I didn't know Bailey at that point. We had picked out a Lab at the shelter and went and got name tags and food bowls and a leash only to be informed that our pick went to another family, effectively breaking our hearts, and I resented how my little girl sobbed over losing her dog so I wasn't really in love with the idea of risking a similar experience.
However, little did we know that when certain life events are meant to be, the moment chooses you and not the other way around.
The gentleman who had picked Bailey actually noticed the remarkable way the she reacted to Sheri. It struck him enough that when it was clear his other dog did not welcome the newcomer, he contacted her and let her know that the intrepid retriever would be a better fit for our family.
Bailey, like most Labs, had the soft, soulful gaze that evoked profound feelings of tenderness. We quickly discovered she was not a good walking dog, but despite her massive strength, she was light on her paws around our girls. She became inseparable from Sheri, who lavished her with more love than any dog has ever gotten, and their unique relationship became the stuff of legends.
Our girls, were of course, in love with Bailey. They made up cute names for her and sneaked treats whenever they could, forever winning a devoted follower whose coat shone like new copper in the sun.
As for me, Bailey merely tolerated my presence. She had a habit of sulking when Sheri wasn't near. Whenever I approached to pet her or hang out with her, she discreetly, but pointedly slid out of the room and found comfort anywhere else in the house. Anywhere where I was not.
Of course, I was her buddy whenever she spotted a treat in my hand. She barked at me for years when I got home, as if berating me for having the nerve to come to her turf. She often shoved her big block of a head and easily pried me away from Sheri whenever I was too close.
Bailey protected her Mom from any and all gestures from me at all times and that furry face often seemed to grin whenever she trumped any one of my rules.
"No dog on the bed," I proclaimed only to find her snoring softly at the foot of the sleigh bed with a contented little smirk. The smirk grew when Sheri came to her defense, all teeth and claws, and I had no choice but to learn how to sleep with my legs tucked in so Queen Bailey could stretch as she snored and grumbled and yelped as she chased some dream rabbit or squirrel.
"No dog on the couch," I verbally wrote in stone.
One gaze into those liquid dark orbs full of secret wisdom and the stone was dust. She had her pick of couches.
She was a terrible traveler, shook herself to pieces in the car and panted ferociously mile after mile.
She never touched food that we didn't offer her and if she did, she was 100% Ninja about it.
She always went to the door when nature called.
She never ran off, preferring to run back inside to either bed or couch.
She slept the majority of the day unless Sheri was around to baby her and love her and spoil her.
She barked her head off whenever friend or stranger came calling and made many of our friends work real hard at gaining her approval.
She did not enjoy other dogs, preferring her own company.
She hardly ever left Sheri's side.
She continued to tolerate my presence though she often chuffed loudly and shook her head in something akin to hopelessness whenever I dared intrude into her sight.
She didn't like to play ball with me, but she flung her toys around under Sheri's cheering.
She was quick to turn away from the water, always ignoring her waterdog roots.
She was my wife's dog one thousand percent. I was just the guy that gave out the goodies when mommy wasn't home.
In 2009, hit by the housing crisis, we lost our house and moved to Connecticut where we endured two long years of uncertainty as far as jobs went.
We lived with my parents in their small, but lovely home, and Bailey won their hearts with her demeanor.
I'm getting lost in the minute details of daily life of our Bailey, so I'll come to the point.
I've written before that God doesn't talk to us through the over-translated scriptures from 2000 years ago. I believe He sends us messengers, the unlikeliest of messengers, to test our faith, and to give us His divine help.
Bailey was my messenger on one of the darkest days from those times.
My best friend and I were trying to get his business growing to the next level. With the economy still in recovery mode, it was a challenging process to say the least. One week, I had made enough phone calls to schedule a full week of chimney cleaning appointments. On a Thursday night, I projected what the following week would bring, and everything looked promising. On Friday, several cancellations dashed those plans and at the end of that week, We had made enough money to only fill the truck with gas.
I feared the crisis would result in Sheri and my girls going back to Pennsylvania for a time.
I feared I couldn't offer any shadow of optimism as I had absolutely no hope of regaining all that we'd lost.
Sheri had taken our girls out for the afternoon, so I came home, my parents' home, to an empty house where nothing felt mine. My parents, wonderful people they are, reassured me that this was my home, but I couldn't overcome that defeatist attitude and overwhelming sense of failure.
