My pack has included a dog for all but a handful of my five decades of life, but I have chosen none of them. I have fond but only fuzzy memories of Spooky, a childhood dog that my parents would have to tell the tales of. My memories begin with Duke.

Duke

I was six in 1976. My father, mother, younger sister and I lived in a nice home on a nice street in the middle of thousands of other nice homes in the Town of Hinton. There was nothing remarkable about our home or the twenty square feet of cement that served as the porch of our front door. Spooky had passed a few months earlier and our pack was bereft of a dog. We did not leave food or water out for strays; why do so when we hardly ever saw a stray?

Coming back from an outing, we saw that our unremarkable porch had a remarkable visitor. A handsome young black Labrador retriever had come calling! We fed him, gave him water, and showered him with affection for the few days it took for my father to find his owners. We thought our time with Duke was at an end when his pack came to take him away. Or was it?

Two days later, Duke’s pack Alpha called. His mate gave him an ultimatum to choose her or Duke…can Duke join our pack? Apparently, Duke sensed he would need a new pack soon and made arrangements. Oh, and from what the rumor mill indicated, Duke’s ex-pack Alpha should have made the other choice…things didn’t go so well after Duke left.

Duke was with us for fourteen great years. I remember camping adventures, snuggles on the floor in the garage while Dad worked on vehicles, Duke exploring the neighborhood with his doghouse in tow, Duke dragging his chain two kilometers through town to visit his girlfriend, and more. Please don’t tell Mom that I sometimes let Duke in the house on her nice carpets when she and Dad were away. I just didn’t want him to be lonely.

My sister, Leah, had to take Duke to the veterinarian and say goodbye when I was at University and our parents were out of town. Although I regret not being around to help, I probably wouldn’t have been able to make that last drive with Duke anyway (more on this later). My only regret is not spending enough time with him during my teenage years. I tell myself I was too busy, but actually I was just too selfish with my time.

Kayla

A longtime friend had moved in 1994 for university. In 1995, his parents called because they were moving and couldn’t take Kayla with them…would we be her new pack? Kayla was an American cocker spaniel that I had met a few times, and I was happy to agree to the adoption. Ironically, when my new bride Cheryl strongly suggested that I didn’t need a housemate (sorry, Marc), she was OK with keeping Kayla.

During our five years together, Kayla showed endless affection for her pack and the spirit of a lion. She never hesitated to curl up beside you on the couch or the bed for snuggles. Beware all four-legs, though! Kayla had an adjustable suspension that allowed her to go under cars and beds without losing a step. It surprised many a cat to find their hiding place breached. Kayla didn’t seem to understand, or perhaps care, that she was only twenty pounds. One evening, she bolted out of my garage to charge two young adult bullmastiffs. I don’t know who was more shocked: me, the 200+ total pounds of bullmastiffs, or their owner. Thankfully, I scooped Kayla up before we could find out if the bullmastiffs were as ferocious as their ample leather harnesses and chains implied.

I am one of those people that love dogs too much to say a proper goodbye when it is time. I got in the car with Cheryl and Kayla for the last trip to the vet but stayed in the car blubbering while Cheryl took care of things.

George

Only a week without a dog had been enough. Cheryl and her sister went to the Edmonton SPCA in November 1999 ‘just to nose around’, and then took me in a week later. I don’t know if he was in the first or second cage, but George had us with one look from his deep, soulful brown eyes. He was subdued and didn’t demand to be taken so much as just needing a pack…and we were it.

