The Right Dog

About six years ago, my husband, Steve, and I attended a benefit for a young girl who was fighting cancer.

We didn’t really need any of the items being auctioned, but those puppies were so darned cute.

I raised my hand, just to keep others bidding.

Being in the right place at the right time can change lives.

I texted my son:

“I just bought a puppy.”

“Dibs,” came his immediate reply.

We had a few weeks to choose a name before our border collie was ready to leave his mom.

Morning after morning, we tossed out names as we walked to the bus, but we couldn’t agree on any of them.

Finally, little Abby suggested Jacque.

It was a good thing Jacque was so fluffy, cute and cuddly because border collies can be a bit stubborn.

He fit right in to the family.

After two years of constant surveillance and long runs, Jacque became a fantastic helper to me and great family pet.

He went everywhere with me unless I expected to be inside at a meeting all day or stepped on a plane.

I don’t like all-day meetings or planes anyway.

He rode on the tractor when I fed, he trotted next to my horse and loped out to gather the sheep. He knew when to lean against my leg when nothing else would help.

Jacque liked treats. I didn’t give him table scraps, but if I had a bone or extra meat I would happily share.

I knew better than to offer chicken bones, pork hocks or cooked bones that might splinter.

Last week, Jacque trotted beside the tractor while I took four trips to feed the cattle, a total of 13 miles.

Yet, when we took the truck to fix fence, he wouldn’t get out.

The next morning, he wasn’t on his bed.

My heart sank.

I had given him a bone a couple of days ago.

I searched half the ranch, wondering if an early-awakening grizzly had wandered into Jacque’s space.

After calling and calling, Jacque slunk from under a tree in the yard.

He died in his bed.

My vet said if a bone splinters it can perforate the intestine, poisoning the entire abdomen. By the time Jacque showed symptoms, it was too late.

I’ve killed some dogs, but never before killed one with kindness.

I cried.

Every time I turned around, I looked for Jacque, only to find emptiness.

I washed his food dish and put it away. I hung his blankets on the line to air out.

A few days later, for some reason I was inside when the radio played the swap and bulletin board.

I’m never inside when swap and bulletin board comes on.

It was call-in day.

A man described a 2-year-old, spayed border collie.

I wasn’t sure I was ready for another dog, but I wrote down the phone number anyway.

I thought about it for a day.

It wouldn’t hurt to find out more about the dog. If she had any bad traits, any at all, I wasn’t committed to taking her.

Grace is part hanging tree, part border collie. Both breeds are known to be tough, stubborn, energetic, intelligent and instinctive workers.

For the first time since my college days, a dog slept on my bed. She snuggled up to my legs in the night.

The next day, Abby and Grace ice skated on the pond and fixed fence together.

I took her for a run in the darkness of the dawn.

I need to run more often anyway.

After all, being in the right place at the right time might change my life.

Again.