It's a recent thought . . . the really big deal things in life don't start out seeming like a big deal. No one sets out on a given day to 'meet their soul mate'. No, you simply decide to take in a nice art show and start chatting with the one other person in the room admiring the abstract bowl of fruit and fifty years and seventeen great-grandchildren later you recognize it for the big deal it was. Or maybe you go water-skiing with the summer day camp kids in 1981 and meet the cute guy driving the boat and end up with a twenty year marriage, three beautiful kids and a great life in Oregon. Or you randomly decide to adopt an abandoned puppy and end up with the dog of a lifetime. You just never know.
That twenty year marriage . . . millions of little things happen, words are spoken . . . most drifting off into the atmosphere never to be thought of again. For your consideration . . . how many times would you guess three children can ask for a pet over the course of their childhoods? Lots. And somewhere in the vicinity of 99.5 percent of the time we smiled, said maybe, ignored them or flat out said no. Sometimes it was, 'Hell no." So what was different the day Nicole came home from school and said, "I saw a really nice dog today"?
It was just after the big snowstorm of 2004. Nicole's sixth grade class was visited by a representative from an animal shelter in The Dalles. She brought a dog with her and shared his story. He was part of a litter abandoned in the snow storm after the owner had been arrested and taken to jail. The dog was four months old, black, of unknown heritage . . . and just as cute as he could be. We were moving to a rural orchard within the month and it seemed like the right time to get a dog. So he became ours.
It took a few days to come up with a name. His shelter name was Dakota but didn't fit him. The world was at the height of Harry Potter mania but Sirius seemed too sinister (and obvious). I campaigned for Uther (father of King Arthur) but nothing resonated until someone suggested Skipper. We all agreed and it was settled. Skipper it was.
We would eventually claim Skipper to be a nearly perfect dog but there were a few kinks to work out. Early on he had a desperate separation anxiety and nearly destroyed our front door with his frantic clawing. On the farm he would chase us down the driveway and barrel out into the road without looking, forcing us, very reluctantly, to resort to a remote shock collar. It took only a handful of shocks and he seldom left the property again.
Skipper was born old. Even as a puppy he was always most content lying around, just being close to his people. He would lie down to eat with his paws wrapped around his food bowl. He was not a fetcher. If you threw a ball he would retrieve it once. If you threw it again he would look at you as if to say, "I got it for you once. You're on your own now." He never was a running dog; he didn't even walk briskly. Skipper ambled. Slowly. A group of us were visiting on a side street in Seaside years ago. A car came along as Skipper plodded across the street. I remember the driver kindly stopping and saying something about the 'poor old guy'. We were a little embarrassed to admit he was only three. There is a photo somewhere, from Mexico, featuring Skipper with a dead bird in his mouth. I have not been convinced by anyone that he actually killed the bird. . . but he sure was proud to have found it. The middle school would hold an annual event called "Veloci-doggy". It was a fun day in spring in which kids would bring their dogs from home to participate in various competitions to calculate the velocity of moving objects. Skipper only went once. He was very slow.
Skipper had the unusual talent of - how shall I say this? - leaving no trace. He would disappear into the orchard to relieve himself. No yard patrol needed. We laughed and marveled at his exceptional (deliberate?) timing at the beach once when the next incoming wave rendered the poop bag unnecessary.
Skipper liked to eat and he didn't like to move. We tried to enforce good eating habits but he still closed in on one hundred pounds. He was such a gentle giant - with one exception. His self assigned duty was to protect the territory under the table any time food was present. He was fine with human adults around the table but dogs and rug rats (perceived threats to falling scraps) fielded vicious growls from him. Once the food was cleared he was back to his gentle self.
Skipper became a ridiculously beloved member of our family. While it was clear he loved us all in return, his special bond with Kelvin was indisputable. As our marriage dissolved I was surprised by Kelvin's sudden, uncharacteristic desire to get a Newfoundland puppy - a breed I had long admired. Six years later it finally occurred to me it was his way of ensuring custody of Skipper - something I would never have considered fighting. But it's a cute part of the story.
The stories could go on forever . . . like how Skipper became the best faux service dog ever. He had documentation and a vest and an ID card which allowed him to travel anywhere. We made jokes about mumbling quickly that he was a "Caesar" dog (adept at sniffing out Caesar salad), but he was so well behaved no one ever questioned it. Or the stories of how he howled at the fire department sirens - sometimes without lifting his head off the ground where he was lying. You get the idea.
Sunday, January 4, 2015 Skipper became fatigued and short of breath while in Mexico with Kelvin. Within an hour he died with his head in Kelvin's lap. It was warm and sunny, eleven years and a million miles away from that snow storm of 2004.
I have been most touched by an observation the kids made. They said the thing Skipper was best at was receiving love. Sometimes it's easier to give love than to receive love and Skipper showed us how to unconditionally receive love.
We had no way of knowing it then, because you never do, but that innocent comment, "I saw a really nice dog today" was one of those big deal things. Rest in peace, dear sweet Skipper. We are better humans for having had you in our lives.
