Dear Emily,
Bailey died while we were in
Greece. You won’t remember Bailey because you are only two years old, but
she deserves for you to know her story because she is an important part of our
family and our history.
Bailey was a beautiful black Labrador retriever.
Uncle Robert got her when she was only six weeks old. We loved her and she loved us, probably more than we
deserved. She never understood that she was not a lap dog! From the
time she was a puppy, she wanted to be in someone’s lap – not so bad when she
weighed ten pounds – not so good when she weighed sixty! But she was hard to
push away when she looked at you with those huge sad eyes as if to remind
you, “I still need for you to cuddle me even though I’m all grown up!”
Bailey was talented at learning
tricks and games: some that your uncle Robert taught her, some that he
didn’t. She loved to play fetch until SHE got tired. If you got
tired first, she would nose your hand or roll the tennis ball at your
feet until you felt guilty and started the game again. As a rule, Labs
love the water and Bailey was no exception. I was always a little nervous to
watch her leap into the swift river, but she had no trouble swimming, clamping her jaws around the stick and lumbering up on the bank to shake off, ready to leap in
again. Offering her paw for a handshake or rolling over on command seemed
to come naturally to her. She taught herself how to open the gate to her
pen. She figured out that she could easily open the latch by flipping it
up with her nose. Eventually, we had to put a snap lock on the latch just to
keep her safe.
However, Bailey had no skills as a guard
dog. She shied away from strangers and hid behind the barn when an
unfamiliar car pulled up in the driveway. She would accompany me on long
walks down Mahaley Road, but when she heard a car approaching, she would leap
into the woods and trot along safely out of sight just to appear again when the
“danger” had passed! We were confused by her fear and bashfulness until
someone explained that her hesitation around strangers was an indication of her
intelligence. Bailey wasn’t a coward; she simply wanted to make sure that
the new person or situation was safe and worthy of her attention.
Bailey birthed forty-four puppies over a span
of three years. The first litter of thirteen squirming puppies was born
on a cool April morning. Since Uncle Robert was away at student council
convention, Pap and I assisted Bailey in the delivery. Labor started about three a.m. and
ended about sundown! As another puppy plopped into the world, Bailey
would raise her head, give a healthy lick to the new arrival and glance at me
as if to say, “What the heck is going on?” Because there were more
puppies than space, we had to rotate their eating times. We organized a
system - six on – seven off- every two hours. Bailey nursed puppies
around the clock for the first few days of motherhood, but she endured the
process with steady patience.
Bailey’s death was not a
shock. We had known for several
months that Bailey would not be with us much longer. At age fourteen, she had
lost weight and she struggled to rise to a standing position. She wobbled when
she walked, and she was almost completely deaf. Yet, she always made an effort greet us with a wet nose and
gentle tail wag. In the end, she just went to sleep one
afternoon- quietly and peacefully.
That was her style. Uncle Robert buried her under the oak
tree in our pet cemetery. I miss her.
No, Emily, you won’t remember Bailey, but
I hope you have your own Bailey someday:
a Bailey to insist that you to take time to play and to cuddle; a Bailey
to remind you to be careful whom you trust; a Bailey to model commitment in the
face of overwhelming responsibility.
Most of all, I hope you have a Bailey to love you when you are not
lovable, and to forgive you when you don’t deserve it.
Now that I think about it, everybody
needs a Bailey.
Love,
BB
