Rick Watson.
I woke up in the night to the sound of thunder. Instinctively, I pulled my hand from beneath the covers and reached down to pet Caillou. Then I remembered he wasn’t there. Storms will no longer terrify his gentle soul. He died in March.
He chose us over 10 years ago. Early one morning, he was standing outside our great-room window peering in as we sipped our coffee.
Both Jilda and I walked out and sat on the front steps to pet him up. He was the most beautiful collie I’d ever seen. He had a collar but no tag.
It took some time, but we found his owner. She sent her brother to come and fetch the collie. Later that day, he was back. We sent word that the collie was back at our house playing with our dogs. He was there a few days before they picked him up again.
The next day, I heard a pitiful sound from the backyard. Stepping outside, I looked around and couldn’t see anything, but then I heard the moan again. I walked in the direction of the sound, and near the edge of the yard, the collie was hanging on the back fence. He’d tried to jump into the yard, but his back paw poked through one of the chain links, and he was hanging there.
Most of his body was inside the fence, but the chain links were holding his paw like a vice. I bolted to where he was trapped and held him up enough to take the pressure off his leg. He was too heavy to hold and remove his paw, so I yelled to Jilda for help. Together we dislodged his paw, and he hobbled into the shade to rest.
Later, when the neighbor came back to fetch the dog, the collie tried to bite him. He’d made his choice. They never came back for him.
We named him Caillou (Cow Loo) after our great-nephew Jordan’s favorite cartoon character.
Caillou was an instant hit with the kids. Every time we had a gathering, he was in the middle of them. He was a master ball handler that took kickball and soccer to a different level. He would grab the ball and play keep-away from the kids. He was in doggie heaven.
During the three years Jilda took infusion treatments for her immune system, she spent days on the couch. It wasn’t hard to find Caillou during those times, because he was thereby her side.
In the last several months, we noticed that something about him was changing. He couldn’t walk but one lap when we walked each day, and he spent more and more time on his bed in front of the box fan. Then one weekend, he crawled under the laundry room and would not come out. He stopped eating and drinking. When I took him to the vet Monday, he was passing blood. Tests showed that his organs were shutting down.
We made the decision to put him down rather than subject him to torturous treatment that would only prolong his suffering.
I leaned against the car as I waited for them to bring his body out. The sky was cloudless. A gentle wind rattled the American flag on the pole in the parking lot. Maybe a stronger man would not have cried, but as I helped load Caillou into the car, I wept.
I dug his grave in the backyard near where we buried Ol’ Buddy, Black and Charlie. We will miss our friend.
Rick Watson is a columnist and author. His latest book, “Life Goes On,” is available on amazon.com. Email him at rick@rickwatson-writer.com.
