For years I’ve shared stories about our golden retriever Fearless. Longtime readers— those who started reading Unorganized Territory more than 14 years ago—may remember that Fearless came to us as a Father’s Day gift from our son Gideon and his wife Sara.
The roly-poly puppy was to make up for the fact that they had taken our family dog— Gideon’s dog, Gizmo—away from us to their new home. The puppy had big paws to fill as we all adored Gizmo. But he quickly won our hearts with his silly antics, especially his anxious attitude. He was a nervous little pup, afraid of rustling garbage bags, balloons and of course, the vacuum cleaner.
For that reason, we decided to give him a strong name— Fearless. We thought he would grow into it. He eventually did, but not before I wrote a few columns about his fearfulness.
In April of 2002, when he was just a year old, I bragged that Fearless had easily slept through a major thunder and lightning storm. Of course there was a reason. He was tired from a terribly traumatic hike. We had taken our poor little dog, who trembled when you shook a trash bag before putting it in the garbage can, on a stroll on County Road 7. Unfortunately, some Good Samaritan had collected litter along the road. It started off as a very slow walk with Fearless cringing and pulling at the leash as we passed the first few bags. He eventually realized that the bags were inanimate and we were able to finish the walk, but not without a lot of laughter at his expense.
I wrote about his anxiety issues again in a column in January 2009, just after the John Beargrease Sled Dog Marathon. Because Fearless had so much energy, I thought he might be sled dog material. I decided to see if we could teach him to pull a sled around the yard to give the grandkids a ride. I started with something I thought would be simple—a little yellow toboggan left at our house by the kids. I carefully hooked the plastic sled to his collar and attempted to get him to walk beside me. It did not work. I forgot about the fear factor.
The sliding toboggan following him terrified him and he took off running, looking back frantically, his eyes filled with fright at the yellow thing chasing him.
It took several minutes to stop him and to get him untangled. It took several more minutes to get him to calm down. I decided he wasn’t cut out to be a sled dog. But it did make me laugh and it made for a good story for a mushing season column.
One year in a Halloween column I admitted that Fearless and I are both a bit cowardly. I shared my apprehension about being home alone. You would think having a big dog would help, but no, sensing my nervousness made Fearless skittish and he would bark at every little noise, scaring me even more. He would walk so close to me that the real danger I faced was tripping over him and breaking a limb.
I’ve mentioned Fearless in many more columns, telling readers about the difficulty of building a snowman with the grandkids when you are waylaid by a 70-pound dog who wants to roll around in the snow with you. I’ve written about his jumping on board Chuck’s four-wheeler and traveling the trails with us. I still chuckle when I remember writing a column about him stealing my mother’s walking stick.
The last time our old guy got a mention was last March, when he went for a nice long walk along County Road 7, where once a trash cleanup had scared him. I was amazed on that warm spring day that he made it as far as he did, huffing and puffing, but with a happy golden retriever grin on his gray muzzle.
I wondered, at that time, if we would be losing him soon. After all, he was almost 14 years old and that is old for a golden. He made it a few more months. On Halloween, we said farewell to our sweet old Fearless.
We knew it was coming, so all his human and canine friends came to say goodbye. He was too weak to jump up and bark in welcome, but he managed that happy golden smile as everyone— our kids, grandkids, my parents and friends—came to give him one last treat, to pet him and tell him one last time, “Good boy.”
At the end, he truly was fearless.
It came to me that every time I
lose a dog they take a piece of
my heart with them. And every
new dog who comes into my
life, gifts me with a piece of their
heart. If I live long enough, all
the components of my heart
will be dog, and I will become as
generous and loving as they are.
Anonymous
Leave a Reply