are dreams, asleep or awake, time-occupying bridges during those periods when Lexie was by herself?
With a deep ache, I wonder: Have I provided my best friend with good dreams?
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| Lexie's first collar. Adjusted to it's smallest, it still hung loosely on her tiny body. Beginning... |
Long-distance relationships are possibly the most ignorant of activities to pursue. I genuinely believe they have no potential for anything other than disappointment and chaos. So, of course, there was a time that I "dated" a woman living in West Virginia, although I lived, first in California and then in Missouri.
Driving from Missouri to, somewhat, a central location in Lexington, KY, I arrived at a dive motel in order to spend the weekend with my long-distance girlfriend. Whereupon, opening the room's door, I immediately saw a tiny, silhouetted head pop up from the bed.
"What's that?" I says, creatively.
"Happy early Birthday!" is the reply and without a beat of hesitation - "Listen, you don't have to keep her..." I had already stopped listening.
With a smile, I wandered over to scoop up the little black and brown fur swirl. Fitting in the palm of one hand, only her tail spilling out, she may have been the cutest puppy who has ever lived.
That said, I wasn't immediately captured. When we left for lunch, it didn't bother me at all to leave this puppy in a strange place, completely alone. It would not be long before I struggled every time I left Lexie behind, even in a familiar location where I knew she was safe. Times, they change.
In a true act of foreshadowing, when we returned an hour or more later, the eight-week-old puppy hadn't made any type of mess. Nothing to clean up, nothing chewed on, nothing destroyed - looking back, I'm amazed. What must this tiny dog have thought when she was taken from her family at such a young age, by a stranger who immediately drove her hundreds of miles to a strange place. There, she met another stranger, who wasn’t particularly friendly. Then, they leave her completely alone in this unfamiliar environment. Such is the character of my dog, however, that she handled it without drama.
Born to a breeder in West Virginia, Lexie is supposedly Black Labrador and Golden Retriever. From what I recall being told, her father was a 115 lb Golden while her mom was a 90+ pound Lab. Since that time, a majority of people have mentioned that she, also, must have some kind of bloodhound with her lineage. Simply, I don't care. Lexie made sharing my life with a dog, very easy. Even more, she motivated me to strive toward being a better man and human. She asked for very little, in return.
Our first afternoon: In the middle of horse country, we drove out among the bright green fields and triple boarded fences that seem to run endlessly in parts of Kentucky. Lazy horses wandered around their large, rolling fields. I remember the first time I chased this tiny puppy across the soft grass. I assumed she enjoyed the game. In hindsight, the truth may have been that she was running scared and trying to get away from the fool who kept rolling her pudgy little body over on its back. At which time, I would pat her rotund little belly. Regardless of age, it remains one of my favorite activities and always brings to mind that tiny, fat puppy in the bright green grass. Born in this large grassy field was my pure joy at the sight of a running dog, especially the scissor strides of a puppy. More than any other moment, this was my introduction to Lexie. This was the moment when something began to come alive inside me that I never knew existed.
As a child, caddy-corner from our small home, lived a large, black dog named Mort. Mort never actually injured anyone, to my knowledge. But, he did, on more than one occasion, chase me down, knock me to the ground, and stand over me. It was terrifying even though I never allowed anyone to know. As a result, I was always slightly afraid of dogs and very hesitant around them. I enjoyed dogs but it was tentatively and only on my terms. For many years, I had wanted a dog of my own, but, I could never pull that trigger. Several years prior to Lexie, on days when, simply, I had reached a breaking point, I would drive to a friend's house and state, "I need to borrow Bosco." The act of walking with a dog always managed to snap the edges off my tension. However, I never would have guessed at the man I would become after having a dog of my own.
In Lexington, two days were spent visiting inexpensive restaurants on "dates" and walking the fuzzy interloper. On the last afternoon, I was asked, "What are you going to name her?" In my mind, I had been trying to come up with some obscure yet cool name with which to tag the new family member but coming up empty. When the question was posed, my brain immediately wanted to reference the weekend. With absolution, the name Lexie snapped to mind, after the city where a black puppy with big eyes entered my life bubble.
"Lexie," I said, with pride.
"Lexie?!" was the un-hidden disappointment from the girlfriend. But, I just knew that was her name so I never wavered from it. Forever, the place and the pup would be entwined. I never went back to Lexington. It was the first time when life was distilled down to Lexie and I. It was far from being the last time.
Whatever may have been right or wrong, good or bad, joyful or hated about my relationship at that time, I will always know that I was given the best gift of my life, that day. As a result, I will always love my former girlfriend for my early birthday present.
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| This is the first photo of Lexie...cute huh? She always looked grumpy with her furrowed brow. The truth, from day one, she was the kindest dog - with a little mischief added for fun. |
Due to the fore-mentioned long-distance relationship, seldom did I actually share space with the woman I was dating. When we did manage to get in the same time zone, when leaving, the drive away was difficult. This time, it was worse as I could tell that my girlfriend, already, had become fond of the fuzzy puppy. But, away we drove. It marked the genesis of our journey, as a man and his dog. For a long time to follow, this is how we would walk through life.
It was late afternoon, by the time we left Lexington. Before starting, I think Lexie and I were both tired. This was going to be a tough trip.
With Lexie in her traveling box, secured in the passenger seat, we headed into the twilight and the unknown. Every hour or hour 1/2 that passed meant we stopped. The puppy needed to do some business and stretch her tiny legs. We stopped at rest stops, off-ramps, access roads and almost anywhere that provided safety and a patch of grass. Rolling down the freeway, often, Lexie would stir and whine. I would try to reassure her, “It’s okay, you’re okay.” “Lay back down,” I would say quietly and put my hand on her little body. Listen, there is simply no reason this very young puppy, who had been taken on a long trip away from everything she knew to that point - then passed to a new stranger and taken on another long trip, should care about anything I had to say. Considering a dog’s keen sense of direction, I wondered if she knew, with every mile, we were getting farther and farther away from her mother and siblings. The thought made me sad. Yet, stunningly, the soul of this little puppy chose to trust this voice. Each time, she would reposition and settle back into what must have been uneasy slumber. I, often, think there was a voice, from above, whispering into her soft ear that everything was okay and this man was the person she was sent to help.
Dragging my consciousness through the darkness, we drove on. Finally, in some dirt water town in Missouri, we made our final stop. We found a small, two-lane road that paralleled the freeway. I pulled off on the shoulder of this deserted, dead-in road. As we walked in the grass, under a star-filled canopy, I wondered how I would cope with the future of my new companion. Then, darkness disappeared in a blast of white light.
The last push was agony. It was everything I had to get us to my Mom’s house. I didn’t take anything out of the car, except the cardboard box carrying my new best friend. Such a humble container carrying such priceless cargo.
First home: Mom's
We arrived at a miserable hour, after a crushingly long trip. I was absolutely empty as I grabbed my new friend, left everything else in the car, and stumbled into Mom's house.
This would be Lexie's first "home." In the next two years, she was swept into my new life experiment. I had left California so I could return to school after 22 years, live in a city I hate, provide help to my family, and live with my aging Mother. All of those things, now became Lexie's new life experiment, too. Each aspect would end in abject failure, but we didn't know that, at the time. I had all of these issues, piled on each other like a Jenga tower. Lexie, who’s life had changed immeasurably more than my own, simply yawned and enjoyed every step. Yes, dogs are better than people.
After the first visit to her new, giant backyard, I placed Lexie at the foot of my bed, tucked back in her box. One of my few regrets is that I didn’t simply pile her into bed with me. Ridiculously, at the time, I believed dogs needed to be on the floor. Yes, this mental message was my Mom’s voice, who never had a pet. No, I am not a smart man.
I left a note for my early-rising Mother to be wary of opening my bedroom door, in the morning. Thoroughly gutted, I stepped out of my shoes and collapsed into bed, fully clothed.
Worried for my puppy, I would wake up at every noise, especially the quiet whining of my furry little pooch. Like cartoon gophers, our heads would pop up to look at each other. After hearing my voice, "you're okay, go back to sleep" Lexie would settle back down, amazingly. I am constantly stunned at the aplomb, by which, she handled this series of events. It spoke to a gentle disposition that I would witness, consistently, during the subsequent years. Lexie rarely became rattled.
Rest was not to be had. This was a level of exhaustion unlike any I’ve ever felt.
Unsurprisingly, far too early the next morning, my Mom cracked open the door and peeked into my room. Lexie, having been awake for quite some time, immediately jumped from her box to scamper toward the door. Mom screamed with the "yipe" of a schoolgirl and slammed the door shut again. Bleary and beaten, I sat up on the bed and scooped my very excited pup onto my lap, just about the time that Mom re-opened the door with a cautious smile. "After reading your note, I thought 'D' <the girlfriend> had sent you home with her cat," Mom explains.
This assumption actually made more sense. "D" had been fighting cancer during much of the time we had known each other. Looking back, this was the primary plot of a very confusing story that merely presented questions I ignored. However, this not only explained my Mother's theory but also reveals some of the significance I felt for this birthday gift of squirming happiness.
Mom wasn't an animal person. She believed creepy, old wive's tales about animals. To my mother, dogs were something a person might keep in their backyard and toss left-overs. But, this introduction went okay as she continued to smile toward the adorable little puppy, who seemed to smile back and desperately wanted to go investigate the little, old woman gazing at her through a barely opened door.
I kept her little puppy teeth and claws a safe distance from the little, old woman who would not find them charming or cute. Mom was maintaining her own buffer, as suspicion in her eyes matched the smile on her face.
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| As a puppy, Lexie loved the carpet of fallen leaves. She would prove to be the best outdoor companion as her strength and confidence grew. |
We started with the barest of essentials: tiny food/water bowl, a little tug-of-war rope, a green ball, and a box that held Lexie’s original blanket that she had shared with her siblings. I hoped the little blanket and familiar scents would lessen the stress level of her new life. I hoped it might convey that I wanted her to be happy and, while completely clueless, I would try my very best to take care of my puppy.
Many years later, my one concern and hope is that Lexie knows that she was, and is, immensely loved. That she knows she is an unbelievably good dog and that I maxed out my ability to care for her. As the only constant that she has known during her life, I often failed to adequately teach her lessons like playing with other dogs or people. Through numerous hard times, my patience faltered. Too often, she has been criticized or corrected for things that weren’t important simply because I was having a bad day. I hope that I am not, simply, the person she knows from all the times I’ve said “no,” “stop,” or whined because she walked too fast, too slow, or didn’t respond as quickly as I wanted. I hope I wasn’t simply the person who spoke harshly or pulled the leash too hard or kept her from something fun. I just hope that my best friend knows that she is my best friend, that I would trade nothing for the experiences we’ve shared and, more than anything, that she is such a great dog and better friend. Okay, enough of the psycho-self-analysis.
We started the process of figuring out a process. Truly, I was starting from zero. I knew she needed health care and assumed that a routine was a good thing. My simple-minded theory became: a tired dog is a happy dog. Question, guess who gets tired quicker: a growing puppy or a forty-year-old pudgy dude? The not so pleasant by-product of my theory is that I was beginning an almost perpetual state of exhaustion. Immediately, we had our first problem: Lexie seemed scared of the outside world. Being outside, she seemed to think it was too big. When I took her for a walk, she kept trying to go back home. She would whine and look up, as though scared of the sky itself. When headed down the street, she almost panicked. So, tucked in my jacket, I would carry her down the block before putting her down. Whereupon, she would pull us, like an Iditarod alpha, back where we started as quickly as her tiny legs could go. However, it didn’t take long before the switches in her little dog brain got flipped and she preferred being outside. So, that’s what we would do: regardless of rain, snow, exhaustion, injury, time of day, or temperature, you could probably find the two of us outside. When I would leave, Lexie, often, would prefer to wait outside in the big yard.
By the time of the first snow, it didn’t even faze Lexie. She simply tromped around like a little bulldozer and chewed sticks like a wood-chipper. The stick thing scared me. For days, I tried to stop her chewing on the fallen sticks outside. I feared that I would return home to find my puppy injured or worse. Fortunately, after proving that she wasn’t listening to my fear or attempted correction, we had no wood related incidents. She was so cute that she got attention everywhere we went. Even my family seemed pretty interested to meet her. Everybody loves a puppy. And, the holidays were almost here.
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| Wood-chipper mode |
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| As a puppy, Lexie was tough to get a photo - she popped up as soon as eye contact was made. Here she was approximately 2 months old and approaching her first holidays. |
Autumn is my favorite season. Fall, 2004, took on a new level of enjoyment: crazy, messy, uncertain, and improved version of enjoyment...with a couple of exceptions.
Mornings, I hate them - always have hated them. My circadian rhythm, when given opportunity, always seems to revolve around a 10am-2am cycle. Guess who loved to get up early? Lexie would have made a great Marine. Typically, she was awake before sunrise and required zero lag time between sleep mode and wide, freaking, awake. I would hear her sniffing around the bedroom and occasionally playing with her ball. Truth be told, guilt was the only reason that I would stumble out of bed in the beginning. I knew that tiny body contained a tiny bladder. I didn’t want to clean up a mess. More importantly, I wanted to set a precedent that my puppy understood: if she needed to use the bathroom, she simply needed to let me know. As a result, my dutiful little dog was potty-trained in about two weeks and only had a few accidents inside.
Once awake and moving, as much as I wanted to climb back into bed, I guessed that morning walks were important. Each morning, we would work on simple obedience commands in the backyard: sit, stop, stay, come, and off. I was never interested in “tricks.” I always looked at Lexie as a friend, not a toy. Also, I hoped this little bit of activity might “take the edge off” her puppy energy and the walk would be less stressful, as a result. I’m not sure it helped. I was guessing at everything.
