BAILEY

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