Bear and Little Boy Darling on the Green Trail of Bliss
I woke up this morning thinking of Bear, Daughter Dear’s
perfect dog.
It occurred to me that while there was drama around
Bear, he was unruffled. A more steady
peaceful and calm dog would be hard to find, maybe never. He was one of a kind,
all 200 pounds of him.
Remember Bear? He was the one my husband stretched a
kennel for so he could be transported to Hawaii with more comfort than
the largest airline approved commercial kennel provided. From Oregon Continental
Airlines took the modified kennel. In Hawaii Aloha airlines took it, but then
upon leaving the Island, United Airlines would not take it. The kennel had been
modified. It was not acceptable. They wouldn’t budge.
That was nine o’clock in the morning after we had
white-knuckled it up and over the mountain because a tanker had turned over
blocking the regular route from Hilo to Kona. We rushed into town, and there
purchased the largest kennel we could find—lucky they had one. It was a tight
fit, but Bear accepted it graciously. We missed the first plane. “Have him here at noon,” they said, “the plane will leave at two.”
The plane was delayed. Bear was in lockup until 6 o’clock that evening
in a kennel that fit him like a wet suit. He made it to L.A. by nine the next
morning seemingly none the worse for wear. We were.
One day on the Island as we were walking in our back forty—really,
it was the back five, a Doberman dog furiously barking rushed at us. Bear
stood, a protective shield between the dog and one-year-old Baby Darling. Dogs bowed to his calm demeanor. The
neighbor rescued us from her dog and we never saw it again.
Newfoundlands are considered natural baby sitters. Nana
in Peter Pan was a Newfoundland. But Newfoundlands are big, as was Bear, and people
renting houses think a dog ought to be 30 pounds or less. (Little dogs can do
far more damage—you figure.) We were rejected from a place we thought we had
rented, and thus arrived in Eugene with no house. It turned out perfect, a
property manager trusted us, accepted us, took our big dog, we love our house, and Bear has not
harmed one square inch of it. He never chewed, scratched, and always asked to go
outside. I said the main risk was tripping over him.
Six years ago Daughter Darling commuted from Eugene
Oregon to Medford, a five hour drive. There she worked 40 hours in three days
at a Domestic Violence shelter, I didn’t
worry because she had Bear with her.
Bear even died perfectly. He had gotten down, and with his weight we
couldn’t lift him. He could no longer maneuver the two steps into the house,
and so he spent the last few days in the yard. Daughter languished over whether
to have him put to sleep. The appointment was for Tuesday, the Vet said she
would come to the house. Bear died on Friday, peacefully in the yard—protecting
Daughter Darling to the end.
And this morning he gave me the message that while
drama, chaos, whatever is happening all around, it is not your’s. You can
remain calm, like Bear. I probably won’t, but you get the idea.