Then, off we would go. Walks, at that time, were pretty short. So, we would return and play for a while in my mother’s backyard. We tried throwing sticks and balls but it was obvious that Lexie, despite two breeds of retriever blood coursing through her body, was not interested. One daily activity: we would stop side-by-side, and after an enthusiastic “go,” we would sprint across the yard. Lexie seemed to enjoy this little race while, I’m certain, thinking I was an idiot. I won every morning. We wrestled. She climbed on my lap. I turned her every way a puppy could be flipped around. I carried her until she learned that hyper-squiggling would get her back onto the ground. When winter rolled in, I would lob snowballs at her, which she would get very excited about chomping in mid-air. Many years later, she still loved a similar game any time we had some water to play in.
One benefit of returning to live near my family was holiday food. The youngest of five children, I was the only sibling who chose not to act out the mid-western dream of marrying early and producing offspring. But, since my brother and sisters lived the cliche, there were a lot of people when we got together for Thanksgiving or Christmas. And, there was a lot of home-made food, so I was happy. That first Christmas, Lexie’s paws rarely touched the floor - someone was always holding her. She handled the noise, food smells, and crowded house exceptionally well. She even got to play with a Pomeranian that Karen, my sister, brought over. Lexie, at three months old, was essentially the same size and it was fun to watch her romp around with her first canine buddy.
Life was about to hit a whole new level of crazy, with the new year. After relocating from California in July, having a new friend and a lot of free time during Autumn was a nice beginning. At the time, it appeared that I had made a great choice to change almost everything in my life.
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| The first photo of Lexie and I. I had planned to get a photo, each month, for one year. I didn’t follow through and it makes me sad. |
Beginning my life with a dog, I read that establishing trust between owner and animal was crucial for creating a well-mannered member of society. Lexie had the disadvantage of being taught by someone who is barely a well-mannered member of society. But, she seemed to make up for my absence of skills with an old soul and amazing patience for such a young dog.
So, in the safety of a fenced yard, we started off-leash obedience early. I wanted Lexie to have as much freedom as possible during her life. It was here that I learned my dog was very food motivated. Wait, that’s not sufficient,...Lexie would run through fire for a moldy potato chip. So, good behavior got treats. That brought up a potential problem: keeping Lexie from being a keg with legs. One of the first things that I was told, repeatedly (even though I never asked), “she’s a lab so you have to make sure she doesn’t get too fat.” That reinforced my plan that a happy dog is a tired dog. So I knew that I couldn’t miss walks...no matter how much I hated mornings.
I was also told, repeatedly (even though I never asked), multiple horror stories about something called “separation anxiety.” I heard about couches being turned into clouds of pillowy fluff, entire doorways being turned into sawdust, and floors being torn from foundations. Considering I was a guest in my mother’s home, I didn’t want to see what might happen if any of those things happened. Side-note: when getting a pet, I never would have guessed how much reading it would require. So, per something I read, I began leaving Lexie behind in increments. I would have never guessed how hard it would be to walk away from the confused, trusting face of my new best friend. First, it was for one minute. I never would have guessed how happy I would be when greeted by my new best friend. Each day, I would extend the time that I would hide outside before coming back inside. During her whole life, each time I had to leave Lexie, I would also state, "I always come back!"
To illustrate how good was the nature of my dog, during Lexie’s entire life, the only thing that she ever chewed up was a five-dollar throw rug and one corner of the bed frame, ever. Honestly, I could not have had a better first dog. That fact would be evident over and over and over during the coming years.
To complicate the issue of learning how to raise a pet, I returned to school after twenty-three years. To recap, I had a four-month-old puppy, a full-time schedule in a local junior college, and a part-time job at a retail store. Lexie and I would start the day early (ugh) and I would especially try to wear her out so I could get to class. I would come home between classes to let Lexie out. I would go to work at night. Around homework, I would play with Lexie. My Mom was not an animal person, a trait that worsened as Lexie got bigger. Likewise everyone else, their interest lessened as Lexie got bigger. I never understood that fact. Honestly, it made me mad. So, I never asked for one tiny bit of help from anyone. Our independence, some would say “solitude,” deepened. I was always exhausted. For a person who abhors being tired, the innocent, happy presence of my puppy made it worth it. It was beginning to occur to me how much this dog was going to change my life.
I also read that dogs need something called “socialization” or they would get mean. Once again, Lexie had to be taught by someone who never went out of my way to be “social.” Again, she learned easily despite this fact. Since Springfield didn’t have a dog park, I figured the only place that I could get Lexie around people and other dogs would be a Petsmart store. So, every Sunday afternoon, we headed to Petsmart. Lexie handled all the newness without blinking. She did the normal puppy things like jumping and pulling, but never displayed an aggressive or unpredictable angle to her personality. We did learn two things during these trips. The first was that other dogs would occasionally “snap” at her even though Lexie never showed a single behavior to initiate it. This would be true her whole life and I never figured out why. It didn’t happen often and lessened with age but everyone who knew Lexie was confused by it. “She’s the sweetest dog ever!” would be their reply. The second odd occurrence involved one of the Petsmart dog trainers. We never took a single training class at Petsmart. But, when Lexie saw one specific trainer, she exploded in excitement and tried everything to get to this young lady. Lexie acted like this lady was her soul-mate. The trainer would laugh as she was trying to conduct her training class, inside the walled training circle, and Lexie would stand on her back legs and stare at her through the plexiglass. If she wasn’t training other dogs, Lexie would try and drag me across the store to get to her best friend. It was hilarious to watch. Neither of us ever figured out why Lexie acted this way.
I have always enjoyed walking down dirt paths in the woods. I love the beauty found in nature, the solitude of escaping society, and now I had even more reason to go hiking. I assumed every dog would enjoy being outside. As soon as Lexie stopped being afraid of the largeness of outside, she became a quintessential outdoor dog. Since Lexie was so young and small, I read, that walks should be limited. So, I would take Lexie on short trips to wooded areas from my youth and state parks so she could feel things like dirt, gravel, rocks, and water. As a reward, I learned the art of finding ticks on the skin of a dog. This is not something I ever wanted to learn but it was worth it for all the laughter and smiles of watching my dog blunder around rippling streams, fallen logs, and running through tall grassy hillsides.
In May 2005, I decided that my nine-month-old puppy was ready for an overnight camping trip. I hadn’t camped in a very long time but I had new gear to try out so I looked up a trail called Blair Creek. It was about a mile to a lone campsite, next to a small stream. As I was unloading my gear, Lexie was rolling around in the deep leafy carpet. That seemed like a perfectly normal dog thing to do. Then, I found out it wasn’t. Our little adventure had hit a disgusting snag. It turned out that Lexie was rolling around in several dirty diapers that some garbage human being had thrown out. So, having few options, my dog had to walk the mile or so covered, literally, in baby poop. I got to the campsite, dropped my backpack, grabbed the camp soap, a set of gloves and pulled my confused puppy into the creek. For a water-loving dog, Lexie hated baths. She disliked this one more than most as she couldn’t figure out my harsh tone. After a long, thorough bath, she got to air dry in the chilly evening air. As darkness took over, Lexie couldn’t quite figure out why we were inside a small little nylon dome. There were a lot of new sounds in the woods, so, it took quite a while for her to settle down and get to sleep. The next afternoon, we hiked back up the hill and completed a, mostly, successful first camping trip.
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| Contortionist water drink |
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| First camp trip. Freshly bathed puppy. |
I was always happy that Lexie didn’t become a “ball dog.” I have met so many dogs who care about nothing except chasing a ball. Granted, it’s an easy way for the dog to get a lot of exercise, but I never wanted to simply go to a park and throw a ball until my arm hurt or my dog was gasping for breath. That said, I found one ball that she LOVED. For a few dollars, I would buy a giant rubber ball that was about three feet in diameter. Now THIS ball, Lexie was excited to chase. The game usually lasted less than a minute. The ball was about the same height as Lexie so the game often featured Lexie rolling completely over the top of the ball as she tried to trap it. Or, she would blast into it, at full speed, and knock it across the yard, extending the chase. Eventually, she would pin it against the fence or a tree and one bite would deflate it. Every time, she seemed shocked but particularly proud her victory. Every time.
She was funny.
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| Chasing the big, bouncy ball. She loved these big plastic balls and it was hilarious...for about 30 seconds until she popped it, contentedly. |
This post is an aside and not chronological. Already mentioned, I felt that walking was important. I didn’t realize that it would be, perhaps, the one thing that would define my relationship with Lexie. Obviously, more important are the emotional connections that created value in our walks together but, the act of walking is the manifestation of my life with my best friend.
On almost every walk, there could have been a story. From the scared, tiny puppy that I carried in my jacket to the old slow dog that became a fixture in our neighborhood, we walked. From her first days, I tried to get Lex to walk on the shoulder of the road or sidewalk. First, I thought it might provide a bit of safety, but I also thought it might be easier on her growing joints and bones. Pre-disposed to hip dysplasia, I tried everything I could think of to help my dog be as healthy as possible.
During one walk, when she was very young, I heard a shuffle as we walked down the sidewalk. My spidey-sense went off so I turned around and saw a pit bull running straight for my puppy. Reflexively, I yelled, “NO!” and, fortunately, he came to a skidding halt. I snatched up Lexie as the dog slowly walked back toward a house across the street.
In the same stretch of road, about a year later, I passed a house where a big, yellow lab barked at us, every day, while wagging his tail. This day, the owner was in the yard and walked up to talk. I complimented his dog for guarding the yard. He asked if I wanted the old yellow dog, joking-I assumed. I wanted to say yes. Clearly, I had become a different person from twelve months prior. I was able to say no but only because I didn’t have the means to take care of another dog. I asked him why and found out the prior owner had shot this kind, old boy in the face with a pistol. Only then, did the mark on his face make sense. This man had ended up taking care of him. It was even harder to say no.
Some days, I would let Lexie off-leash, inside a fenced baseball field. Often, she would find a squirrel to chase or I would run after her warning that I was “gonnagetthepuppy.” She almost seemed to smile when we played this game. I couldn’t stop smiling. One day, Lexie was about halfway across the field when she saw a lady walking her dog. Breaking into a sprint, Lex found a gap in the fence, that I hadn't even noticed, and rushed right up to the nose of the Rottweiller/Saint Bernard mix. As the owner yelled, “I can’t hold my dog!!” - she planted her feet and white-knuckled her leash with both hands. I was in a full sprint, watching the 180-pound dog tense up, while my one-year-old, fifty pound, dog bounced spastically around him. I would never get there in time if this dog chose to attack Lexie. Fortunately, the giant canine determined this young dog was simply stupid, not dangerous. So, he stood his ground but never harmed the ignorant puppy or her more foolish owner as I grabbed Lexie by the collar to create some distance while apologizing to the big dog’s owner.
On some walks, down a bike path, through the woods, I used to hide from Lexie. I had wondered if she would just keep walking or make a break for freedom. Without fail, when she found out that I was no longer following, she always came back to find me. Until one day, when she was about three years old, I hid behind a snowbank where I could see Lexie but she didn’t see me. I smiled as she stopped and scanned every direction. Then, I stopped smiling. I saw her face switch from inquisitive to panic, eyes wide and darting. It literally made my heart hurt. I jumped up, calling her name, so she could see me. She ran over and I gave her a big hub (which she hated), while telling her, "I will never leave you." I never hid from her again. Somewhere behind that big stoic face, Lexie seemed to actually like me.
In Fort Collins, we would walk by a collection of baseball fields. At certain times of the year, almost the entire outfield would be filled with geese. We would sneak up to the gate. Quietly, I would say, "Lexie, stay." She did so but her body was twitching with anticipation and her gaze was totally focused. Slowly, I would ease the gate open and release Lexie’s leash. Leaning down and placing my head right next to hers, I would whisper in her ear, “go!” She would sprint across the field as hundreds of geese exploded into flight. It was one of the very few times that Lexie barked and she would jump as the birds lifted off. She was never fast enough to threaten any of them or I would not have played this game. She was such a gentle soul, I'm convinced she would not have injured it even were she fast enough to catch one of the birds.
Similar to our first camping trip, there were multiple rolling incidents in a variety of hideous substances. There were almost countless incidents of scent distractions that led to left behind pizza, or french fries, or something so small I couldn’t even see it. There were walks in the rain, in the snow, on ice, in the wind, in searing heat. There were walks in the middle of the night, middle of the day, during times that I was injured or times when I was sick. There were walks with threats of fights, both human and canine. There were numerous encounters, almost always friendly, with homeless people - many of whom looked forward to seeing the big, black dog.
When Lexie reached one year old, we walked twice daily instead of just mornings. During almost thirteen years, with the exception of when I was out of town, I can confidently say we didn’t miss more than 5-10 walks. the only exceptions were days when Lexie had an injury or illness, which was almost never. A few walks were shortened because I was in a bad mood or didn’t have sufficient time before work. Some walks turned into full-fledged adventures. Some were miserable. But the overwhelming majority, I wouldn’t trade. Any time I said, “Lexie, wanna go for a walk?” - her ears would pop up. When she was young, she would jump up and run to the door. When she was older, it would take a bit longer to get up but she would head out for a walk, every time. It seriously impressed me. As years passed, even when I thought my affection had peaked, I would become more and more amazed at my dog.
