A Dog's Life (and Death)

(As an exception this post is not a column does not offer an opinion or even tries to teach something new. This post is for those who love dogs, live with dogs, and occasionally die (the dogs, not the people because nonwithstanding their clear understanding of humans when it comes to writing dogs fail miserably, which is a shame). So this post is for dog lovers like me. For the rest of you faithful readers, please wait for my next colunm coming to you Wednesday , Thursday or whenev'.

For those who have never had a dog, (you don't own them, they more or less own you) I suggest you get used to the idea that the day you decide to share your life with one, your life is no longer yours.

That or read Garth Stein's wonderful book "The Art of Racing in the Rain" which has little to do with water and a lot to do with Ayrton Senna and a Golden Retreiver named Enzo (after Ferrari, who else?) and how one Golden and one racer, both extraordinary, can change the way you see life,

I'd never had dogs till later in life which gave me a reputation for not liking dogs. Most unfair. Dogs like most complex things in life, are an aquired taste, like anchovies or Netflix series the occur in permafrost Iceland. I have a weakness for both and even more for dogs. The problem is that now I like ALL dogs, not only mine. Mi friends' dogs become friends too (my ennemies don't have dogs because when they do they automatically become my friends; I understand there are some people out there who don't like me but that is not my problem). I started with Chasqui, a Golden, also known as Chasquinini (it's an accepted fact that dog people are a bit silly and a lot corny). Chasqui had the terible, horrible idea of dying on the same day as the launch of my second novel took place (insert commercial here: "Social Climbing") which totally and forever ruined the date. Chasqui was brave, noble, bore no malice to neither beast nor man, as befitting strong and kind males. His mate was Inti a champagne Labrador, who in the best Lab tradition was a cross between a stuffed toy and a rug. There never was a kinder more motherly dog. Aside form the the 8 adorable puppies she bore to Chasqui she adopted every dog that came her way.

We first got Kara de Kokis a Jack Russell with a foul temper,constantly bitching about everything -something which I attribute to her impeccable pedigree but my husband says it is due to the fact that she's never had a boyfriend. Could be.

We later bought home Lulu, a divine Russell Terrier.

Lulu is the youngest, the brightest and most fun mutt. In spite of being the last to arrive she is the undisputed Alpha Dog. She need to be first in everything, whether it's cooking or running in the snow; she much prefers the latter but refuses to be left out on anything.

Truth be said she mostly does what she wants.

She's known to be a bolter and has planned a couple of escapes dragging Kara along for company. As with most foul tempered people, Kara has no real character just a mean one, and she's putty in Lulu's hands. Paws. The last time they left right after lunch; well fed they were good to go. By nightfall they were still not back and I was developping a pain in the pit of my stomach. They have been raised in the country but are house dogs and the area is pretty wild. We called the neighbors, sounded the alarm. They were found the next day inside a "country" (the name for a gated community here; sounds more anglo and thus more chic) in a friend's house. Toally fearless they had climbed a 300 metre mountain behind our house and landed there. I bet Kara, being the oldest and more experienced, told Lulu: "Hey. Let's stay here. I recognize the smell of the owners. They've been to our house. They'll feed us till the parents come pick us up". And so it was. Except that when they saw us they started shaking like death was approaching, uncertian on what would be their punishment for running away. In the car on the way back home they were quiet as mice.

The minute they got back they went and hid behind Inti, a safe place and a sure haven.

No country house is complete without a cat. We have Milly, raised again by Inti. All this small menagerie lives in perfect harmony in the kitchen where it is always wram and some scraps fall off the table. A few days after she arrived Milly appeared with a small mouse between her teeth. She set it down at our feet as proof of her willingness to work and earn her keep. She's been with us for seven years. We have never seen a live mouse.

One uninvited guest was Feliciano the Fox. He presented himself one day, to the front door, if you plese, no service entrance for him, looking for food. And human company. He got both and is almost tame. Lately he does not come as often, we think he's fallen in love.

Our dogs were none too amused by the arrival of this newfound friend? foe? so kept a vigilant but prudent watch over the newcomer from behind the safety of a garden gate.

Our dogs love the snow. We do too. It is always the best time to be outdoors with them.

They love the cold crisp air. They run and jump and bury themselves in the fresh powder. They share our joy and our amazement.

Lately has been snowing for days. We took all three for a long walk last Wednesday. The terriers tried to catch a hare or a bird; try as they may the never stood a chance. Inti always stayed by my side, old, with bad hips and short of breath but not falling behind, valiantly keeping up. She had been like that for some time. Following me everywhere. That night she would not sleep on her bed but layed at my feet, her head on my shoe. It would be her last night. She died the next morning.

The little ones have trouble going to sleep without the comfort of her huge warm furry bulk. She was a mountanious dog. They miss the safe haven she provided, the love she gave. We miss her too.

Read Garth's book and you will see that perhaps Inti has not written her last chapter. I worry that this book is only good for Labs and Retrievers, not terriers: too scatterbrained and flighty.

No sense of responsability whatsoever.