I knew when I bought my house that it wouldn't be long before I had a dog. I think I visited the Humane Society just once before I found my favorite pound puppy. There were three or four of your brothers and sisters from the same litter, but when I saw your scruffy bearded face I knew that you were the one. You were so young that I had I to wait another week to bring you home, but I was counting the hours down until I could get you. I remember laying in bed with you and a copy of Bullfinch's Mythology hunting for a name. When I ran across Hector, the hero of the Peloponnesian War, I knew it fit. Hector may have been your name but you were called everything on planet, Angel, Buddy, Kiddo or whatever you always seemed to know it was you. I always thought that you were my excuse to talk to myself, but I find I am not talking to myself as much these days because I know that you aren't listening.
For many people, it's when you bring the dog home that the fun starts. It wasn't that way with you. When I brought you home you were a sick little puppy and we had many trips back to the vet. At first, it was Kennel Cough, and ther after that they couldn't tell me. You weren't eating and you were always throwing up. You were so good you would ask to go outside just to throw up. I didn't want to leave you alone so my mother, your grandmother, would babysit. This is what started a wonderful friendship that would last your whole life. Weeks later I finally took you back into the Humane Society and with tears in my eyes, I told them they would have to figure out what was wrong with this little dog or they would have to take you back. They determined that your stomach had sort of crawled up inside of itself and so very little food was getting through. They said that they could do surgery but they weren't sure of your odds of survival. I was already in love with you so I asked them to do it. The surgery went well and the Humane Society was very kind discounting the bill an amazing amount and then your grandma paid for that too. You made us laugh because grandma and I would follow you around making sure that you pooped and you started hiding behind the shed for privacy to go to the bathroom.
From day one you were always good about following the rules. Sometimes I wondered how you made it all day on my long shifts without having to go potty. The neighbors knew that they couldn't call you into their yard even though there was no fence. However, I think that you made a few rules that I learned to obey as well. When I read too late you would jump off of the bed and crawl under it to sleep. All small stuffed animals were yours and new toys always needed to be ran around the yard a few times to show off to the neighbors. When new loaves of bread were opened you were to always have the heel pieces. I wasn't terrible with feeding you table scraps but the last bite of every sandwich was yours as well. We quite often took walks and when I could I let you off the leash because you walked so much better than constantly tugging on it. I was allowed to leave by car anytime, but when I left the house on foot you would usually cry and howl until I came home. I would often hear you when I walked out of the grocery store. I felt like you understood far more words than any dog, but your eyes always spoke for you. Big soulful golden brown puppy eyes, that expressed love beyond words.
I already had a pet when you came to live with me. Cagney, the ferret, was getting to be an old man when you were a little pup. I hesitated letting you two play together. Even as a puppy you were far larger than Cagney and ferrets are very ornery. One of the first times that I let you play together, Cagney crawled into a plastic bag and you pounced on him. I got you away from the bag and the bag didn't move. I carefully picked up the closed end of the bag. Cagney slid lifelessly to the floor and laid there for a full minute, and then he jumped up and ran under a chair. You were a nervous dog and Cagney was a therapy friend. My cousins who are dog enthusiasts came to meet you and found a very nervous dog who would hardly leave my side let alone play with strangers. They asked about Cagney and when I let him out they found that you were an entirely different dog who know how to play and have fun. I used the same trick when we went to have Christmas pictures taken at Petco. The photographer started trying to pose you and I wasn't sure that it was going to happen, but then I got Cagney out and even though he couldn't run and play with you his presence relaxed you enough that I have a great picture of the three of us. I knew that you learned to play with the tough little critter when I was on the computer and you were both running around. I looked down and the ferret had your nose and you were holding so still. You knew that if you pulled back it was going to hurt but by staying still Cagney would get bored and let you go. It was an unlikely friendship but it seemed to be good for both of you.
Things like car rides and meeting strangers were never easy for you. I blamed myself a little for this because I stayed home alone a lot and you needed more socializing. When I did take you in the car people swore I beat you because you would climb out on shaky legs and cower. When I got the pickup, dad put an eyebolt in so that you could safely ride in the back and car rides were much better. It wasn't long before I would swear that you could have driven the route between my house and your grandparent's house, always getting up when I made certain turns. Neighbors would try to pet you and you would shy away from them, but it wasn't long before you taught them that while you didn't want to come close to them, playing a game of chase was a great compromise. I sometimes felt guilty not sharing you with more people. Your kind and gentle nature seemed to be ideal for a therapy dog. I can remember the way that you would ever so gently climb up into my mother's lap. I don't think a large dog was ever so gentle. You knew how to pay attention and listen to whatever anyone had to say. You might have been a great therapy dog, but I think you already had that job living with me full time.
We had great adventures. I remember camping, and you were so proud to have flushed out a deer. I also remember you wanting to chase what I thought was a horse going through the brush only to find out later it was actually a moose that had walked right through our camp. You were a great camper who was always better behaved off leash than on and wherever we went I had no fear of you running off. I am not sure if I was keeping you in my eyesight or you were keeping me in yours. You seemed to understand camping areas better than many campers, and enjoyed the outdoors as much as I did.
Your insecurities faded with time and love. If someone came to the house that was afraid you, you would do your best to win them over. When Jeff moved in with us I felt like you adopted him as much as he did you. Fast friends and I think that your death will be harder on him than on me. He determined that you were a Flat Coated Retriever instead of the mutt that I always claimed. I think he thought you were worthy of a better title than a mutt, but I've always felt that the best hearts were likely to be found in a mutt. Your biggest enemy loved you too. The cat came to live with us because the little thing seemed to have no fear of you. I think Dexter thought of you as a big brother. He would lay on the floor and gradually get closer and closer. You would get so annoyed at the little pest that wouldn't leave you alone, and got the attention that you felt that you deserved. On top of that, he got a name so similar to your you were never sure who was in trouble. There were moments that you two played together, and while I didn't expect the severity of your timidness of such a small thing, I also didn't expect you to play together. I wonder what it would have been like if you two had come together when you were younger.
Letting you go was hard, but I had several years of knowing how old that you were and knowing that I would probably have to make that decision one day. One of our friends used to say, "if you love something and it loves you back, what more can you ask for?" It had been just days ago that you were making the rounds with people, milking out all of the attention, and you insisted that a trip around the block. It was only the last two days that the look of pain that you gave me broke my heart. I knew it was time. The arthritis meds were not enough and when the vet said that you had a major heart murmur, I knew it was time. I tried to call the vet to make sure that we could get you in without having to wait, but that was when my voice gave out. The staff was all very kind and I held you as you took your last breath. It was those beautiful brown eyes that will live forever in my memory.
I have already donated many of your things to the Humane Society, but you are constantly in my thoughts. The day I fear, is the day that I forget. The day I wonder if I've left you outside or find a toy that I've forgotten. Your collar is sitting in its usual spot because It is a positive reminder of the dog who was very loved and gave love equally. I am sure that one day the collar will be thrown out, but I will at least keep a dog tag. There will be other dogs because I feel that people and dog are better together, but there will never be another Hector. You are a legend in my world something that I can not imagine another dog coming near. I love you dog!