When Lexie was almost thirteen years old, we walked very slowly but her eyes were always bright and her nose sharp. One day, we ambled down a street toward our little apartment, a car slowed to a stop next to us. A woman who I’ve never seen, before or since, called out, “Excuse me, I wanted to tell you that I see you walking your dog all the time and how impressed I am at your patience.” In a perfect example of the old saying that "you don't know what people might be going through," this kind woman had no way of knowing the state of my emotions. That same day, a friend was saying goodbye to one of his dogs, who happened to be my second favorite dog in the world. One of my personal heroes had passed away that day, at only thirty-five years old. Lexie was hampered by an injured paw that we, unsuccessfully, had been trying to heal. Emotionally, I was frayed. The simple act of a stranger telling me that I had managed to do a good job of caring for my best friend made me immediately tear up. As a result, I mumbled something like, “Well, she’s always been a great dog” and spun around while walking away. I’m sure I looked like a fool but I didn’t want to completely break down in tears, in front of someone. I knew Lexie was approaching our goodbye and it was obvious that knowledge was already beginning to fracture something inside me.
After I said goodbye to Lexie, for weeks, I continued to walk because it was so hard-wired into my “normal” day. More than anything, walking is what I miss the most. In Heaven, there is almost nothing I look forward to as much as a long walk with my best friend.
Many of the following stories happened during our walks. Some were daily walks, some were hikes, but so many of my memories are melted into our walking together.
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| My best friend's big ole paw. |
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| Pawprints from some of the places we walked. In the future, I hope to collect them in a frame with location notes. |
Lexie got tall, fast. From the stubby little puppy, she grew into a lean, athletic, young dog. Our post walk game of racing quickly became a young dog embarrassing her pudgy owner. It was still fun. I can’t be sure but I think Lexie’s enjoyment and her smile was significantly bigger, as she won the race and bounced around afterward, while I gasped for air. She was not above gloating.
As she grew, Lex alternated between well behaved and...well...not so much. Even after I had her spayed, her energy level was still growing and seemed to often exceed her obvious effort to be a good dog. There were times when I swear I could see the thoughts battling through her brain...should I do what I want or should I obey?!
At about six months, we enrolled in a four-week training course, one session per week. She did well, for the most part, but it was really hard for her to stay still with all those other dogs around. At that time, she still wanted to sprint toward them and play. One lesson that I learned came from an older lady and her cocker spaniel. During the lesson regarding hand commands, the old lady (show-off), traversed the length of the floor while her dog laid down, walked forward, stopped, and stayed like a robot. Did I mention this was BEFORE the lesson even began? Based on the ease with which the dog did everything, I’m guessing this pretty little pooch had years of training. Prior to that day, I never knew people would use their dog as a means of petty superiority. I was still naive to the world of dog owners. While I've met very, very few dogs that I didn't like, the same cannot be said for their owners.
We were down to our final lesson, so I rushed home from school to pick up Lex and rushed to the training facility. Lexie was spun up from being home for half a day, so I was struggling to hold onto her as we approached the gated, training floor. The instructor barked at my lack of ability. The instructor barked a lot and rarely smiled...she was a peach. As my hyped-up dog got more animated from the proximity of other dogs, my control continued to fail. The instructor became more Nazi, finally exclaiming, “Maybe you should just take her outside and stop being such a disruption!” Now, perhaps I took that incorrectly, but I interpreted that sentence to mean that we got kicked out of our training course. As we walked toward the door we had so recently entered, I decided we had gotten very little out of these classes and didn’t need the blessing of a cranky, old shrew who no longer seemed to even enjoy dogs. We never went back.
My part-time job selling outdoor camping gear allowed me to get Lexie her own backpack. She got very excited every time I pulled the backpack out. Of course, when I put it on her, she often acted like she was being treated no better than a mule during the gold rush. On day hikes, it contained nothing besides a couple of dog treats and possible poop bags. And, even on camping trips, she carried only her food and a small fleece blanket that she slept on. Total weight at it’s heaviest: approximately 3 pounds for my 40-pound dog, during her first backpacking trip. She continued to add weight until she spent the majority of her life at approximately 93 pounds. Her pack weight never exceeded five pounds. As soon as I pulled it off her, she sprinted ahead like I removed plow yoke. Faker dog. But she knew, when she saw her backpack, we were going on an adventure.
On one hike, we passed a small stream that eddied into a small, but fairly deep, pool. I knew Labs and Goldens loved water so I let Lexie slide down the four-foot ledge and into the water for her first swim. I enjoyed seeing my dog swim. But, Lexie swam awkwardly and kept heading toward the bank. I thought she just needed a few seconds to figure it out and learn that her giant, webbed paws were designed for swimming. I kept watching and she continued to flounder while her eyes got wider. Finally, my denseness was shattered by the knowledge that my dog, swimming for the first time, was also wearing a backpack. A backpack that was now a lead weight as the saddlebags had filled with water. Immediately, I reached down, grabbed the handle on the top of the pack, and pulled her out of the water. Man, I’m an idiot! She wouldn’t truly swim again for a couple of years, always staying a wading depth. It was the first time I felt like I had failed my dog in some way. I hated that feeling. She was such a trusting, innocent soul and I got careless with her safety. It broke my heart.
Not long afterward, I felt the same feeling. It would also be the only time that I would punch a dog in the face.
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| Some Missouri train tracks on our normal walk. |
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| That stern expression was so misleading, Lexie was rarely serious about anything. |
Our normal walking route required about 40-60 minutes, much of which was along a paved bicycle route that split through a wooded area. As someone who knew nothing, I remember forcing Lexie, as a very little puppy, to walk in the grass next to the paved path. In my brain cell, I thought this might be easier on her joints. This extended to the time when we began walking off-lead. Remembering that I should develop trust between myself and my dog, I would start un-clicking Lexie during our walks down this path. Especially in the mornings, the path was pretty unpopulated and there was not a lot of danger nearby - just some wooded area that she liked to explore. She learned to stay on the side of the trail. When she didn’t, she went back on the lead. Well, except there was this one time.
We were both off the side of the trail. I had heard a person on rollerblades coming up behind us. As a habit, when anyone approached, I would tell Lexie to stop and sit. Mostly, she obeyed, to the disbelief of many of the people we met. As with any dog, or person, everyone has their quirks. One of those quirks for Lex was people who moved strangely. She grew up around bicycles and even wheelchairs/walkers, so those were fine. But skateboards, rollerblades, (cross-country skiers, we learned a few years later), those made her very nervous or excited, I couldn’t tell which. As I knelt down next to my dog, I placed my hand on her chest, to wait for the roller-blading lady to slide past. It seemed like an easy deal. But, as the lady got close, I looked up to make eye contact. At that precise moment, Lexie bolted forward and I missed my grab at her collar. Everything went into slow motion. My sweet, suddenly ornery, dog clipped the lady’s trail leg, which spun her around backward to land, quite ungracefully, on her butt and her hand. It appeared to be a pretty hard hit. Fortunately, the lady was unhurt, though I’m sure she ended up with a number of colorful bruises. Shockingly, she wasn’t as angry as I expected. I grabbed Lexie, who now simply wanted to play with her horizontal new friend. Once upright, the rollerblader continued on her way, with a grumble. Likely, she tells people about the big, black dog that nearly killed her. That’s how I would tell the story, if it were me.
One other time, however, I decided to walk a different route through some neighborhoods and link up with our bike path at a later junction. As we descended a hill, which crossed the bike path, we walked past the last house on that particular hill. The backyard for this house paralleled the road we were walking. As we passed, a very big golden retriever jumped off the back porch and sprinted toward Lexie and I. I didn’t know what was about to happen. Was this was an attack or a greeting? So, I placed Lexie behind me. The streets of Springfield have few sidewalks, especially in older residential neighborhoods. The big golden ran full speed down the hill, around me, and into Lexie’s side - knocking her into the two-foot ditch. He didn’t appear to be trying to bite Lexie but simply cross-checked her onto her side. Lexie landed with a yelp. Lex was never a vocal dog and rarely even barked. I had never heard her yelp. She was struggling to get to her feet. The golden was still pushing on her. I was trying to stay between them while trying to help Lexie get up. It was obvious, since neither myself or Lexie had been bitten, the golden wasn’t attacking. But, he was still a very big problem. Lexie couldn’t put any weight on her right, rear leg and the golden was still pushing and trying to get around me. At the sight of my dog being injured and the persistence of the golden retriever, I punched him squarely across the muzzle...hard.
Looking back, I regret it and wish I had a more rational thought process. But, seeing Lexie get hurt was a physical pain inside my chest. The golden retriever was surprised enough to back up a step. I grabbed a fistful of fur on his neck, with one hand, and Lexie’s collar, with the other, so I could maintain a distance between 150 pounds of dog. A car stopped and yelled, “Are you okay!?” As an idiot, who never wants to intrude on anyone, “Yeah, I think we’re alright now,” I panted.
The golden retriever had finally calmed down a little, so he was no longer pressing forward. Lexie was half-standing/half-sitting against the slope of the ditch. I got to my feet and pushed the golden away from us. I fought the urge to try and hurt the dog that hurt my dog. The golden simply paced around with a big grin on his face, which only increased my anger since Lexie was in pain. I didn’t know what to look for, but her leg didn’t appear broken or dislocated. Never the less, she was barely using it and we had about a 1/2 mile to get back home. I tried to carry her, but, from the time that she became an adolescent dog, she hated being picked up. She wriggled until I put her back down. Lexie was a tough, stoic dog and simply limped beside me as we headed down the bike path, toward home, slowly.
Unrelated side-note: Looking back, I smile at the similarity between Lexie and I. Regardless of what happens, we seem to keep walking. Often, it is with a limp, or a scar, or sadness, or without direction. Often, it is with a smile, or hope, or joy, or purpose. But, almost always, it is without a lot of display and most people couldn’t tell the difference. When it came to Lexie, I was always stunned when people would avoid her or think she was mean, simply because she was big, black, and had a consistently blank expression. It made me sad that they never took a second to learn that she was super sweet and possessed no mean bone in her body. Anyone who took a moment to know Lexie was better for having met my best friend. I suppose that is why I write all of this. I wish people to know about this amazing dog with a kind heart. Back to where I was...
The troublesome golden retriever had the audacity to start following us. I tried to shoo him away, yelling at him. I was still very angry. But, he just backed up and followed from about twenty feet. He kept following. When we got home, I placed Lexie in the car, so we could go to the vet. I went inside to call her doctor and explain what happened. He said to bring Lexie right over. I walked outside to find that freaking golden retriever still there. So, I put him in the backyard and headed to the vet clinic.
The vet brought Lexie back with her knee wrapped up, all the way to her paw. He said she had a luxated patella, which wasn’t a severe injury. Whew. He had put the patella back in place. Then, he broke into a long lecture about how the patella will continue to displace out of the groove in Lexie’s knee unless we do surgery to deepen that groove and yada yada yada, I had stopped listening. As a new dog owner, I rushed Lexie to the vet every time she had a runny nose, or I thought she swallowed a twig, or she just seemed to be acting strangely. Along with those visits, I determined this particular vet was a frustrated surgeon who performed “normal” vet duties, simply for the income. Too often, he recommended surgical solutions.
Each time, I said I wanted to wait a day or two and see how Lexie responded. Each time, I was stressed out and wondering if I was putting my dog at risk. Each time, Lexie was fine in a couple of days, from whatever ailment initiated the visit. In this specific instance, his recommendation felt very extreme, for a six-month-old, otherwise healthy, dog, who was still growing. The thought of my dog going into a significant surgery (his words), after only recently healing from her spay procedure, made me ill.
We never went back to that vet. She had stopped limping by the time we left the clinic and acted completely normal. I would diligently wrap up Lexie’s knee, try to limit her spastic outbursts, and watch her closely for a while. My thought was this: as Lexie got bigger and stronger, and if we could give her some time for the soft tissue connecting her patella to recover, she would heal naturally. The vet had shown me how to re-align her patella, if it displaced again. There were times when I doubted my decision, during the subsequent weeks and months. When Lexie would sprint and then come to a quick stop, she would often pull up, holding her leg in the air. Supporting her hips, I would hold her knee and slowly extend her leg straight back. Each time, I felt her patella slip back into place. Then, she would bolt forward like nothing had occurred. This happened often enough to make me worry that I messed up. But, the frequency happened less often. Then it stopped completely as she reached about 18 months. Fortunately, I had guessed correctly and our adventures were never affected by the overly exuberant golden retriever that blasted into her, on a casual morning walk.
Upon getting home, I still had to do something with the big-ass dog in the backyard, who, by now, had cleaned out Lexie’s food and water bowls. I took Lexie outside to see what would happen, which would determine if I was going to just dump him at the Humane Society or put in some effort to get him back home. Having calmed down, I found an excessively sweet (albeit ill-mannered) dog who simply wanted someone to play with him. He still wanted Lexie to play but, almost seeming to sense that she was hurt, he was much more gentle and considerate when he approached her. Considering how fat the boy was, I decided to call him Cartman. He didn’t care, as long as I was paying attention to him.
Keeping true to her nature, Lexie just ignored him.
So, I drove to Cartman’s house and knocked on the door. No answer. I found some paper, left my number and explained that I had their dog. No call that day, so I fed Cartman and left him in the back yard while keeping Lexie inside. He wasn’t mean but he could easily cause more damage, by accident. The next day, there was a message that Cartman didn’t live at that house and had simply shown up there, one day prior. Then, he had decided to hang out. Continuing, the message stated they didn’t have any desire to have a dog. Crap! So, the next day, I found a no-kill golden retriever rescue in a small town about 2-3 hours away. I told them the story and sent them pictures. They agreed to take him in but couldn’t pick him up for two days.
A couple of days later, an old, mini pickup pulled into the driveway. A little woman, who had to be 70 years old, rang the doorbell. I don’t even remember the name of the rescue or her name. But, this friendly old woman placed a slip-lead around a dog she had never met, who probably out-weighed her by twenty pounds, piled him into the cab of her little truck and began her long return drive. I was speechless at, quite frankly, her courage but also the unprovoked generosity she displayed. It was my first encounter with a dog rescuer. I am still incredibly impressed by her.
