Over the course of my life I have come to believe that God has created many types of angels—and some of them bark.
AFTERWORD
I have walked out into the field behind our new house on the farm. This is the house that Joan designed and served as the general contractor for. It has been a long time since Flint roamed this field on the hunt. Wizard was my comfort for 7 years after Flint left me, and other dogs joined him, or followed. There was never another terrier, since I had promised Joannie that, but there was my big, elegant, black, flat-coated retriever, Odin—the dog that Joan loved above all others. There was another Cavalier King Charles spaniel, this one named Banshee, who shared my life for a while and who loved plush toys even more than Wiz did.
Right now I am looking at my Nova Scotia duck tolling retriever, Dancer, and my beagle, Darby. Dancer is scanning the field attentively, while Darby has his nose to the ground, the way that beagles always do. Suddenly Darby startles a gray field rat from cover. The rat skitters between the two dogs and heads for the edge of the field where blackberry bushes can provide a safe hiding place. Both of the dogs stand and watch the rat for a moment, then glance up at me, making no effort to give chase.
I am forced to laugh. I tell the dogs, “Flint would have never passed up that opportunity to hunt or at least to chase.”
Darby looks at me and in his hound voice says, “Flint was different, wasn’t he, Dad?”
Darby is the only dog that has ever called me “Dad.” He has a typical hound nature, soft, sociable, and as difficult to train as Flint was—not because he is as independent and innovative as Flint was, but rather because events going on inside his sensitive nose are far more important than the lessons I may try to teach him. Dancer is much more trainable. He loves to work and he calls me “Boss.”
“Oh yes,” I say. “Flint taught me how to watch dogs, how to begin the process of understanding what goes on inside of a dog’s mind, and how to go about trying to train them. But more than that he had a unique and irrepressible personality. If we would have erected a marker over his grave it would have read
Born a dog.
Lived like a lion.
Died a gentleman.
At that moment two of our grandchildren who are visiting the farm appear behind us. Cora is carrying a red plastic bumper on a string, and Matty, a red ball. The dogs start to dance in anticipation. They will chase these toys when the kids throw them, but they won’t chase the wildlife. They are not terriers. They are also not royal spaniels who would rather rest beside you than engage in anything as mundane as retrieving.
Each dog is different. Each has two minds, one that belongs to his breed and another that makes him different from every other dog that has ever lived. The sad part is that none of my dogs has stayed around long enough for me to fully understand them, despite all of my psychological training. God gives us dogs to be our companions but demands them back after our short lease on their lives expires.
I watch the kids romping around with the dogs. From the corner of my eye I see Joannie standing at the back door of the house watching the children play with the dogs. She gives that little half smile that I fell in love with so many years ago.
I am missing Flint at that moment, remembering how he used to play with Benn and Rebecca, and wondering how he would respond to Cora and Matty. I feel myself drifting into a blue funk, but as usual I am saved by the tinkling laughter of the children and the excited barking of the dogs. I am also comforted by a remembrance of something that Sir Walter Scott, the author of Ivanhoe and other classic novels, once wrote:
I have sometimes thought of the final cause of dogs having such short lives and I am quite satisfied it is in compassion to the human race: for if we suffer so much in losing a dog after an acquaintance of ten or twelve years, what would it be if they were to live double that time?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Stanley Coren, PhD, FRSC, is a professor emeritus in the psychology department at the University of British Columbia and a recognized expert on dog-human interaction. For his contributions to psychological science he was named a Fellow of the Royal Society of Canada. He has appeared on many television shows, including Oprah, Good Morning America, CBS Morning Show, Dateline and Larry King. He has hosted the TV show Good Dog! which was nationally broadcasted in Canada, and he currently appears on Pet Central on the Pet Network. He has also been given the Dog Writer of the Year award by the International Positive Dog Training Association. He lives in Vancouver with his wife Joan, and is active in fund-raising efforts for various humane societies.
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