George was an English cocker spaniel, three years old when he adopted us. He was very affectionate but not playful, probably because of his early years as a university behavior study dog. One day around Easter, we came home to find that George had dug a bag of chocolate eggs out of their secure, or so we thought, hiding place. Unlike other dogs, George didn’t gorge on the chocolate and then vomit foil and stomach contents. Instead, he had carefully placed one egg on each bed and another in the middle of the floor in each bedroom. And then there was his crushing fear of cardboard boxes…

George developed intestinal issues after nine fantastic years. Steroids gave him another three years, but after that, it was time. Is there any quality of life when a dog can’t patrol his territory and do some sniffing? For the first time, the last trip to the vet was my responsibility. It was a good thing I called ahead, because when I arrived, all I could do was hand him over. They asked if I wanted to be with him, and in my head I was thinking, ‘are you insane? I barely made it in your door’, but all I could do was shake my head and leave. My shades didn’t fool the staff; shades don’t hide tears streaming down your face and incomprehensible speech.

Big Dog

Cheryl and George arrived home one day with a large black dog in tow. Unfortunately, Big Dog was only with us for two weeks…too short to get a proper name. How did he choose us out of so many others? Did George tell him about us?

I remember catching up on some work at home and Big Dog took my wrist gently in his mouth to take my hand off the keyboard and over to him. Apparently, it was time for a pet-the-dog break.

We found Big Dog a home through the friend-of-a-friend network. The adopters took him to the vet to see what could be done with his ailments. Unfortunately, life as a stray had been hard; the best the vet could do was to give Big Dog peace.

Kona

Kona is a shepherd-Doberman-Rottweiler-greyhound or something of the like mix. She had to work extra hard to ensure we would be in her pack. First, the dog cops had the audacity to capture her at the end of January 2011 at the tender age of 18 months. After a few weeks in dog jail, someone other than her destined pack took her home. Things are fuzzy until April 10, when Kona showed up at dog jail again. From what we were told, she escaped her new home and when the adopter was called up about Kona being found; the SPCA was advised Kona could stay with them. Being a pretty girl, Kona adopted again only ten days later. This incorrect pack was easier to shake off. Kona just had to chase their cats around for six days!

Every time you lose a dog, there’s always talk of taking some time without a dog to make traveling easier and other silly things. After George’s passing in early May, our pack went a whole two weeks before talking about adopting another dog. Cheryl wanted another small breed. She really likes cocker spaniels and was leaning for another. My neighbor Dave urged us to get a real dog like his pack’s German shepherd, ‘real’ meaning at least 50lbs. We dipped our toes in the water by surfing the SPCA’s website for adoptable dogs. After spotting some candidates that met Cheryl’s criteria, we went to visit prospective pack members. The pug was adorable but scared my then seven-year-old son Damon, who thought the noisy breathing meant the poor dog was on death’s door. The visit with a Jack Russell went fine, but the adoption conversation went sideways:

SPCA adoption consultant: “Have you ever had a Jack Russell before?”

Me: “No.”

SPCA adoption consultant: “You’re not a suitable adoption candidate.”

Me: “I don’t understand. I have had dogs for decades and that dog weighs maybe 15 pounds. How hard can it be to own one?”

SPCA adoption consultant: “Have you ever had a Jack Russell before?”

Me: “Good talk, we’ll take another look around.”

Off we went for a loop around the facility. So many dogs, all deserving of good homes. After some visiting here and there, we came upon Kona. She was alone in her room, standing there with her tail wagging. She looked at us and barked once. I thought she meant we should come in and meet her…which we did. In hindsight, I believe she was saying, ‘You’re finally here. Now come on in and get the meet and greet over with so you can take me home!’ It only took a few minutes for Kona, Damon and I to all know that Kona would join our pack. After a week of Damon and me fearing that someone would adopt Kona before us, Cheryl realized that destiny was not with her in the small dog quest. We formalized Kona’s adoption of us on May 26, 2011. Kona has been with us for twelve years now, and she has shown nearly no signs of slowing down. Our adventures together will have to be shared in a separate story. Oh, and Dave was pleased to have another real dog in the neighborhood since Kona was a smidgen over the 50lb minimum. My lesson for you is to stay alert: if you find a stray on your doorstep or someone furry accosts you at the SPCA, the dog may have chosen you for its pack!