What I didn’t tell her: if I had kept Cartman for one more day...I would have kept him forever. Our introduction couldn’t have been much worse but he was a true golden retriever, sweet, funny, and impossible to not fall in love with. In just the few days that I cared for him, I was able to teach him a few ground rules. He adapted quickly and I was able to trust him and Lexie sharing the backyard together, without supervision.
Often, I have wondered where he ended up. I have no doubt that he found a home. He was a good boy. After many years where Lexie and I walked alone, I ached that she was alone so much while I worked. In perfect hindsight, I would have kept one of her West Virginia siblings so she would have had some company while I was away. But, I have no doubt that Cartman would have been a great companion for my best friend if I had the ability and foresight to make it happen. Ironic, this.
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| Destroyer of soccer balls. |
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| Got me a stick ! |
Ah, the family get-together....seldom are they worth the effort and we all miss them anyway. At some point, before Lexie had turned one year old, my oldest sister decided it was time for a group picnic, at a local park. Although the majority of the family, and most other people, had pretty much begun to ignore my large, gangly dog, my habit was to take her everywhere with me. So, I took the puppy to the family hoedown.
Why? I liked my dog. If I went to pick up a burger, in a drive-through, she went with me. If I went for groceries, she went. If I needed gas for the car, she went. If I could have kept her with me all the time, I woulda. I noticed when people crossed the street, after seeing Lexie coming down the sidewalk. I saw people stare, wide-eyed, at her as we passed. Then someone told me how black dogs are adopted at much lower rates than non-black dogs and that people are more prone to avoid black dogs. I learned that it had a name, the “black dog bias.” This all confused me considerably because my only dog was Lexie. I knew how sweet she was and couldn’t understand how anyone wouldn’t pick up on that, or, at least, give her a chance. I’m pretty protective...so, if you don’t like my dog, then I have no interest in you.
Anyway, back at the park, I took a 25-foot cable lead so Lexie could wander around a little. She was at an especially rambunctious stage, so I wanted to keep her staked to a general location. The park was busy, Lexie was struggling to stay out of trouble, but she was doing pretty well, all things considered. At one point, a young boy came up to pet her, which she was always excited about at that age. I don’t think any of my family paid any attention to her at all...not that I’m bitter. About thirty minutes later, Lexie was laying down, like she was supposed to, when the same boy ran right past her. This, of course, immediately pegged Lexie’s excitement meter, so she popped up and chased the kid. Upon reaching the twenty-five-foot terminus of the cable, Lexie didn’t even break stride as the clip snapped off. The kid skidded to a stop as soon as Lexie caught up to him. Then, even though it was the same dog that he approached and petted less than an hour earlier, now this kid acted like he was scared to death. Seriously?! She hadn't knocked him down, hadn't even touched him. Everyone my family gave me the stinkface and seemed offended that I had brought Lexie with me.
After calming everyone down, I reassembled the cable and got Lexie laid back down.
Only a few minutes later, my nephew’s little boy, who was about two years old, wandered over to pet my dog. Again, Lexie excitedly popped up. Within a few seconds, the cable was wrapped around the little boy, who fell down. Frustrated, I headed over to make sure no damage was done. But, one of my sisters (the boy's grandmother) had already teleported to the scene and yelled, “IT’S AROUND HIS THROAT!!” We unwrapped the cable, she picked up the entirely unharmed child. I grabbed Lexie by the scruff and headed to the car. The same sister yelled, again, “Don’t beat her, she didn’t know!” Yes, I have one of those sisters. Needless to say, there was no beating (ever). I, however, was done trying to keep my dog calm.
Looking back, I should not have even taken her, she was just too young for that much chaos and sensory input. Plus, she had rarely been leashed up, anywhere. So, it was just a bad decision on my part.
Years later, looking back, I was never particularly good at integrating Lexie into groups or places. I think as more people ignored her, as my Mom was increasingly angry with Lex (long story), and as more indicators were starting to point out my mistake at trying to re-invent my life, I chose to simply isolate Lexie and I.
I should probably feel bad about that. I don’t.
Hospital
When Lexie was about six months old, she was comfortably winning our little footraces. From the time that she was a puppy, she was easy to train and almost always listened when I asked her to do something. However, there were those moments when she simply decided she was not going to respond. Once, her obstinance converged with the fact that I was in an impressively bad mood. Normally, even if I started the day in exhaustion induced grumpiness, by the end of our walk my mood would substantially improve. That day, for reasons I cannot begin to remember, my disposition remained ugly.
Multiple times, I told Lexie to come with me so we could go inside. Every time, she ignored the fact that I existed. Finally, my patience left completely and the plan changed. Now my brain had switched to: I am going to carry you by the scruff of your disobedient neck and put you inside... like I freaking asked! I tightened the laces of my shoes. Lexie seemed to accept the challenge when she saw my body language had changed. She flexed her legs and lowered her body position. Now, it was on!
Every time I lunged, she dodged. I tried to cut down her angles of escape, she reversed and leaped in a different direction. Before I could get close enough to grab her, she bolted away. With ample space to maneuver, her quickness was more than superior to mine. Each time she moved away, I got more irritated. Finally, she made a mistake and the fence was directly behind her. My angle of approach cut off two other escape directions. Literally, I lunged straight forward. Lexie managed to jump straight backward in a maneuver that I never even knew was a possible option. She bounced off the fence and disappeared directly away from me.
That left me to land on a left elbow that connected to a left shoulder that had dislocated three times in the past. Unsurprisingly, this time made a full quartet.
In the past, my shoulder would slide back into place as soon as I got back to my feet from whatever tumble had put me in a predicament. This time, I had a 50-pound puppy who had suddenly changed her avoidance behavior to straight-up play mode. She always knew that if I was on the ground, it was time to wrestle. So, Lexie bounced crazily on and around me as I tried to get up. Finally, I used my good hand to grab the fence and drag myself to my feet. Less productive, I was disappointed to learn that my joint would not self-correct this time.
So, I walked inside and made another mistake. Finding my Mom finishing her preparation to go to church, I asked her to take me to the hospital instead. Explaining the situation with my shoulder pushed her into a panic. Her anxiety and nervousness made this process interminably worse, from the excessive rushing around to the inability to fill out the admission paperwork. I truly wish I had driven myself.
After check-in, the hospital personnel promptly deposited me on a bed. I could see the ER desk, full of gainfully employed hospital staff. This is where they left me for two hours. I could watch all the workers flirt with each other and discuss the latest reality tv but it seemed no one was available to x-ray the idiot with the dislocated shoulder. Of course, as the adrenaline wore off, the pain increased impressively. Helpfully, they wouldn’t even hand out an aspirin. And I asked.
Considering previous experiences, I figured how hard could it be to pull my shoulder back into its proper orientation? I had nothing else to do. Turns out, it’s more difficult than I thought. I failed, painfully.
Long story short, the crack hospital team eventually found time to do their job and I awoke to a nurse leaning over me, asking, “Are you awake?” Sent home in a particularly intrusive sling, once again, I had the joyful process of rehabbing my left wing.
I’m not positive but, when I got home, I’m pretty sure I saw Lexie look at me for an extra second and giggle under her breath, “Dumbass.”
New casa
During my first twelve months back in Springfield, I learned that I still did not care for the town where I was raised. More importantly, I failed at many of the more noble goals that I envisioned for returning. Arguably, the return to school was going relatively well, albeit exhausting. But, that wasn’t enough to keep me in Springfield. I decided that relocating to Colorado was the next stop. For some reason, I had an idea that I would finish my degree at Colorado State University, in Fort Collins, even though I had absolutely no connection to the school or the town. So, I found a room to rent in a 3 bedroom house and decided to return to the state of my birth. I would move after the Fall semester, allow six months to get established and return to school, at CSU, during the following Fall semester. That was the plan. The anxiety for doing so was substantial, due to an amazing lack of money. Basically, I had enough for a first month of rent, food for Lexie, and almost nothing else. I was hanging by a frayed string. This fact meant that I would have to ignore all my bills until I could secure a steady income. Arriving in Colorado, I carried in the few items I had brought in my car and tried to figure out what to do next. Two other people lived in the house. I never met them. I didn't have a bed so I simply rolled blankets onto the floor where Lexie and I would curl up. But, my stress level was increasing exponentially.
During our evening walk, on the third day in Fort Collins, I was thinking about life and praying. I grew up in church. I have been a Christian since the age of fourteen. I feel like I possess a decent level of intelligence regarding theology and religion along with a good relationship with God. That said, seldom does God seem to "spell out" a clear direction in front of me. In multiple decades since becoming a Christian, I have clearly heard/felt God’s specific direction in possibly 5-6 instances. Make of that what you will. This is unlike many modern Christians who claim God tells them what kind of dressing to put on their salad.
But, one of those times. was in Fort Collins. While walking Lexie past an empty grass lot on a small footpath and praying whether I had made the correct decision by moving to Colorado, I heard/felt this response, “This is not my way, this is not my time.” Honestly, it was a little unnerving in its clarity. I returned to Missouri, the next day.
So, back in Springfield, I knew I would need to change some things, in order to live there. My lovely, old Mother no longer considered my no-longer-a-puppy to be cute. For the first time in my life, our relationship was deteriorating. As a very independent adult man who had lived by my own rules for decades, I knew I would need to live somewhere other than my mother's house. Considering my financial condition, I had no idea how to make that happen.
But, I found a small house, near downtown. It wasn’t a great neighborhood but I had lived in much worse neighborhoods before. After six very long days of cleaning and painting, I finally moved in my stuff. Lexie gained a white stripe all the way down her side, from leaning against a freshly painted wall. It was nice to have some personal space again. But, there was no money.
This was the first time Lexie helped get me through a tough stretch. During the first month, I lost twenty pounds. In three months, I was down almost forty pounds. Needless to say, I was hungry constantly. Lexie never missed a meal, she was my highest priority because she hadn't asked to be in my life. She shouldn't be punished for it. We walked a lot as a way to reduce my thoughts about food. She often calmed me down when I was discouraged. Every day, she made me laugh. On a particularly beautiful weather day, I decided to leave Lexie in my fenced backyard, while I went to work. During lunch, I went home to put her back inside. She was gone.
Scare
I should have known better. The small backyard was fenced but it wasn't a particularly high fence. A nice, elderly man lived next door. Every time that he was doing yard work or simply present in his yard, my exuberant young dog leaped the low fence as easily as she placed one paw in front of the other. As Lexie aged, she became less interested in people and other animals. But, as a young dog, she loved meeting new people and therefore simply HAD to go see the kind, old man next door, whether he wanted to see her or not. Fortunately, he would smile and pat her on the head.
So, I should have known not to leave Lexie outside, by herself. In my mind, I thought she would choose to stay in the yard since she was accustomed to my leaving for work, school, etc. She wasn’t a runner. But, we probably hadn’t been in this house long enough for her to actually consider it as “home.”
After looking all through the yard, the garage, and yelling her name, I admit, I panicked. Bad. Dressed in khakis and button-up shirt, I grabbed Lexie’s leash and literally ran out the door. I just started running through the neighborhood, yelling her name. I assumed she might follow our walking route so I started that direction. I stopped everyone I passed and asked if they had seen a big, black dog. “No,” “no,” no one had seen her. I stopped by the ice cream shop to ask the lady who knew what Lex looked like, again... “no.” I ran for an hour. I told my job that I wasn’t coming back until I found my dog. Desperately, I tried to push out the knowledge that I lived only a few blocks from major, busy streets. I knew Lexie didn’t possess any car sense. She simply crossed any street she felt like crossing, if I wasn't directing her. Sick to my stomach, I was afraid I would run up on a black dog crumpled against a curb.
I ran back to the house, unsure which direction to go next. Suddenly overcome by guilt, I called the ex-girlfriend and fell apart while trying to apologize for losing my birthday gift. Irrational, sure. But, I was fractured inside and didn’t know how to find my dog. Inexplicably, the ex was completely calm and joked that Lexie probably just got bored and went out to find a date. Not only was that unhelpful, it made me truly angry. Evidently, no one knew how important Lexie was to me.
Then, it suddenly occurred to me that the phone number on Lexie’s tag wasn’t my cell phone. It was my mother’s landline number. Since my cell phone number often changed, I had used my mom's home number, which had been the same since the beginning of time. I jumped in the car and drove dangerously fast across town. Her answering machine (yes, she still had one) was blinking. I hit the “play” button and listened to the first words, “I think we have your dog...” I lack any ability to explain how I felt when I heard that Lexie was okay and safe. Scribbling the address, I exploded back out the door. I’m pretty sure that as I drove, I said, out loud, “I’m on my way, Lexie.”
Up to that point, if I had any doubt at the importance of that big, black, goofy dog, to my life, it was crystallized and permanent when I thought she was gone. She was my best friend. If I lost her, I don’t know how I would have gotten through it. That sounds hyper-dramatic but it wasn’t just that she would have been gone but that it would have been my fault. That was always my biggest fear: being responsible for causing my dog harm. So, it is impossible for me to communicate how relieved I was, as I drove.
The address took me to an industrial location, which I think was some kind of city utility warehouse or something. I pulled in the gate and saw a black blob pop to her feet. I jumped out of the car and Lexie was trotting toward me like “Hey man, what are you doing? Check out where I am, made some new friends. What’s up, you look stressed?” The workers who saw her wandering around had walked her to this lot and secured a rope to her collar. I might have broken a rib when I hugged her, using all my resolve not to cry in front of these strangers. The ordeal had lasted approximately three hours for Lexie. For me, it was an eternity.
