An unforgettable childhood memory of mine was the day that my father gave in to having our little terrier, Skipper, put down. Skipper was 19 years old (human years) when I was just 12. He’d been with our family a long time. But the day arrived when Skipper lost control of his bladder and the vet recommended that we put him to sleep. My father carried Skipper in to the animal hospital while my mom and I waited in the car. He came back out about a half hour later, got into the front seat beside my mom and began sobbing. Never had I seen my dad so distraught.
As the months passed I think we all noticed that our house was not a home without a Skipper, so I began bugging my parents for another dog. At first they resisted but one day they finally gave in. I didn’t want to buy a pure bread dog; I wanted one from the ASPCA (Association for the Cruelty to Animals). So as my dad and I were leaving my mom cautioned us, “Make sure that if you decide on a dog to bring home that it’ll work out well. We don't want any trouble with our neighbours.”
Dad and I drove to the ASPCA. I was so excited I could hardly wait to see what dogs were available. The section where the canines were housed was like a long railroad car with a passage all the way down the middle and lined with cages on either side of the main aisle for the entire distance of the building. We walked the length of one side then changed over to the other. Of all the dogs that I saw, the thing that touched me was a female German Shepherd with a litter of 5 puppies. She was jet black with golden brown markings and each pup was a variation on the color and markings of the mother. I decided that I would place my hand inside the cage and the puppy that would come to me would be the one I would choose. So I wiggled my fingers and called to the pups. Sure enough, one little puppy came to me, allowed me to pet it and licked my fingers. I looked at my dad and said, “This is the dog I want.” Dad stared back at me and said, “What do you want a dog like that for? It’s going to grow very large; look at the size of the mother.” I repeated, “This is the one I really want.” So my dad waved to the attendant that we were interested in one of the puppies. The attendant came by and we showed him which one. He picked up the pup, rolled it over in his hands to check on the gender. Excluding me, he looked at my dad and said, “You don’t want this one. It’s a female. Too much trouble and expense.” He picked up another pup and then another until he found a male. “Here you go,” passing the pup to my dad, “Here’s a male for you.” I was intimidated by the rough demeanor of this worker. I froze up and didn’t insist on having the little female pup that had responded to me. So my dad took the male and we went to the desk where you filled out some paperwork and paid for the dog.
When we got home with the little black doggie my mother asked my dad, “What breed of dog is it?” My dad answered, “German Shepherd.” “Oh my God,” my mother yelled, “Have you all lost your marbles?” “What are we ever going to do with a dog like that?
In the evening, I put together a bed using a large cardboard box and placing a smaller one inside it and then a towel. This box was placed beside my bed with the pup in it. Each time I tried to turn off the light to go to sleep, the puppy would start yelping and wouldn’t stop until I turned the light back on. So I had to take the puppy into bed with me and that was the only way we could go to sleep. It was a risk, but he never wet the bed once when I took him in my bed to sleep with me.
I have no idea why, but we named the dog Joey. As he got older and larger we realized some of the challenges. He was so powerful. He wanted to assume the role of protector of the house and family. Whenever we had visitors, we’d have to muzzle him because he barked so much at them and they were afraid of him. At first we would let him out on the loose. Once he’d been gone a while, I’d just blow on my dog whistle and he’d come back and meet me at our back door with his tale wagging. Neighbors began complaining that Joey was out roaming on the loose and could be a danger to the neighbourhood children, so I started taking him for walks on a leash. Where I grew up we had many neighbours, but we also had quite a large area of land where there were no houses and where there were lots of rocks, hills and trees. I would take Joey into that area, unhitch the leash and he loved to run around and explore. Guided by his acute sense of smell, he was so happy discovering things outdoors. His favorite game was "Stick," which consisted of him finding a stick, bringing it to me, playing tug of war with it for a minute then letting me have it so that I could throw it far, at which point he'd fetch it and we'd start the whole cycle over again.
One of our nieghbours, the Martins, had a beautiful golden cocker spaniel named Sadie. Mrs. Martin shared with me one day over our backyard fences that Sadie was going to have a litter. I didn't think much of it but when the day arrived that the puppies came into the world, Mrs. Martin invited me over to her house to have a look at the 7 new arrivals. The kitchen floor was covered with newspapers and there was Sadie looking quite docile and exhausted and then there were the puppies. Each one of these little black pups was a carbon copy of either Joey or his mother - including some golden brown markings on face and paws. I didn't know what to say but I knew that for my parents this would not be overlooked.
A few weeks later, my dad came home from work and announced that he’d found a better setting for Joey. A coworker who had a fairly isolated home about twenty miles out of Sudbury, our town, expressed an interest in taking Joey from us. By that time I was well into high school and I knew that when I went away to university, my parents would not keep Joey, so his leaving a little earlier wasn't so hard to swallow. My father's colleague came by our house the next evening to see Joey for himself. He had no fear of dogs and Joey seemed OK with him. So the man suggested that he pick up Joey on the weekend and give it a try spending a couple of days with his family in the country. Things went well and before we knew it, Joey had a new home.
After a few months, I started asking my parents to take a trip to see Joey where he was with his new family. At first they flatly refused. Mom said, "Absolutely not, because that would be like returning to the scene of a crime." After some time though, they relented, on the condition that we would just get a glimpse of Joey from our car and nothing more. So with my mom at the wheel of our family Oldsmobile, my dad in the passenger seat in front, and me alone in the back seat, we set out to visit Joey. On a clear autumn day, I remember that we drove on the Trans Canada Highway east out of Sudbury and after some time came to the rural area where Joey’s new family lived. My mom slowed down the car as we drew closer to the property. As we approached, we saw a few kids playing in the yard in front of the house. Then, we saw Joey, and forgetting everything that I’d agreed to with my parents, I rolled down the back window and stared at him. As I caught his attention, Joey peered back at me, his ears suddenly stood straight up and then he lept into a sprint and raced toward our car. My dad yelled at my mom, “Step on it, Doris, let’s get the hell out of here. He recognizes us!” Mom was a confident driver and not afraid to speed so she put the gas pedal to the floor. My heart was in my mouth as Joey vigorously chased us and it seemed that he would catch up. As the car picked up speed and got to fifty or so miles an hour we started gaining on him. As the distance got larger between us, Joey stopped running but kept his glance fixed on us until our car was out of view.
On the trip back home, driving along the Trans Canada west and looking into a blazing pink and orange sunset in the distance, my mom, wearing sunglasses, checked me out in her rear view mirror. Finally she spoke, "That's a dog for you - true blue. When they love you, you can bank on it. And they don't forget you, not like people tend to do."
We couldn't be certain on that day, but, as it turned out, that would be the very last time any one of us would ever see our, "true blue" German Shepherd, Joey.
