By Teena Raffa-Mulligan. Rockingham, WA
No more pets. We both agreed. We’d shared our home with a procession of cats and dogs over decades and all but one lived to old age. It’s too hard to say goodbye, we said. We get too attached. It’s a responsibility. Besides, they can live a long time. Who would take them on if they outlived us? We decided to enjoy the family’s animal companions.
A few years passed. The man around the house mentioned he’d like the company of a dog and began to check out different breeds on line. A Labrador would suit us, he decided. It looked like our dog days weren’t over after all. But we were older and wiser. Not a puppy this time, we said. A mature dog. One that needed a home. A rescue dog.
The search was on. So many abandoned dogs in all shapes, sizes, and breed combinations, but not the Labrador he had in mind. Nonetheless, we checked out a few possibilities but the dogs that appealed to us were quickly snapped up. Maybe we wouldn’t find the right pooch.
I was at a writers’ retreat on Rottnest Island when the photo came through to my phone. A six-year-old golden Labrador in a kennel in the Eastern States needed a new home. She’d only produced one litter for them so was being moved on. We could have her for free if we paid for the flight. Should we? Why not?
A couple of weeks later we headed to the airport to collect our newest family member. My first thought when we reached her crate was, my goodness, she’s big. Her predecessors had been a paraplegic Dachshund with attitude and two mixed breed terriers. I’m something of a wuss with dogs I don’t know, especially large breeds. Was she going to be right for us? She didn’t want to find out — the minute we opened the door of the crate to attach a lead, she bolted and took off across the carpark at top speed. Panic filled me. The airport was busy. I had visions of tragic consequences.
Fortunately, she halted her flight and took refuge beneath a parked car. More than an hour later we managed to coax her out and take her home. A bond began between dog and man when he sat quietly with her throughout that first night and the two soon became inseparable. Still, trust didn’t come easily to Chloe as he renamed her. We quickly realised she had serious anxiety issues. She wouldn’t lie down indoors for a week and took months to accept that every house in the room was safe to enter. People and other dogs frightened her and she would back away, or hide behind her man protector. Chloe also had no idea how to play. Patience and time have helped with her anxiety but a sneeze or raised voices will have her slinking away or turning to face the wall.
Anxiety issues aside, Chloe has a delightful personality and her own special way of communicating. One bark at the patio door is, ‘Let me in.’ A second bark is, ‘Didn’t you hear me?’ A paw bat on my leg or arm is, ‘Let me out.’ A nose nudge is, ‘Get out of bed. I want my breakfast.’ And when she launches into a long and involved series of vocalisations, I’m sure she thinks she’s speaking human. Chloe’s favourite time of day is breakfast, when we both have to be in the kitchen or she will go and hassle the latecomer out of bed. All is well in her world when she gets to find morsels of toast as part of a daily game.
Seven years on, we can’t imagine our life without Chloe in it. Not a day passes that we don’t feel privileged to have this gentle soul share our home. She has deeply connected with us in a way we never expected. Like us, she’s in her senior years and feeling the effects on her aging body. Her joints are arthritic and a bit unreliable, and she has a heart murmur. She’s slower and quieter and enjoys lots of cuddle time curled up in her bed with the man around the house settled in his chair beside her, resting a hand on her chest. Times like this we look at her and each other. No more pets, we agree. This time we mean it. Chloe would be too hard an act to follow.
