CHESTER
It is precisely 7:39 on a glorious September Monday morning. I am casually sitting peacefully in my 'secret garden'. Although not significantly large in area it has a surprising old world charm contained within its three ivy covered walls. It is with delight and awe that I marvel at a pair of delicate brightly colored humming birds eagerly feeding in the blooms high above my head. This is, for a transplanted Englishman now living in Southern California, my slice of paradise.
Whilst I take another hearty sip from my steaming mug of fresh brewed coffee I find that the aroma and taste only enhance my senses; making me even more acutely aware of my glorious surrounding. I can not resist but to smile to myself.
Suddenly I feel a gentle paw vying for my attention and as my hand reaches down to scratch affectionately my dog Chester, lying contented at my feet. I cannot but consider just how far we have journeyed together. As I daydream in the glorious morning sun, I am commencing to recollect the very first unwieldy steps of that intrepid journey.
I reminisce back to July 2002. A little over two years ago to that eventful day I received an email. The correspondence came from my brother-in-law, Dwight, who just so happens to be one of the dearest men on the entire planet.
"You have to see this dog!" the subject line teasingly read.
I already belonged to two dogs at the time. However, my long time companion, Eddie Valentino, was in his sixteenth magnificent year. Despite me not caring to admit it to myself everyone recognized that his time here on Earth was all too quickly diminishing.
Opening the email, I could not fail to grin: The image of a fresh faced puppy. The young dog had a striking familiarity about him, looking an awful lot like a downsized version of my very own Eddie. My heart skipped.
Quickly reading on I discovered that he was under the care of animal services, I was torn as I knew that my beloved wife, Sarah, would never go for having a third dog, in particular a mischievous puppy.
Having dismissed the idea as futile, I attempted with much distraction to go about my usual daily tasks. Yet, I was unable to concentrate. The image of that poor dog within his cell kept repeating in my mind.
As the afternoon began to fade, I came to a decision that what harm it would be to go visit him in person? My mind clearly made up I hastily threw on my shoes, grabbed my car keys, and sped towards the kennels. Fifteen minutes later I was rushing around the cages, looking longingly for the face that had captured my heart. Another twenty minutes or so passed. I had examined each cage with out any success. I was about to give up and reasoned that some lucky soul had already arrived to his rescue; however, I needed to check.
I spied one of the workers cleaning a kennel and approached him. He greeted me with a friendly smile and hello. I quickly blurted that I was here to see the Airedale terrier mix.
The workers eyes seemed to light up.
"He is back here!" the volunteer exclaimed.
I was quickly directed away from the cages on display, passed an 'Employees only' sign to three cages.
"Here he is!" he said as he pointed to one of the cages.
I peered in. Hiding in the back corner there he was, snuggled up in a ball and two sad eyes looked back at me.
"I want to visit with him." I told the worker. I was trying to conceal my growing excitement. The volunteer's smile assured me that I was making the right decision.
A few minutes later we were together and playing in the visiting area. The first thing I noticed about him was his highly nervous disposition; I swear that he jumped even at his own shadow. I managed to finally hold him in my arms and as I gently hugged him I felt his young racing heartbeat against my chest. Within a matter of moments the racing pulse seemed to ease and it was at this moment that he licked my cheek – my mind was made up.
"I'll take him!" I announced jubilantly.
So there I was at the service window completing the paperwork, writing the check. All the while a not so little voice in the back of my head was screaming at me, "Sarah is going to bloody kill you!"
The lady behind the counter seemed delighted that I was taking him. She informed me that I was about to be this dog's third owner, and the dog was only seven months old – that he had been dropped off at the pound as a puppy and that a family had taken him home. They returned him a couple of months later declaring that he was "too much to handle, that he barked all the time, was impossible to take for walks, showed aggressive behavior and was highly destructive."
She looked at me solemnly and her following words made me fully aware that I was making the right decision.
"That dog has been red tagged. That he has been deemed as too uncontrollable to be socialized and that therefore he had been scheduled for destroying. You just saved his life!"
As my new hyperactive companion was in my car, heading back to his new home, I realized that I had to inform my wife. It was on my fifth attempt of dialing that I actually mustered enough courage to actually complete the phone call.
"Where are you?" she enquired nonchalantly.
"On my way back from Animal care services dear." I cautiously replied.
"Oh?" she remarked – the alarm evidently beginning to ring in her head.
"y y yyes" – I mumbled, "and I have found the cutest little dog."
There was a pause for what seemed to be an hour, but was probably only about thirty seconds.
"And?" she finally pushed.
"Well," I gulped. "Can we have him?"
Another hour-long pause.
Chester barked in the back seat of the car and I recall trying to hush him, with little success
"Do whatever you need to do." she answered, evidently resigning herself to her fate.
"I love you." I interjected.
"I love you too." came her strained answer, yet I could tell that she was mad at me, and I knew that she knew that I already had the dog.
As I hung up the phone, I remember considering to myself, "Well, that could have been much worse!"
The following few months were admittedly quite interesting as destruction, and nights kept awake from his barking ensued.
I quickly ascertained that this dog had obviously been subjected to heavy abuse; both physical and mental. His aversion to anyone in a baseball cap was profound. In addition any type of long stick, rod or water hose sent him shivering and hidingI often doubted what I was doing as I spent another sleepless entire night lying next to him, attempting to comfort him on the garage floor. Even my closest friends and family joked that the dog was a lost cause and that I should simply throw in my hat and surrender him back. Yet, something deep inside of me simply would not permit it. Even my wife and I argued over it; in fact the biggest argument we ever had was over Chester.
"If he goes, so do I." I used to stubbornly proclaim.
Here is the remarkable thing though. Something slowly and magically was beginning to transform within Chester. Step by step he began to learn the most valuable lesson; trust. Confidence followed he had surely had never experienced before. A magical, profound, deep connection was beginning between us. Even my dubious friends and family reconsidered as they began to marvel at the antics of my loyal, loving, well trained friend, Chester.
*****
It is now approaching eight and my coffee cup has been long drained. Chester is sitting next to me patiently and with that perfect posture and I need to go. Go take the best dog in the world for his morning walk.
The End