In the coming months, I tried to better secure the backyard. I kept failing. In my tiny brain, I knew Lexie enjoyed being outside and I wanted to provide her that opportunity. I should have simply kept her inside every day. But, she was inside during most days so I kept trying to give her a little variety and freedom. On most days, Lexie had learned to stay in the yard. Fortunately, I had neighbors who, by now, had met Lexie and kept an eye on her. In sketchy neighborhoods, there are often people who spend their days without jobs, hanging out on porches or in garages. Several times, I came home to find Lexie locked on my screened-in porch and a cooking pot filled with water that one of the neighbors had placed for her. I was grateful for their kindness. Lexie never once showed any sign of remorse. Jerk dog.
Scare 2
When I was living in the same house where I thought I lost Lexie, we had another moment of terror, for me.
I knew that most people, and/or something I read, recommended that exercise should be limited and controlled until they reach the one-year-old mark. As I mentioned before, the months spent in that little house were pretty tough financially. Anyone who has gone through that kind of struggle knows that keeping busy is paramount for staying distracted from being hungry. Any activity is good activity. At the end of the street was a decently-sized cemetery. It was quiet and contained a perimeter road, located inside the outer wall. So, I decided to start jogging with my buddy who had a tremendous amount of energy. A tired dog is a good dog, remember.
One particular day, I was especially stupid so I thought we would jog in the afternoon. When I say we go jogging, it isn’t like I was training for an ultramarathon. I would jog, slowly, for 2-3 miles. After each one mile loop, we would stop and drink some water. It was nice because cemeteries are typically empty, relatively scenic, and provide mental stimulation by wondering about the stories of the people buried there. So, after walking to the cemetery, I found a shady cove in a tree trunk to store my gallon jug of water and Lexie’s portable water bowl. Off we went like a herd of turtles.
After the second loop, Lexie was jogging a little behind me and seemingly bored. Obviously, she could run circles around me, at that time. At the 2.75 mile mark, Lexie stopped and laid down. She was panting extremely hard and absolutely refused to get up. Suddenly, it occurred to me that it wasn’t just hot - it was excruciatingly hot. Lexie had never stopped on a walk or jog before. She had never refused to get up. Panic set in. What had I done to my young dog?! How could I be so stupid?!
I didn’t even have my water bottle. I tied Lexie's lead to a sapling nearby and started sprinting to where I left the water. Snatching it, I ran as fast as possible to get back to Lexie. I filled her bowl and she sucked it down in large, noisy splashes. Adding to my stupidity, a thought burst into my mind - I had no money. How do I even take my dog to the vet? What am I going to do? When she stopped drinking, I used the rest of the water to soak my shirt and placed it on the bare skin of Lexie’s belly. We sat in the shade and I watched... for what? I didn’t even know what signs to look for that might let me know Lexie was getting better, or worse. Slowly, I saw her breathing become slightly less violent and slightly slower. We waited.
Having endured heat exhaustion a few times, I knew that any movement, no matter how mild, would spike her heart rate again. Finally, I picked Lexie up so her heart wouldn’t jump back up. We started the slow walk home, my mind wondering if she was going to be okay or if I had caused permanent damage to my best friend. True to form, Lexie hated being picked up so we hadn’t gone far before she was wriggling and wanting to be put down. Tentatively, I set her down and she walked normally next to me. Very slowly, we walked home and my tough dog reminded me how smart and tough she really was.
Looking back, I don’t know how distressed she was that day. She never showed any residual effect. Instead, she was her crazy, bouncing self by the end of the day. We took it easy for a few days, to salve my conscience and allow Lexie to recover.
She was pretty unhappy with our shortened and slower walks. So, when I let her out in the backyard, she would tear around like a dervish. I smiled.
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| Pretty much the expression that I got every time I tried to take a picture. |
Dumb drunk people
Downtown Springfield, like many small towns, had a “square” that constituted the center of commerce in years gone by. Like many towns, as the city grew, the downtown area became a catacomb of empty stores.
To me, the downtown that was/is the Springfield “square” was always an interesting place, during all of its stages. When a child, I remember that it was a cool place of businesses and people, before the influx of giant inside malls and smaller strips malls. When it became a desolate collection of empty buildings, it was even more interesting, albeit more dangerous. The drug dealers, disenchanted youth, and homeless population were the primary visitors. In some way, abandoned buildings are more intriguing than those which are occupied.
Like many communities, a movement to revitalize Springfield’s downtown began remodeling, repainting, and repopulating the empty buildings. Like many of these restoration movements, bars and restaurants were the first to offer new service.
Lexie and I lived nearby so we often walked around the “square.” I was able to look at the juxtaposed “progress” of new businesses opening their doors and remaining darkness of old architecture that would likely stay empty. Lexie’s hyper-sensitive nose had decades of history to learn. Win/win.
One weekend evening, when human traffic was always at its peak, we were strolling along. A slurred screech erupted from our left, “Puppy!! I love puppies!” A girl, who had to be several years shy of legal drinking age, was making a beeline for Lexie. Lexie responded with an immediate surge of excitement as she closed in. Drunkgirl bent at the waist to pet Lexie. Lexie, with a completely different idea, decided to jump straight up into this girl’s chin with sixty pounds of canine spastic-ness. It looked like Mike Tyson had landed a #4 uppercut. To further support her inebriated condition, she bent backward like a character from “the matrix” and never fell down. Rather, she straightened up with a giggle and stumbled toward the door of a bar. Having been on the receiving end of a couple of Lexie headbutts, I have bled a few times as a result. I wonder how drunkgirl's chin felt the next morning...with a hangover.
Lest it appear that I lack proper dog training skills (I do), in a normal situation I would have made her sit down before greeting a stranger and corrected her if she had jumped on (or, in this case “into”) said, stranger.
But, I have zero empathy for people who are excessively drunk. I figure they deserve most of what comes their way. So, I just laughed while Lexie and I walked away. I think I heard Lexie snicker.
Odd behavior
Even at a young age, Lexie was pretty consistent and predictable. I knew where she had issues to work on and where she was almost bulletproof. But, she would still surprise me on occasion.
The midwest United States of 'Merica has some impressive storms that range from those super cool tornadoes (sarcasm) that demolish people's lives to, my favorite, dramatic thunder and lightning storms. I loved watching the black night sky crack and fire off jagged streaks of light. Lexie disagreed. From a puppy, for whatever reason that animals become afraid of things, she was terrified of thunder. I tried everything to calm her fear. It was heartbreaking to see her lay and shake when thunder was rattling the walls.
One particular spring day, I left work and headed for a local hospital to visit my brother in law. Several family members were there. As we talked, my nephew arrived to visit his father and greeted the room with a "Man, it's death from above out there!" Finding out a huge storm had rolled in as I was insulated in the hospital room, I panicked. I had left Lexie outside. She had a dog house but I was tortured at the thought of her huddling in the back, shaking hysterically, while the sky attacked overhead. Or worse, had fear-driven her to jump the fence to try and run away from the terror? I ran out of the hospital and drove far too fast. I jumped out of the car and sprinted around the house to, more quickly, get to the backyard. My heart was splitting and pounding. I rounded the corner petrified by what I might see, or not see. I jumped over the gate.
Lexie was laying quietly in the middle of the yard, in the rain, with a totally serene expression on her face.
My frantic running caught her attention and she casually stood up to greet me....just like every other freaking day! She wasn't even slightly afraid. Yet, the remainder of her life, she was terrified of thunder. This reinforced just how much I do not understand dogs. But, I didn't care because all of my doomsday scenarios were wrong and my dog was completely fine. Wet, very, very wet but fine.
In that same general time span, I was sitting inside studying. Lexie had decided to hang out in the backyard during a sun-filled and beautiful windless day. I have mentioned that Lexie was not a barking dog. She seldom made noise aside from the sudden, excited barking when someone would ring the doorbell or knock on the door. So, it took a while to register when I heard the faint bark. I assumed it was a neighbor's dog. But, it got a little more frequent and a little louder. "Wait, was that outside? Is that Lexie?" was the inner dialogue of my brain. I glanced through the window and saw Lex walking across the yard with purpose. But, she wasn't barking so I thought she may have spotted something next door and was going to investigate why the neighbor's dog was barking. I sat back down.
"Woof," was the deep bark that was now a full-throated sound that had to be my big, black dog. I looked out the window again. Lexie's gait had become nervous stalking as she paced back and forth across the yard. She was looking up and intermittently barking. It reminded me of her fear of the sky when she was tiny.
I walked outside, knowing that the very power of my presence (sarcasm) would calm my worried dog. Wrong, she barely glanced in my direction while continuing her rather predatory behavior. It was the first time that I saw Lexie display anything more intimidating than genial goofiness. She was very serious about something. I looked around, I looked up, trying to find the reason for Lexie's unrest. I still didn't see it. I walked further out into the yard and finally saw the antagonist to my dog's pro: slowly rising above the house's roofline was the multi-colored silk of a hot air balloon. And my dog HATED it! I never figured out if it was the sound from each burst of flame to raise the balloon or if it was simply the existence of something in the sky that was not supposed to be there that so outraged my dog. Lexie loved everything but she wanted to fight that hot air balloon!
During her entire life, if there was a balloon in the sky, Lexie would oppose it, angrily and vocally. My kind-hearted best friend hated hot air balloons and did not care what you thought about her position on the matter.
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| All fast-twitch muscle and young dog curiosity. |
But, I had met the best friend I would ever have, in the form of a four-legged mutt. My whole life, I wanted to live near mountains. So, it was, again, time for attempting a move Colorado.
I sold most of what I owned in a garage sale. More painfully, I sold my motorcycle to a particularly shady fellow, who was arrested one day after purchasing my bike. I was able to pay off most of my debt and had just about enough left over for the move, a down payment, and first month’s rent.
I searched craigslist for hours. I learned Fort Collins seemed to be, single-handedly, trying to keep marijuana imports into the US at an all-time high. Finally, I found a place that wasn’t “420 friendly” (puke). I sent my deposit to rent a room in a two-bedroom townhouse that appeared nice enough. Pleasantly located on the west side of town, this made it closer to the mountains. I was able to register for classes in a community college and felt like I was much better prepared for this move.
I was anxious to get the next step in my life started and couldn’t wait to take Lexie on hikes in some actual mountains, with the smell of pine trees in the air.
Then, like always, Missouri kicked me in the face. A massive ice storm rolled through on the day before I was scheduled to leave. Missouri never seems to get snow, like it did when I was a child. It gets freezing rain, which coats everything in sheets of ice. It’s nearly impossible to drive on. For two days, I was stranded. And angry.
Finally, on the third day, I decided I was going to risk it and leave. Probably, it was a stupid decision since I had Lexie with me and my car was terrible in the winter. I had already shipped my few possessions to Colorado in a container. I packed a few things in the car, loaded up my best friend, and headed into the gray-skied coldness.
Progress was slow but we were moving. Kansas is even more mind-numbingly boring when driving slow and white-knuckling the steering wheel. It took every bit of concentration I possessed to stay inside the snow tracks. Visibility was terrible, with a very high wind blowing snow from every direction. The windshield looked like a tunnel of white streaks. At that time, Lexie still traveled pretty well. It seemed that old Camaro was the only car where she didn’t panic while driving. Somewhere in the middle of Kansas, we found a cheap hotel. I snuck Lexie inside since it wasn't “dog-friendly.” Like always, Lexie was so quiet and well-behaved, they never knew I was breaking the rules. The next day’s drive wasn’t as bad. The freeway had cleared a bit so the stress level dropped and, once again, excitement for Colorado entered the picture. Crossing the KS/CO border was a great feeling, tempered by the fact that the geography looked exactly like Kansas. For hours. I expected some kind of change to the horizon but it was flat for a frustratingly long time.
Finally, there appeared ripples in the distance and gradually the Rockies grew closer and closer. I didn’t know what to expect when I arrived in Fort Collins, a second time, but I looked forward to what lay ahead. Metaphorically and literally, I felt like I was going home. Hovering over my shoulder, Lexie’s big, black head stared out the windshield as intently as my own. Maybe it was the weeks of me holding her face in my hands and excitedly asking, “Lexie, want to go to the mountains?!” Every time, her tail would wag with abandon and her eyes would open a little wider. Maybe, she sensed that we were approaching a place that is perfect for a dog who loves nothing more than an empty ribbon of dirt and an adventure. Maybe we were both just made for this.
More than ever, it was Lexie and I headed into a completely unknown future, with only the two of us to trust. We were both okay with it.
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| An old camaro seemed to be the only vehicle where Lexie was comfortable while traveling. |
The place was actually decent, bedrooms downstairs and living room/kitchen upstairs. The backyard was fenced and facing the stadium parking lot. Introductions completed, I grabbed Lex from the car. She, with her normal excitement and unflappable personality, eagerly strolled into the new place and then froze on the entry landing.
There was something about the stairs, which went either up or down, that freaked her out. Even with coaxing, she would just stare at me and whine. So, I carried her upstairs. She overcame the fear eventually but it took some work. We had the same issue with the stairs leading from the living room to the backyard. It was strange because Lexie rarely hesitated at anything.
Prior to our arrival, Fort Collins had been crushed by a huge snowstorm. While the roads had been cleared, many backyards had simply stayed frozen. To my dismay and frustration, our new home had a few feet of snow where the previous dog owner never picked up after his dog. So, my first activity in Colorado was hours of shoveling to provide some kind of clean area for Lexie to use the bathroom. I’m certain the current residents thought me insane as I spent hours in the cold, filling up full-sized garbage bags with dog waste/snow/dirt. Four full-sized garbage bags! But, finally, there was a clean patch of frozen ground bordered by head-high piles of snow. It wasn’t the most glamorous beginning but we had a home and that’s all we needed.
