Casper
1994-2008
“Let’s go to Gold Ribbon and just take a look, she’s 18 months old and a failed show dog…her nose is too short or something….”
“No, I’m not ready. No dog can be as wonderful as Kelly was (Kelly was my first golden who died at 13 after introducing me to my then future husband).
“Let’s just go meet her.”
“Fine, but it’s a waste of time.”
We drove up to the gate, step inside and 60 pounds of sheer joy raced towards me. I had heard of love at first sight, but never expected to be bit by the bug. Caper chose me, us, in a moment that felt spiritual and irresistible. We took her to the beach a couple weeks later, and for the first time let her off her leash. She took off like a shot, ran forever and then, just as we looked at each other in consternation, hurtled back to us, claiming us.
For over 13 years she graced us with tenderness and exquisite heart. After any separation, she would literally sing a song of greeting. I could hypnotize her by scratching her throat just under her collar. She would purr in delight and fight to keep her eyes open while slowly melting to the floor in a puddle of bliss.
Tennis balls were her best friend. She loved to bury them in the snow at our Colorado house, play keep away with us in the waves at Port Aransas, and hide them all over the house.
When she first spotted a herd of Elk on a mountain hike in Colorado, she was gone for two hours, chasing them God knows where. We waited hopefully and she finally loped back to us, pleased as punch with herself.
She loved to be out front on our hikes, and occasionally joined some other group of hikers who were faster than we were. At first she was afraid of everything new, (especially manhole covers and storm drains) but agility changed her from a fraidy cat to fearless.
As winter 2008 approached, we knew she could no longer manage the challenge of snow drifts on our annual trek to Colorado, so I stayed behind with her in Austin. On February 12 she had one bad, seemingly endless night that changed my life and ended hers. In a series of strokes she collapsed repeatedly and finally could not get up. Although her terror and confusion were palpable, she held my gaze for the sixty minutes it took for the four tranquilizer shots to help her fall asleep. As she left this world lying in my arms at the foot of our bed, she was snoring in contentment that the scary stuff was finally over. Her parting gift to me was helping me come to terms with the terror I have felt throughout my lifetime. As I faced my own hidden pain, the flashbacks of her suffering faded. Mostly I remember our hour of falling into each other’s eyes, in love after all these years. Tonight my husband is flying home to offer his own goodbye to our beloved Caper.
