goodbye zappa

I remember the moment I decided I wanted another dog. We were walking, en famille, through Deas Island Park in the summer of 1998 after just having moved into this house with its huge backyard. The boys were only five and three, Zoe was approaching middle age and for the first time ever a second dog was an option. Zoe was kind but serious and dutiful and we needed a dog the boys could play with. That very same day I started doing online research as I knew already that I wanted a medium-sized, intelligent, athletic dog like an Australian Shepherd. I investigated breeders, breeding ethics and rescue groups and it didn't take long to decide that I wanted a rescue dog. There were hardly ever any Aussies available in British Columbia, though, so I started looking just south of the border where plenty of Australian Shepherds end up in rescue as their intensity and high energy levels are often too much for the average dog owner. Over the next few months there were some 'almosts', and then one day I saw Zappa's picture. He was running flat out with an expression of pure joy on his face. Little did I know that over the next nine years I would see him running with that same expression almost every day, including the day before he died. On further investigation I learned he had just been bailed out of a shelter in Wenatchee in central Washington. He'd been incarcerated so many times that the humane society refused to turn him over to his previous owners any more, a known local 'party house' who left him outside 24/7 and fed him only when they remembered. No wonder he became such a good break-out artist. The first time I took him to the local school playground he actually dug an apple core out of the sand and ate it.

We met him in Seattle on January 16, 1999, and it was love at first sight. He was just over a year old, much handsomer in person, and was the happiest dog I'd ever met. He settled in so fast it was like he'd always been here. He was a clown who hadn't yet learned to play (he did!), a child who never grew up, a sheepdog with unerring instinct (I had him tested once) and the best company of any dog I've ever known. He was smart, incredibly goofy, talked all the time in a mumbling voice, and immediately made friends with every person or dog he ever met. At the age of 10 people still asked if he was a puppy. As a sheepdog his prey drive was on high at all times and when he was young he could run faster than any dog in the neighbourhood, Border Collies included. When Greg and I started running he was a perfect and tireless running companion. But he had his 'issues'. For example, he loved the mental challenge when I took him to an agility training class but we never continued after the course ended because he'd get so excited and want to visit all the other dogs between runs that he couldn't calm down and shut up. His tendency to get overexcited in public places never improved so we simply worked around it. For example, he couldn't sit placidly watching a soccer game because he was so desperate to get in there and play, so I learned to circle the field constantly while watching the game. His high energy got him into plenty of scrapes, including a couple of serious paw and foot lacerations that saw him being stitched up under general anaesthetic. And he had some terrible anxieties. The first time Greg took his belt off he flattened himself, awaiting a beating. He never really got over some of his early experiences and as the years passed fireworks, thunder and wind storms only scared him more.

After Zoe died last year Zappa grew up a bit. He'd always had specific family roles, like leaping on the boys' beds in the morning to wake them up, but Zoe was the one in charge, the watchdog. When she grew too deaf to hear the postman any more, he started barking to alert her. When she was gone he stayed silent for a few months, not knowing quite what to do when the mail came, but before long he took up her job and started doing daily mail call. But, unlike Zoe, he was always more like another little boy than a dog as he was involved in every aspect of family life. He was always there, went everywhere in the car and had an opinion on everything (always good).

The last time Zappa was at the vet in October I noticed he'd lost a little weight but was otherwise exactly the same, so didn't fret over it. As a matter of fact he was the same happy, energetic dog until last Friday, when he was suddenly very lethargic. I thought he must've eaten something he shouldn't, being Christmas holidays and all, and the next day he was fine again. When he realized he was going for a run with both me and Greg that morning he couldn't contain his excitement, charging all over the place and barking like an idiot. And the run was great. The next day he was sick again. I'd seen a rat on our deck and there was a hole in the fence so I thought maybe our neighbour had put rat poison out and he'd gotten into it. But he never vomited and, being Sunday, the vet was closed. The next day (New Year's Eve) he was fine again and we went for a long walk in the twilight of a clear winter's day. I got up at 7 o'clock on New Year's Day and discovered that Zappa couldn't move. Frantically, I phoned around until I found a 24-hour-and-holidays emergency clinic and then got Greg out of bed. The half-hour drive in the dawn to Langley was quiet and peaceful and the clinic was empty.

It didn't take long to find out the cause of Zappa's illness: he had advanced cancer and had started bleeding internally. He was almost completely non-responsive by this time so we discussed the options with the vet, none of which were good, and decided that euthanasia was the kindest thing to do. By 8.30 he was gone.

The boys have taken Zappa's death surprisingly well but I feel angry and totally ripped off. For nine years he was my companion, my shadow, an active participant in my life and to lose him with no warning has been devastating. I've always been an animal lover but didn't know before now that an animal could have a greater hold on my heart than all but my kids and husband. I know that, in time, I'll be able to appreciate how lucky we were to have had him as part of our family and how fortunate for all of us that he didn't suffer long at the end, but for now I just miss him. And the squirrels who live in our garden already seem to know he's gone forever and are overrunning the !&*!?%# place.

I have put some of my favourite photos of Zappa in a Flickr folder here. Most have some text but if you'd just like a quick (chronological) slide show go here. I won't be posting or responding for a little while but plan to be back ASAP.