The reality hit like a cold wave of Arctic Ocean and I sank down to my knees to allow the rage and desperation to flow through my tears.
With my face down on the mattress, my fist clutching the covers, I suddenly felt a warm, wet tongue across my temple.
In my inner storm of self-pity, I didn't notice the brown furry bulk of Bailey at the foot of the bed.
I looked up at her, envying her life and ignorance of what I was going through. We locked eyes, and I froze...
That liquid gaze seemed to see into the very confines of my soul. Only when she felt sure she had my attention, she slowly turned her head, pointing her nose around the cozy little bedroom.
I glanced around as if seeing everything for the first time. Shame coursed through me. I was almost to ashamed to look into my dog's eyes, but she chuffed, panted twice, and slapped another wet doggy kiss on my face before fixing me with her direct stare.
She sighed long and deep, and rested her chin on her paws, the weight of the moment clearly on her thick shoulders.
For my part, suddenly comforted beyond measure, I could only lay my head on hers, my hand finding her floppy ear to pet it for the next eternity.
"You're right," I said out loud, thinking of all the times I rolled my eyes when Sheri had entire conversations with Bailey. "You're right," I repeated, feeling the kind of comfort you only find in friends with whom you survived a cataclysm, which, Bailey and I actually had.
I fell asleep without worrying as I thought of her message.
Look at you feeling sorry for yourself when you're surrounded by people who love you and are giving you a roof over your head, a comfortable place to sleep in, and more than your share of goodies and water each day. What the hell are you worrying about so much, human? Here, here's a lick to soothe those working hands. Take a deep breath, and let it go. Everything is going to be alright.
As the years went by, I often drew comfort from that peculiar moment.
A hard working attitude and a drive to be something more, galvanized by Bailey's message, gave me the fortitude I needed whenever I felt down.
By the time we moved into our new house in a Connecticut Suburb, Bailey's fur on her face began dulling from lustrous brown to an ash gray.
Her gait got slower and she looked up forlornly up the stairs where she could no longer climb.
My Bailey, the rock of my life, was slowing down.
Eventually her legs became weak, almost too weak to allow her to get out of the house.
She still pranced and had puppy moments when we least expected but the constant panting, and disoriented look on her face, the way she startled when we tried to pet her, signaled the inevitable arrival of a farewell none of us is ever ready for.
Even now, perhaps unaware of the dreadful moment to come, Bailey is curled up, her breath labored but even, to convey that same sense of serenity and peace she gave me as a message on that lost day all those years ago.
Holding her as she slept, I hoped she could feel my message to her...
This is our last night together, Bailey. B. B Money, B Goode, Bay Bay, Behbeh Booh Boohs, Momma Moo, Bailey, my wonderful, silent friend.
I will miss you.
I will miss that sense of calm you bestowed upon me when I felt most afraid.
I will miss your heavy tail thumping against my leg whenever you got your way, which was often.
I will miss the clatter of your claws on the hardwood floor, and the rivulets and puddles you left for us to clean after a drink.
I will miss the satisfied crunching of a milkbone, and the familiar begging look beseeching us for more.
I will miss your quiet company devoid of judgment.
I will miss your exuberance when we opened the door, as if we hadn't seen you for weeks instead of a quick trip to the supermarket.
I will even miss the way you managed to stretch your large frame on the very spot we needed to walk through or place a piece of furniture on. How did you know? Was that some sort of doggy prank you excelled at?
I can only hope that you know just how much we love you. How big a part of this family you are. How much of my rock you were throughout some of our hardest years.
I can only hope you feel the same love we felt from your every lick, and saw in every soulful, liquid, all knowing gaze...
On our last day together, Bailey and I cuddled on her bed, and shared the contents of a small carton of Wendy's fries. She didn't get up and leave as she so often did. She merely enjoyed every bite of greasy goodness, and rested her paw on my hand, no longer merely tolerating my presence but maybe drawing comfort, albeit less than the comfort I drew from her bulk next to me...
A furry angel returns to heaven. I have a feeling, she will find herself in a big, soft, fluffy bed or a brand new plush white couch, where she will grin on us from above, knowing forever how much we love her, how much I love her as we remember her with gratitude for everything she will mean to us.
