She’s Only a Dog

As I sit here typing this piece, I keep chanting that mantra. She’s only a dog. It was seven years ago Tuesday that we brought her home form the breeders. A full bred Chesapeake Bay Retriever from a long line of champions. Her given name, Chesarab Copper Top was changed when we filed her pedigree papers to Chesarab Roxy but to us, she has always been just plain old Roxy.

I remember that first day like it was yesterday. We had lost our fourteen year old lab ten days earlier and after the usual solemn oaths of “never again” we decided on looking at a new breed. I wanted a dog that would hunt with me, and my wife wanted a new companion. Turns out, I got both ends of the deal. A good hunting dog and a genuine best friend. After investigating the breed and finding reputable breeders, we made a field trip to visit a few local kennels. We never thought that our return trip would find an 7 week puppy riding in my wife Marybeth’s lap. From the minute we saw her, we knew. The last of a litter, the people at Chesarab were thinking about keeping her for themselves. They were already teaching her the basics of field training, and she was a natural. They would however, let her go if I promised that I would hunt her, which was not a problem at all. From the moment we got on the road that day, I knew that we had made the right choice. Every dog I had ever owned had separation anxiety when they first leave the litter. Roxy bonded almost immediately from the time she got into our vehicle. Not a whimper or a whine. She just snuggled up on my wife’s lap as if it was where she belonged and comfortable as any living being I had ever witnessed.

As with most puppies, the next several weeks were a challenge. And to make the process more of a task, Roxy was my first Chessie. I know that they could be stubborn, but nothing I had read or heard prepared me for the test that lie ahead. Mules are stubborn. Chesapeake’s need an entirely different word to describe their attitude. Single minded dogs, once they get something into their heads it takes a crow bar to get it out. Roxy took even that description to a new level. The first time I put her on a leash, she jumped and bucked like a wild stallion until she broke loose from the collar. It took four or five tries to convince her that this was not a form of punishment but rather a way to spend additional time with me. After that we came to an agreement. She never pulls unless she senses hunting duties, always walking astride of me, regardless of the terrain. Off the leash, she follows her instincts rarely straying more than 30 yards from me, always stopping to look for instructions.

I work from home which to a chessie is the same thing as going to heaven. You see, they are basically one person dogs and have some inane need to know where their partners are at all times. I had heard this but attributed it to an urban legend. Roxy proved that legend to be fact. I soon discovered that it was easier to keep her with me than to go through the aggravation of leaving her at home. In her seven years, she has probably been out of my sight for less than 200 hours in total. We fish off the beach together, hunt and vacation as a pair. She has come to believe that my vehicles are as much one of her possessions as are any of the retrieving toys that she keeps in our bedroom. And when I say keeps in our bedroom, I mean exactly that. She will bring one out when she is in the mood to play. And when she is done, they are returned to her private stash. If only I could train children to act as responsibly. What a joy life would be.

Roxy has a nose like no other dog I ever had. Not the classic hunting nose, but one that could sense the presence of any of her favorites. Be it a favorite clam shell on the beach (I have watched her bury them one day and dig them up a week later) or her most revered rival, be it dog or game. She could sense either in the area and would not be deterred from the challenge. I often chastised her in the field for lagging behind when we were in pursuit of pheasant or chukker. Often, the problem wasn’t laziness but rather a bird that had camouflaged itself so well that even the best of the best could have walked right by it. Not Roxy, she would hover over it, ignoring my pleas until I finally came back to her. Only then would she flush the bird. If, as was several times the case, I refused to acknowledge her find, she would eventually flush the bird and capture it herself. I believe she did this only to prove me wrong. And for some strange reason, she has an affinity for the smell of money. When she was a pup, she once took several hundred dollar bills off my desk and shredded them to a degree that no manual paper shredder could accomplish and in half the time. I was pissed off as hell until one morning I noticed she was carrying something in her mouth on one of early morning jaunts. She often has a habit when finding something that she want on the ground of picking it up and carrying it until she can get out of my sight and play with it. Most people would not know that she has anything but I have developed a sixth sense about it. Over the years, I have taken bones live frogs and mice (none damaged, she carries them like a good retriever should pressure only no teeth) and on one scary occasion, she had a ball of fishing line with nine hooks on it. In that case, I have to assume that the hooks once held bait and she wanted to simply taste it. Her mouth was so soft, not one of the barbs found a grip. But on more than one occasion, when I told her to drop what she was holding, I was surprised to find cash. Once there was over 300 dollars and another time more than that. Back then, we lived in a shore town, around more than a few bars and eateries. I can only assume that summer revelers dropped the cash after a night of liberal libations. Over the years I estimate that she has more than paid back the cost we paid for her when we brought her home from Chesarab. But had she cost me twice the amount and never found a cent in her travels, I still got a bargain in the deal. If anyone has had a better friendship than I have had with her, I envy them. More than one person ( and over the years she has come to meet thousands) has commented that they have never seen a dog follow a person with her eyes the way Roxy follows me.

Chesapeake Bay Retrievers are the first recognized distinct American breed. They are a mix of Newfoundland’s, hounds, setters and other breeds. They were, as you may have guessed, bred originally for long days duck hunting in the Chesapeake Region. As such, they have enormous amount of stamina, are hard working and great companions and protectors. Other than the water part, Roxy meets all the descriptors of a classic chessie. She is small, but not out of the show ranges. She hates water, but is a good swimmer who would only go in if forced to on a retrieve. Not for practice mind you, only real game. She retrieved her first bird at six months, in grass at least a foot taller than she was at the time. One of the proudest days of my life was watching her strut back to me with a pheasant in her mouth.

I am writing this article because I need to get the images out of my mind and down for posterity. There are hundreds more. But they will have to wait for now. Right now, I have more important things on my mind. You see, as I type this, my best friend lies dying next to me. She is not in pain, not that I or any of the vets we have visited can see. She had a viral infection and now refuses to eat. At first, it was just a reduced appetite. Now it is completely gone. She is functional, alert and ambulatory. If she needs to go to the bathroom, she lets me know. The best guess is that it has attacked her liver. On our last visit, we learned that she is probably holding on for us as much as anything. To say it is heartbreaking to watch would be an understatement of mammoth proportions. Roxy, pound for pound is the strongest animal I have ever been around. Couple that with her inborn stubbornness and everything is working against her. She absolutely refuses to give up and at the same time refuses to eat anything. She stays hydrated, not too much and not too little and her kidneys are functioning normally. None the less, she is dying and there is not a thing that anyone can do about it. All I can do is stay with her and pay back the loyalty she has shown me over her life. At the least, I owe her that.

I am not now, nor have I ever been a church going person. I do believe in a higher authority and that he is just. I know there is a reason he is doing this but for the life of me, can’t understand the manner in which it is being done. I pray that he gives her the dignity that she deserves and hope he won’t make me make the decision. As long as she is pain free and cognizant of her surroundings, I will abide by his decision. But if my best friend starts to suffer, I will step in to save her that indignity. She would have given her life for me on her worst day, even now. But then again, she’s only a dog.

m