From the first day, Lexie fit in Colorado. Facing another huge change in her life, she never blinked. On our walks, we ran around in the snow where our game of throwing snowballs at her raised to a whole new level. Now 2 ½ years old, Lexie was a fully mature dog at the peak of her athleticism. She would display this fact on frequent occasions. Catching lobbed snowballs, she would jump high in the air to explode them between her snapping jaws. Errant tosses, she would chase down and pounce on where they disappeared into the soft Colorado powder. Rolling in the snow took on a whole new, vigorous effort of uninhibited joy. Often, we both were covered in snow by the end of our walk. We wrestled and ran (she was fast, I was slow). She would jump up and plant both big paws on my chest and I would kiss her muzzle before she sprinted off again. The skies were unnaturally blue. The clouds floated by and seemed whiter than normal. The ever-present sunlight glistened off Lexie’s shiny black coat. A lot of challenges lay ahead but we were a man and his dog, happily starting a new adventure.
On one of our early walks, I decided to re-visit an old game. When Lexie was growing up, I took off her leash as often as possible, so she could enjoy more autonomy and we could build our trust. On the Missouri bike path, we worked on voice commands to keep her off the paved path and in the grass. She listened well.
Often, when someone was approaching, I could tell Lexie to stop/sit and she would obey. It amazed a lot of passers-by. Even when she chose not to obey, I wasn’t concerned because it was the exception rather than the rule. When she wandered a bit too far ahead, sometimes, I would hide behind a tree to learn if my dog would simply keep walking, break for freedom, or come back to find me. From the first attempt, she glanced around and then started trotting back down the path to sniff me out. Now in Colorado, in a new setting, I thought it might be a good time to play that same game. Lexie had wandered ahead and I had a perfect opportunity to duck behind a large mound of snow where I could see her but she couldn’t see me. When she realized I wasn’t behind her, she glanced around like normal. I smiled. Then something completely unexpected happened.
Lexie’s eyes changed and something I’d never witnessed hit them. Panic. Her head whipped around and her eyes got big. She started to move but confusion sunk in. She was trying to go different directions, all at the same time. My heart broke and I jumped up. She ran toward me and I gave her a big hug while repeating, “I will always come back.” It's the same thing I said every time I had to leave her behind. Aside from her fear of thunder and failed first swim, that was the only time I saw fear in Lexie. Knowing that I caused it, hurt me in some very deep place inside. I never hid from her again.
Our first few days in Fort Collins confirmed that we were home and new adventures awaited. Of course, there are always challenges. One of those challenges in Colorado: the Park Ranger nazis. We were just about the be introduced.
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| I think this was the first photo of Lexie in Colorado. She seemed pretty happy with her new home during our walk around the old Sonny Lubick stadium. |
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| My dog loved the snow in any available quantity. |
By the time I was close enough to see the uniform, he was motioning for me to come in his direction. I called Lexie over and told her to lay down. She did. He began the interrogation as though I had just dropped a bomb on a pre-school. “Do you know we have leash laws and your dog must be on a leash at all times?!” I tried the nice guy/clueless newcomer route. “I’m sorry. I just moved to town and was just taking my dog for a walk.” With a completely over-inflated sense of self-importance, he started the barrage of data collection, “What is your name? Do you have identification? Where do you live? How long have you been here? What are you doing up here?”…
As he was doing so, a snow-shoer came trotting past and yelled, “I hope you didn’t give him your real name! He’s not a cop. He can’t do anything.” Super Ranger replied, suddenly sheepish, “That wouldn’t be a good idea. Mumblemumblemumble.” Sadly, I had already passed along my information. It was clearly evident that local residents knew the Park Rangers were complete a-holes.
So, my almost perfect morning of walking my dog through deep snow on a quiet morning, in my new home, with no one around to bother us, turned into a $50 fine and an absolutely ruined day. This was due to nothing other than a prick with some self-conceived authority and an obvious desire to destroy the pleasure of someone else. So badly, I wish that snow-shoer had come past a few seconds earlier. I’m honest to a fault but I wish nothing more than to have lied to that jackass of a ranger.
Lexie was simply annoyed that her fun had been interrupted and now we were walking home, awkwardly, on a lead. She probably thought she had done something wrong that necessitated the leash. Minutes earlier, her owner was wrestling her in the snow and throwing snowballs at her, now, he was stomping down the hill without even talking. Sadly, this wasn’t the last time we got to meet the Larimer County rangers.
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| She never seemed to get cold and loved having snow crunch under her paws. |
A great deal of full-time employment resides within the college, tech industry, or medical industry. Or, the true bloodstream of Fort Collins is the service industry populated by part-time workers who are students at CSU. As a result, jobs fell into two groups: skilled and specialized or minimum wage service industry. The students compensated by sharing living spaces with other students thereby cutting costs so their life’s mandatory necessities were covered: beer and weed.
As someone who had completely different necessities and hated sharing a living space with anyone other than my dog, employment was a challenge and money was in short supply. Again. So, work schedules were constantly in flux.
A majority of our daily walks happened around the old CSU football stadium. It was convenient, close, offered multiple route options, and was primarily deserted. There were exceptions, of course.
One night, by the time I got home, our walk was completely after night-fall. Like everything, Lexie adapted to my ever-changing schedule without a blink. As long as I came home often and she got to go outside, she was happy. Of course, black dog disappeared from view pretty quickly into the darkness. Such was the trust between us that I rarely worried. Every time I called, she would quickly appear from the black environment. Any time she didn’t respond, I usually found her devouring some nasty left-over tailgating food from the football crowd. Gross...sure, but she had the nose of a retriever and the stomach of a goat so we just kept walking.
This particular night, while Lexie was off exploring, I saw a blur of gray fur explode out of the tall grass and fly past me. It was a pit bull at a full sprint. I didn’t know any pit bulls in the neighborhood and immediately feared that it was headed for my dog. It was.
Fortunately, my fear was unfounded as he just wanted to play. Following behind the pit bull was the very definition of a stereotype. He was white, 20s, every third word was profanity, bad tattoos, jeans that were 5 sizes too big, and “wife-beater” tank-top to crown the ensemble. But, to prove stereotypes are often wrong, he seemed like a decent kid who took good care of his dog. As we talked for a while, I found out why. He picked up the dog as a young rescue. Mr. stereotype had a very bad case of diabetes. So bad, he would occasionally blackout which was life-threatening if not treated quickly. He had no family in town. This rescue dog, so maligned due to the breed, began to sense this man’s oncoming diabetic seizures and warn him in time to take his shot of insulin. The dog was never trained to do so. Instinctively, he self-learned this behavior as a way to care for his owner. The gratitude was obvious. I was very glad this guy and this dog had found each other.
To give Lexie more variety with her walks, and an excuse for me to explore some of the town, we would try to find new places to visit. Someone told me about “City Park.” Unoriginal name aside, it was a very nice park that was close to our apartment. As both a blessing and a curse, the park was often full of people. People who, nonchalantly, often brought food to the park. I, conversely, brought a dog who would jump out of a plane for a skittle. In Lexie’s brain, she identified any person or group of persons as potential food donors. I have forgotten how many times I was chasing Lexie to try and keep her from plunging into a crowd of picnickers who were both amused and visibly scared of the 90-pound black dog running straight at them.
While Lexie was a fantastic, well-behaved dog, her decision to ignore my commands in instances such as these was her one bad attribute. She wasn’t the least bit timid either. Lexie would plow straight into the middle of any couple or crowd, tail wagging furiously. She wasn’t a thief, however. She would never grab food from someone. If Lexie discovered something edible, she immediately sat down and eagerly waited. Well, … there was one time.
Lexie’s intelligence had improved. There wasn’t someone or a group of someones but my dog had spotted a large blanket spread out gracefully in the grass along with a radio and cooler. I was confused as she raced toward the abandoned blanket. Then I saw it. Whoever had vacated this blanket, for whatever reason, had left behind a bowl full of cookies. They didn’t stand a chance any more than I did of catching Lexie.
By the time I got there, the bowl was empty amidst a dust cloud of crumbs. Obviously pleased with herself, Lexie was scanning for other items of un-chaperoned foodstuffs. I caught her collar and led her away before getting caught. I just laughed out loud and didn’t even feel bad.
One particularly perfect Colorado afternoon, Lexie and I were wandering around the park. Considering how nice the day, City Park was relatively uncrowded. Lexie was keeping out of mischief and I was casually chatting with other dog owners. In the middle of the park was a shallow hill. It was upon this hill that some psychotic little bird buzzed directly over Lexie’s head. Lexie, duly challenged, hopped up and gave chase. Lexie liked this game. I, immediately, thought that this could be trouble. There was no way that I could catch my dog at full sprint and I feared her chase instinct might over-ride any other senses. To my surprise, the bird banked hard right and circled back over Lexie’s head. Lex jumped, missed, and continued to chase. For the next twenty minutes, this game continued as bird and dog crisscrossed this small hilltop. I was both surprised at both animal’s endurance and highly amused by this game of air-to-ground tag. I don’t think I stopped smiling during the entire episode.
Finally, Lexie’s energy waned and the bird, losing her playmate, flew away. I cannot remember this day without smiling at one of the best examples of my care-free, happy dog.
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| Lexie seemed convinced she would catch this crazy flying thing. The bird knew better but seemed to enjoy watching the big, black ground dweller run. All of these pictures were from that game of catch me if you can. |
Surprised gentleness
I love most things about those colorful, airborne insects (the only insect for which I hold any fondness). Lexie, noticing my attention was focused on something, wandered over to investigate. The bright yellow and black butterfly that I was stalking immediately took flight. The sudden motion flipped Lexie’s reflex trigger. She jumped straight up and snatched the poor over-matched butterfly out of mid-air. Completely shocked by her successful hunt, my dog’s face truly showed an expression of surprise. When her front paws touched down, she opened her big ole maw and, likely severely traumatized, off flew the butterfly.
Lexie was such an athletic and quick dog. But, inside that big bundle of muscle and bone was the most kind-hearted soul that I’ve had the privilege to share life’s space.
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| My best friend with a feather on her head. This is one of my favorite pictures and always makes me smile. |
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| I'm pretty sure she is trying to decide where to run next. |
It was early evening by the time we got dinner finished and the tent set up. So, we spent the evening chatting. After sorting out the sleeping arrangements, Lexie was having her typical episode of restlessness when sleeping inside a tent. It was pitch-black and quiet. In the darkness, I hear a loud, “Oooff!” from my tent mate. Lexie stepped all 90 pounds of her weight right in the middle of my unsuspecting friend's stomach. At the time, I was slightly embarrassed. Now, I smile every time I think of it. Eventually, Lexie settled in and we got a decent night’s sleep.
The next morning, we headed out early for a nice but longer than anticipated hike. It was a good way to start a friendship as there is little to do besides tell stories about our lives.
The hike included a pool of water, a burbling creek, an old cabin, and nice rolling terrain. The final climb was a bit longer than ideal but nothing is perfect. Lexie got to wander, lay in the water, stomp around the creek, and generally run amok. It was a great dog day.
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| Trying to determine the best place to lay down. |
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| Playground for dogs. And people who like to be outside. |
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| Dog on a trail with water. Good times. |
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| I wish I knew the history of this cabin. I don't. |
This particular day, we decided to hike a trail called Grey Rocks, north of Fort Collins. I had read a little about it and looked through some pictures. As an “up and back” hike, the chance of getting lost on this new trail seemed unlikely and it looked like a fun walk. It was. For me, it was a difficult hike as it continued to gain elevation. To Lexie, it was simply fun. We saw few people which was a plus. The weather was snowy but sunny and nice. Like most of the hikes that we went on, it was a man and his best friend, exactly what I hoped when we moved to Colorado.
Grey Rocks is interesting because, as the name implies, there is a massive grey, granite peak where the trail is pointed. At the base of this giant mound, the trail stops being dirt and becomes a bit difficult to follow. Fortunately, hikers, being the resourceful bunch they are, stacked up rock cairns to point the way as it wrapped around the east side of the mountain top. Then, it abruptly heads up a very steep, relatively long, rock scramble to the top of the “grey rock.” When we arrived at the base of the scramble section, I was sad. Certain that it was a very bad idea for me to continue, we would need to turn around without reaching the summit. That is always disheartening after a long, hard hike. I knew Lexie could never get up the tangle of stone and cracks. I didn’t want to leash her to a rock and selfishly leave her behind so I could see the view from the peak.
Like I said, we were alone up there. A lot of people do not like to hike in the snow and cold. So, if one of us got injured, it would be a problem. It was very unlikely that anyone would come along. There was no cell service. I didn't have an e-beacon. So, we would be completely left to get out on our own. I carried a few supplies but nothing to handle a broken bone or head injury. If she were hurt, trying to carry my 90# dog for roughly four miles didn’t sound appealing. But, my mindset on every adventure: we both come out or neither of us come out.
The risk was simply too high. There were too many places to make a mistake and fall. I had to do the smart thing (rare for me) and turn around. It was still a great hike. While processing all of these thoughts, I looked over at Lexie, who came to a completely different conclusion. In an instant, she bounded up the rocks in front of us like she was chasing a flying burrito. From the top, she looked down with a pleased expression. Looking up, I was amazed at how agile and strong was this big, goofy animal. So, up I went. I was far less graceful and considerably slower. But, we both made it up the rock scramble which, like many things once accomplished, was not quite as daunting as it appeared.
