If you've been reading, you know that my husband and I met walking our dogs. He had only been a dog person for a few months prior to our meeting. However, once he became a dog person, he bought in big! Literally. When a co-worker approached Brian about adopting one of their dogs, he was shown two pictures. He told them he'd take the small dog, only if they couldn't find another home for it. Shockingly, they found no other home for it. So Brian went to pick up Cali. He rang the doorbell and a rambuctious, overweight yellow Lab came running to greet him. He asked, "Where's Cali?" The response? "This is Cali." So much for the little dog.
Cali rode home - shotgun, and her new life began. Her life as Brian's true love. We are unsure what Cali's life had been previously, but when I came on the scene a few months later after life with Brian had commenced, Cali was living the high life. Eating large servings of diet dog food (the irony), tackling Brian for hugs and kisses upon his arrival home, and riding in the front seat (more than once she's put the car into neutral). Needless to say, I was just thrilled she was willing to share him with me. Quite frankly, it was almost as if she picked me. This helps make me feel better when I occasionally think (usually during the shedding season, which lasts approximately 11 1/2 out of the 12 months of the year) that if he ever had to choose between Cali and me, the dog would win.
And the feeling is mutual. Cali loves Brian. Often when he goes to work, she lays at the top of the steps waiting for him. When he has gone on business trips, she has spent days at that same spot. I once read a L. M. Montgomery book, in which a dog accompanies his master to the train station where the master leaves for war. Four years later, the dog is still there waiting when his master returns. I have no doubt that Cali would do the same for Brian.
Cali is a fascinating dog. She has the capability to actually smile - over a table of Chinese food or an unattended cup of Starbucks. Her survival instincts are phenomenal - when hungry, simply unwrap and eat the 36 Pop-Tarts out of the Sam's Club box left on the back of the counter - in one sitting. She's helpful. If Mommy's dressing too warm for the season - shred the leather jacket to give it ventilation. Her communication skills are impressive. If she wants to go for a walk, she will go get her leash and throw it at you. Same for water and food dishes. However, she is the same gentle dog who will sniff the new baby but not touch him and let the three year old give her treats and help lead her around the house.
As Cali has slowed down over the last year due to blindness and arthritis, it has occurred to me that one day the dear girl, now considered elderly, will die. When I found out she would completely lose her eyesight and we could do nothing about it, I bawled like a baby, but Brian didn't shed a tear. It occurred to me that in 5 1/2 years, I had never seen Brian cry. So I asked him when he had last cried. I knew it hadn't been at any funerals, weddings, including ours, or even the birth of our children. He said that he remembered crying when his boyhood cat, Cheshire, died. And he would cry when Cali died. This began an occasional panic on my part, because I believe he will not only cry, but will go into a weeklong depression. And so I began to wonder, if I am the one to find her, what on earth will I do? I simply cannot call and tell him that she is gone. I decided to breach the subject of my panic.
My idea was to run away - go to the mall, and wait until he came home and found her. We discussed saying, "Honey - you know how when you went to work this morning Cali couldn't see. Well, she's seen the light." Finally, it was decided that my idea was ok and I will leave a note saying, "Dinner's in the oven, dog's upstairs, back later."
Cali will turn nine next month, and she is in great health, aside from the mild arthritis and blindness. She's even losing weight! However, occasionally when she is sleeping very still, I panic and poke her or call her name. Today, for instance. Brian had come home during the day which is very unusual, then had gone back to work. The dogs went downstairs to see him off. An hour or two later, I couldn't find Cali. I called for her, checked the top two floors of the house, her favorite air conditioner vent under the window, even outside. I was thinking that the blessed girl had gone off somewhere and died. Finally, I removed the gate to the bottom floor, and where did I find her? Laying by the front door, waiting for her love to come back home.
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