I’m glad my buddy made our decision to continue. The true appeal of the grey rocks hike lay at the summit. From the start of the trail, or even the bottom of the scramble, a person wouldn’t guess that the summit consists of a huge, flat area containing trees and shallow collection of rainwater. Lexie was excited about the giant water bowl and we both enjoyed exploring this little, surprise oasis on top of a granite mountain. The view was a spectacular, 360 degrees. This was a worthy hike. Lexie and I made this trek several times while living in Fort Collins.
Even though it was a difficult hike for me, especially when carrying an over-night pack of gear. The solitude and beauty on the summit were simply too good. Once, on the overnight trip, I conned a friend to join us.
I have a lot of memories while hiking with Lexie. This is one of those prominent, etched memories that always bring a smile to my face. She was at the peak of her strength. Life was really tough in those days, but few things were as enjoyable as hiking with my best friend. I watched her experience life in a focused fullness that we, as humans, seem to struggle reaching.
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| Sun setting during the hike out. |
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| Giant meadow before the ascent to the summit. |
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| Looking east from the summit of Grey Rock trail. |
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| From below, there is simply no way to guess the top of the big rock would offer such a big area with trees, water, and fantastic views. |
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| Sketchy section on the way up. |
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| This is how I felt the majority of the time during our walk around this planet. |
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| While hiking, it was always a challenge to get Lexie to stop long enough for a photo. |
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| She was pretty much fearless, even when I wished she would be more cautious. Yes, that is a very long, sheer drop over her left shoulder. |
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| Lexie loved the pond on the summit. |
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| Campfire and my best friend. |
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| Sun eater. |
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| Zero hesitation, Lexie was a stud on the trail. |
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| I am relatively certain (pretty sure) she didn't know to look for the rock cairns to follow the trail. But she never had trouble finding the route. |
New setting, again
Our home accommodations were both good and bad. The location was nice, the actual apartment/townhome was nice, and the rent was doable. But, the roommate situation was...odd. At best. Like I mentioned, I moved into a townhouse where one existing resident left for a mountain town while the other resident stayed. The left-over was a nice enough guy but strange. He had no job. Evidently, he didn't look very hard for a job. He almost never came out of his room. Until, one random day, he told me that he had decided to move back to Chicago. Within days, he was gone. I cannot tell you his name or pick him out of a lineup. Fortunately, there was a potential new roommate in short order. Again, nice guy but another odd duck. In his sixties, I heard from multiple sources, he was a talented musician. He had spent many years on cruise ships but now got through life by playing local gigs. It wasn't long before I knew that I had to leave. So, I found a small apartment that was about 100 feet from the CSU campus. Lexie and I moved into this small space where I was happy, again, to live alone.This provided a whole different palette of choices for our twice a day walks. We fell into a rhythm of walking in a nearby field, before work. Then, walked around the campus, in the evenings. Both options provided interesting experiences and new friends.
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| Big, fuzzy paw of my best friend |
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| Every morning since she was tall enough to reach, this is how I woke up. I think I smiled every time. |
Things that scare my fearless dog
In addition to being essentially unflappable, Lexie was scared of very few things. Like many dogs, if she noticed something different in a familiar setting, she would sneak up on it until she could determine whether it is friend or foe. She would, occasionally, balk at a new staircase. The only consistent aversion for my big, athletic dog were bridges. She didn't like them. Each time we were faced with a bridge, Lexie would try and find a way to go around or under it. If that wasn't an option, it was a slow process to get my dog to baby step across it. If the bridge had gaps in the footing, it was a higher challenge.However, there were a couple of exceptions near our new home location. It revealed behavior I had never witnessed from Lexie, nor would I see it in the future.
The first instance was during a late evening walk. Fort Collins has a good network of bike paths. Typically, as a bike path reached a major road, it will dip beneath the road through a tunnel. As we approached this particular tunnel, this particular day, Lexie stopped in her tracks and stared at the tunnel. I kept walking and she stayed right where she was. It took a full five minutes to convince her to walk with me through that tunnel. Her tail was down and she was quick to leave the opposite side. Oddly, we walked through that tunnel numerous times afterward and there were no issues. So, perhaps it was simply something new to her. Months later, I had to call an ambulance for a bicyclist who knocked himself unconscious entering that same tunnel.
An even more dramatic reaction occurred one evening as we wandered around a different part of the CSU campus. One entrance onto the grounds was a wide road that passed a science building on one side and an unknown building on the other side. Connecting the two buildings, there was a hallway above the wide entrance road. Perhaps it was the tunnel effect again but Lexie pulled up and froze while staring at our direction ahead. When I tried to get her to come with me, she turned around and tried to pull me the other direction. I tried everything I could think of to coax my dog forward. This time, she wasn't having it. So, short of picking her up to carry her forward, we were not going to be walking under that tunnel. Since I had no desire to traumatize my dog and we had no requirement to go that direction, we didn't. I tried a few times to go back and conquer that obstacle. Lexie and I never walked under that connecting hallway.
Maybe she was just an odd dog. Even so, I learned to trust that big pup's instincts on multiple occasions over the years.
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| Bike path trepidation |
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| The CSU overpass which shall not be passed |
My dog bites me
I was always amazed and happy with Lexie's disposition. She never snapped at another dog or even growled unless that dog jumped on her or tried to bite her. Even then, she would usually just walk away. Never once did she ever snap at a person, not even at uncomfortable vet visits or the numerous odd strangers that we met along our walks. Except for one time...One particularly sunny afternoon, Lexie and I were walking across the CSU campus. After interrupting some students on the quad, almost certainly trying to beg food from them, my big goofy dog flopped onto her back for a nice roll in the grass. She must have found this particular spot especially pleasing because she just stayed there, upside side. I remember smiling, just like I did every time Lexie rolled in the grass. It always reminded me of that day many years ago when I rolled around a tiny, fat-bellied puppy in thick Kentucky grass and fell in love with my best friend. For some reason, this day, after calling for Lexie to get up and "let's go," she completely ignored me. After several rounds of this exchange, I walked over and grabbed her collar to pull her up. She immediately snapped her big teeth down onto my hand heavily enough to draw blood. I was shocked and furious. I snapped her leash on and we started the walk home while I kept repeating, "you bit me?!?" As soon as she did it, her body language changed and she slunk next to me all the way home.
I put her inside and left with a rag on my bleeding hand. I was still angry and needed to cool off. This was completely foreign behavior from my dog. I hadn't been harsh. She hadn't been acting strangely. I was so disappointed and confused. After a great deal of thought, I concluded that it was my fault. I think I hurt her. It didn't occur to me at the time but when I pulled her up, she was still upside down and I grabbed the collar under her chin. Perhaps the muscles below her head aren't as strong when trying to support her big head that is being pulled straight up. It's the only conclusion that makes any sense. In almost thirteen years, that was the only time she bit anything. Out of complete ignorance, I hate to think that I hurt my dog.
But, in the true nature of dogs, when I got home, she walked slowly to me and we had a good pet, friends again. Always.
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| Soulful eyes of my best friend. |
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| Lexie typically held a serious expression, I loved when she would "smile." |
New friends
So, our experience in Fort Collins wasn't particularly blessed with excess and good fortune. Actually, Lexie's experience was probably pretty decent. Mine was a bit more challenging. One reason for this issue was simply trying to bring in enough money to exist. So, when I finally secured a full-time job, on the east side of town, while we lived on the west side, I had to accept it. Especially, since I felt like there was potential for a career. But, it meant that I, once again, would be forced to leave Lexie home alone for extended lengths of time. I was unable to return during lunch. At the current apartment, I didn't have a yard or any way to break up Lexie's day. I didn't like that.My solution was to place a Craigslist ad, always a sketchy idea. However, I asked if there was someone who would be willing to let me drop off my dog in their yard in the morning and pick her up in the evening. I don't recall if I had more than one reply, which I received within one day. It was a lady who said they had an accessible backyard where they placed their one-year-old golden retriever during the day. This couple wanted their young dog to have a companion. It seemed like a good arrangement for both parties. I, at that time, had a car that was broken down and I had no money to fix it. So, I got directions and told her that I would walk over with Lexie but it would take a little while. Fortunately, it was only one mile west of our apartment so off we went. At one intersection, she told me to turn left when it should have been right. So, we were lost...on foot. This extended the length and difficulty of our walk. During the journey, I considered calling it off and going home. But, Lexie needed an option so on we walked. After walking much too far, making several phone calls for new directions, Lexie and I got to our destination.
We met a young couple with a small but nice backyard...and an especially rambunctious puppy with very few manners. But she had a typical golden personality - she was sweet as could be. Her name was Maggie. I have no idea the names of her owners. Lexie wasn't particularly interested in that much puppy energy but she tolerated Maggie with casual indifference. That was how she handled most things. We decided to give it a try. In return for allowing us to use their yard, I decided I would clean up the backyard so the dogs would have a nice, clean place to spend their day. It was obvious, they never picked up their yard - something I'll never understand. But, it was a small price to pay for Lexie's improved quality of life during my absences.
Each morning, Lexie and I would go on our normal walk and then head to Maggie's. For a fair amount of that time, I was transporting myself via bicycle. So, I rode while Lexie jogged in the grass to my right side. One mile west, drop off Lexie, then I rode 10 miles east to work at 8am. At 5pm, I made the return trip. I was still attending college, part-time, so it was an exhausting period in my life. But, Lexie was safe and entertained. At times, too entertained.
Maggie really liked to rough play. Lexie, as an only dog, didn't really know how to play with other dogs. She learned quickly because Maggie would not be ignored. And, they were loud. It sounded like a full-blown dog fight. At first, I would linger, just to make sure nothing got out of hand. There was never a mark on either dog, aside from copious slobber residue. Also, most evenings, I would approach the gate and find both dogs sleeping peacefully within 5-6 feet of each other. They would both get very excited during the drop-off routine, in the morning. It was safe to say a new friendship had been forged. It was one of the best decisions I made regarding my best friend.
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| Two great looking dogs |
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| Little game of tag |
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| The joy of dogs running. Young dog faster than older dog. |
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| They were really good friends. |
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| Play. Maggie was always willing to play. |
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| I love the expressions here. |
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| This is one of my favorite photos. |
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| Water dogs doing water dog things. |
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| Maggie's rare serious face. |
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| Maggie's normal face. |
Odd dog, new lesson
On our morning walks, we almost always walked around a nearby field. We always referred to it, uncreatively, as "the field." It was a nice size, had a few trees, and enough character to be fun for dogs. As a result, there were often other people walking their dogs. We met some very nice people and very cool dogs. There was even a "normal" group of a few people that we would meet. The owners would walk and talk, the dogs would wander and play. One day, we went in the afternoon and the field was empty. Until, it wasn't.I saw a lady walking across the field, her small dog striding ahead of her and directly toward Lexie. Lexie saw this and headed to meet the stranger. After all, she might have treats. As the new dog approached, it lunged toward Lexie and clacked it's teeth multiple times. I try and not over-react but this appeared very aggressive. I looked at the woman and she hadn't even flinched or made a sound. As the small dog repeated the behavior, I called out to the still slightly distant owner, "Is your dog okay?! Do I need to grab my dog?" The reply, "Yeah, she does that" without any facial expression or tone that would ease my worry. Lexie was twice the size of this little dog, so I didn't make a scene, thinking she could handle herself. The new dog eventually settled down. She and Lexie settled into the normal dog meet-and-greet.
I began walking and chatting with the dog's owner, who had multiple piercing, including a large "bull ring" through her nose, which I've always found somewhat unsettling. However, like many misleading appearances and first impressions, she was very kind and her little dog named "Bagel" was a pretty well-behaved dog. That said, Bagel was seriously hyper. She had no gears, just an on/off switch. As her owner described, "she was completely neurotic, like her mom." I can't remember Bagel's owner's name.
Lexie normally avoided dogs with this kind of crazy energy. This time was different. Lexie wasn't much of a follower and chose to set her own path. But, she followed Bagel around like they were old friends. Maybe Maggie had expanded Lexie's tolerance level. Maybe Lexie just liked this little spaz dog for reasons I don't understand. Maybe it was because Bagel needed to teach my best friend one of the best lessons of her life.
Her owner and I agreed to meet for a dog playdate. This day, we met at some reservoirs that were northeast of Fort Collins. I had never been there. It was a water source for the town, which consists of three reservoirs and a drainage channel. The water was crystal clear and very cold. As soon as Bagel got there, she exploded toward the water and jumped in at full speed. Lexie was confused and hesitant. But, she really liked Bagel so she waded into the reservoir while Bagel was swimming off so fast that she had a wake.
Lexie was faced with the fear that developed from when I had let her get into deep water while wearing a backpack as a puppy and she struggled to stay above water.
Watching the seemingly endless fun that her friend was having, Lexie was clearly conflicted. With some encouragement from her little friend repeatedly jumping in and out of the water, Lexie eventually waded in to swim after Bagel. I think Lex was almost surprised at how well her big, webbed paws and strong muscles worked. She never matched Bagel's motorboat speed but she learned quickly and became an amazingly strong swimmer. Everyone was happy for the broken barrier. I don't think any of us knew the significance at the time. Lexie and I only saw Bagel and her owner a total of 3-4 times.
From that moment, Lexie would seek out any body of water available. She would pull me toward any creek, pond, or lake that she saw or smelled. Or, she would simply plop down in some stagnant, filthy puddle she came across. While that was sometimes a problem, it became evident that swimming was one of her favorite things in life. The priority list for the rest of her life consisted of: food, hike, swim. Sometimes, on hot days, numbers 2 and 3 were switched. Not only would this be the source of too many good memories for me to remember, but it would also be a useful tool, many years later.
All of this was due to a small, neurotic little dog named Bagel.
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| Rare picture of Bagel, she was never still long enough. |
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| Surprising instance where Bagel was standing still and Lexie was on the move. |
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| I like silhouettes |
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| A dog in her element |
The field
Based on the prime real estate, it is probably covered up with apartment buildings and a convenience store, by now. But, when Lexie and I lived in Fort Collins, the most frequent place we walked was "the field."
The "field" was approximately 10 acres of undeveloped land and located one block from our apartment. This served two purposes: It was close enough that a sleep-deprived human could stumble behind his dog to get there, and other people used the area to walk their dogs. So, Lexie could freely socialize with other people and dogs without being on a lead. There was a normal group of people who often arrived slightly later than Lexie and I. "Frankie" was an ironically named female husky and Lexie's favorite wander buddy. Frankie was bossy and stereotypically vocal. An assortment of other dogs and owners would show up on occasion but Frankie and Lexie were pretty consistent morning field explorers.
This field not only provided a safe place for Lexie to expend some morning energy, it provided me with two of my favorite Lexie stories.
Killer dog
Many times as we walked in the field, we saw a very large dog and owner in the distance, walking alone. It was obvious the owner avoided everyone else and deliberately kept her dog on a lead, away from other people. We found out why. Every time we got within 100 feet or so, the dog would go crazy. He barked aggressively and the owner had to plant her feet and hold the lead with both hands while trying to lead him away. I always felt really bad for the big dog. Obviously, he was cared for but I was saddened by his isolation. My brain kept remembering something I had heard: "high pitched barking usually indicates the dog is scared, deep pitched barking is far more dangerous." I had no idea if that were true.One day, while Lexie and I walked alone in the field, I saw the familiar shapes in the distance. I clipped Lexie into her lead and headed toward them. Immediately, the big dog focused his attention on us. When we breached the invisible border, he began barking furiously. I waved at the owner and motioned that I wanted to come closer. Confused, she wrapped her hand in the lead. When I got close enough to be heard over the barking, I asked her dog's name. "Wendell! He doesn't get along with other dogs!!" I yelled back, "Want to try something?" Even more confused, she yelled back "Like what?!" There was something about her dog that convinced me that he was scared, not mean.
"I'll have my dog lay down, slowly bring your dog closer and approach from the back," I said. "I don't know what will happen!" she replied, obviously anxious, but willing to give it a try. I faced Lexie away from Wendell and had her lay down and stay. I knelt down in front of her and talked to her so she wouldn't react. Slowly, the terrified owner allowed Wendell to pull her closer. We didn't move. His barking slowed. As he got within a few feet, the barking stopped and he began sniffing. His owner was amazed, "He hasn't been this close to another dog in forever." He cautiously sniffed Lexie's tail. When she didn't react, he seemed to relax enough that his owner's grip even eased a bit. After a few minutes, I said, "I'm going to stand Lexie up and walk away, see if Wendell will follow." When Lexie stood up, Wendell flinched but that was all. As we walked away, he followed. His owner was wide-eyed.
Over the next 30-60 minutes, I unclipped Lexie and Wendell simply followed. I was able to pet his giant head as he became more relaxed. He didn't tense up, even when Lexie turned to face him. "This is unbelievable!!" his owner kept saying. Lexie acted like he was just another dog. Eventually, we unclipped the big dog and he simply followed Lexie and explored the field, completely relaxed and curious. I found out Wendell had been left behind by her brother when he had moved out of town. Wendell had been attacked by two rottweillers and badly hurt. Since then, he had been very aggressive to every dog he met...until now. Now, he was just a giant dog following around a new friend in a field.
They lived in the apartments next to the field. At one point, one of her neighbors walked out to her car and almost shouted, "Is that Wendell!???!!" The owner said, "Amazing, right!?"
I don't remember if we ever saw Wendell again before moving out of town but I know, at least for one day, we changed that dog's life. It is my hope Wendell, being an older dog, began to trust again and lived the rest of his life with other friends.
It is perhaps the best example of Lexie's gentle spirit and my proudest moment with her.
Wildlife
On another day that we walked alone in the field, a red fox popped out of the bushes. It was a common sight to see red foxes in Fort Collins as well as in the field. As soon as Lexie saw it, she was in a full sprint. The small animal easily bounded away from the bigger animal. But, instead of disappearing, the fox simply ran and darted and circled. Lexie enthusiastically gave chase. Then, something strange happened: the fox stopped and sat down. Lexie slowed to a quick stop as well and appeared confused. So, she sat down too. Again, Lexie displayed her complete lack of desire to hurt anything. They looked at each other for several seconds from about ten feet apart. Suddenly, the fox bolted forward and the game, once again, was afoot. This repeated twice before the fox finally disappeared into the surrounding brush. Lexie was completely gassed out but seemed pretty happy with her little game of chase. |
| Springtime in the field |
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| Waiting to go for a walk. Very boopable nose. |
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| Drink break |
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| Running across the bicycle jumps |
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| A little creek next to the field. Lexie used to jump entirely over it. |
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| This floppy picture always makes me smile |
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| Lexie and her buddy Frankie |
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| Normal morning in the field |
Another fox encounter
The field was our regular morning location for walking. So that Lexie would have some variety, we walked in a different location at night. Since we lived about 30 seconds from the CSU, we often walked around the college campus in the evening. One area must have been part of their horticulture curriculum. There were rows of plants in carefully laid out grids with detailed labels attached. In the evening, it was an especially relaxing location to stroll through. One time, at dusk, we walked down a grassy lane between the planted grids. Bursting around the corner at a full run came a very happy red fox. He had a slice of ham dangling from his mouth that was larger than his head. As soon as he saw us, he stopped on a dime while facing the big, black dog who jumped in his direction. Immediately, he dropped his prize and disappeared.
I felt terrible about that. In addition, Lexie was not pleased that I wouldn't allow her to gobble the giant slice of ham. After we walked away, I hoped the little fox would sneak back to gather his obviously stolen booty.
Powder storage river
Our trio of reservoirs was an almost perfect water destination for dogs, unless it was in the middle of summer. At that point, the complete absence of available shade was acutely apparent for the human, designated driver who didn't get to jump in the water to cool off. Fortunately, there was a nice alternative in Fort Collins providing tree-lined trails and copious amounts of sun protection.It always amuses me when a city or location in the United States uses a specifically foreign name. The names are consistently pronounced in some degree of horribleness. Often, this is done intentionally (I'm looking at you Bois D'Arc, MO) which seems either insulting to the native language or embarrassing, or both.
An example is the Cache la Poudre River in Fort Collins. During our two years in northern Colorado, I cannot recall one time when the river's name was pronounced in anything other than comical abuse. Used primarily by college students as an excuse to float downstream while guzzling beer, the Poudre was nearby and pretty. Such was the dedication for getting inebriated, giant coolers were wedged inside their own inner tubes for buoyancy then lashed to an adjoining inner tube inhabited by our nation's studious youth.
However, for a dog who recently learned how to swim, Cache la Poudre was a playground. It was also the first place where I discovered a semblance of "retriever" in my previously condescending canine. Even this small amount of normal dog behavior was tempered by the fact that Lexie deliberately chose to drop the stick anywhere except where I was located.
On a few visits, Lexie would be forced to avoid the aforementioned aqua-drunks but, typically, she was free to splash through the water, sprint down muddy trails, and enjoy being a water dog.
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| Repeatedly, I tried to get a good photo of her shaking off a water halo. I never got one. |
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| Waiting for where we were going next |
4
During our time in Fort Collins, Lexie completed her fourth year on the giant dirt orb. She didn't notice. I tried to get a few photos of her on each birthday. Each year, she was far less excited by this activity. |
| Waiting for me to open the door |
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| Dog w/ flowers, attempt 1 |
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| Dog w/ flowers, attempt 2 |
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| Which way should I run? |
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| This way ! |
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| One of the few bridges that Lexie became comfortable crossing |
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| Happy 4th birthday puppy |
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| The head-tilt response every time I said, "Lexie, it's your birthday!" |
Trouble
We had a lot of fun in Fort Collins but we (I) also had some very tough times. At one point, I was, again, unemployed and trying to find any way to keep the most basic necessities paid. Applying for unemployment insurance, I had missed one step in the process. After staying on hold with the Department of Labor for four hours, an especially self-important voice informed me of my error and that it is clearly marked in the instructional booklet. I had never received an instructional booklet, a detail that was completely insignificant by the all-powerful Oz on the other side of the call. Combined with my park ranger experience, I decided that anyone with a whisper of authority in northern Colorado decided they were simply superior human life forms.
After being inconvenienced to fix my problem, which is to say "forced to do his job," Oz informed me that I would have to complete the one-week waiting period before my benefits would be approved, after which it would be two weeks before receiving a check. Then came the kicker: I would not receive the five weeks of back-pay that I expected. He hung up.
This was devastating news. Simply stated, I had no money and no food. I remembered sitting on the couch, I don't know how long I stared at the wall. I kept mumbling to myself, "What am I doing to do? I don't know what to do." I was spiraling. Lexie, the dog who always needed a space buffer, got up suddenly. The next thing I noticed was her head on my knee and a concerned expression on her face. She repeatedly lifted and dropped her head on my leg. It was as if she was trying to break through the darkness burying my mind. Finally, I registered her presence enough to wrap my hands around her face and put my forehead to hers. She sat quietly as I repeated, "Lexie, what are we going to do?" Lexie only had food for approximately another week and there was no money for more. Suddenly, the world was sitting on my neck. We went for a walk.
Broken
The next day, nothing had changed. I looked at my best friend, lying obliviously on the floor. In a world of black thoughts, an even darker realization cracked through. I pushed it away. It came back. I said "No!" and pushed it away. It came back. "I can't!" It came back, over and over and over. Finally, I decided to listen. The realization said: "You have to give Lexie away." Merely saying it in my mind almost ruined me. But, she was such a great dog. She was still young. She hadn't done anything to deserve any of this. These were my problems, no hers. She shouldn't have to go hungry simply because, apparently, I didn't know how to live like a normal adult human and provide life's most basic needs. She deserved a great home where she got everything she wanted. So, I determined to find her a perfect home. There were a lot of "dog people" in Ft Collins and Colorado who had great houses and money to care for their pets. Maybe she would even have a playmate. I had to do this.
How could I do this.
I pulled myself to the computer. I opened petfinder.com and entered my information while trying to breathe. The cursor flashed in the description field. I started to write about my best friend so potential owners would know how great she is. In the deepest part of me, something began to splinter. Each keystroke increased the damage. Something inside was turning to powder, something that would never, ever heal. Finally, I fell apart, tears streaming in rivers down my face. I stopped typing. I walked away from the computer to sit next to Lexie and apologize. "I'm so sorry Lexie, I can't, I'm not strong enough. You're stuck with me. I'm sorry." I was too flawed to do what I had to do. With tears still in my eyes, we went for a walk.
The next day
One thing had changed. I could breathe. While none of my problems had gone away, at least I knew I would have my best friend. Looking back, I was trying to fool myself. Had I followed through and it come to the moment that I was forced to walk away from Lexie, there was zero chance that I could have done it. Honestly, had someone driven away with my best friend...I don't know that I would have seen the end of that day. I was too broken at that time. Even my faith seemed too far away to help. Lexie was that one thing that brought a quivering pinhole of light to the day and motivation to take a step - she needed me to keep trying.
So, I started looking for things I could sell. I didn't have much left but I did have some camping gear. In Colorado, I knew I could sell that. Afterward, I bought dog food and had enough for one more month of rent and one more car payment. Now, I had a time frame. I needed a new plan. After a great deal of walking and thinking. It seemed the new plan was the old plan. Lexie and I were going to relocate again. Our time in Fort Collins was done and we needed a little more opportunity to make a living. I considered moving to Denver in order to find more employment options from a bigger city. I was born in Wheatridge, a town within the Denver city boundaries. It might be fun to live in my home city, whatever that means. I knew I could live in a big city, having spent sixteen years in Los Angeles. However, I was ready to leave a big city environment when I left.
In the end, I split the difference and decided to move to Colorado Springs. It was certainly larger than Fort Collins but wasn't close to a big city. Years prior to leaving California, I visited the "Springs" but decided against staying. At that time, I only saw the suburban sprawl section of town and I hadn't liked it. Like almost every inch of suburbia anywhere, it was soulless. Plus, it seemed a fair distance from the mountains. Fortunately, having a friend in the springs, I was introduced to a different part of town that I knew I could live in.
But, I needed enough money to make this move happen. The only way I had been able to relocate to Colorado was because I had sold my motorcycle. The new plan was the old plan. My only remaining possessions of any value were two high-end bicycles. So, I sold my mountain bike for the relocation cost. Lexie and I loaded up and off we went, beginning another new phase of the journey.
In the end, I split the difference and decided to move to Colorado Springs. It was certainly larger than Fort Collins but wasn't close to a big city. Years prior to leaving California, I visited the "Springs" but decided against staying. At that time, I only saw the suburban sprawl section of town and I hadn't liked it. Like almost every inch of suburbia anywhere, it was soulless. Plus, it seemed a fair distance from the mountains. Fortunately, having a friend in the springs, I was introduced to a different part of town that I knew I could live in.
But, I needed enough money to make this move happen. The only way I had been able to relocate to Colorado was because I had sold my motorcycle. The new plan was the old plan. My only remaining possessions of any value were two high-end bicycles. So, I sold my mountain bike for the relocation cost. Lexie and I loaded up and off we went, beginning another new phase of the journey.
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| Lexie wasn't amused at my amusement |
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| For years, Lexie often laid with her paw curled. I thought it was cool |
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| Lexie rarely got to more than an occasional french-fry but she always made sure nothing was missed |
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| Last picture before leaving Fort Collins |
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