I found him online at the local shelter in Denver. I saw his face and knew that he was my dog. I had been searching for several months but no other dog seemed to click with me. But there was this sweet face and huge brown eyes looking up at me from my computer screen. I knew I had to go right to the shelter and get him, so i did.
I only had Elvis a few short years before they found a tumor in his nasal cavity. The prognosis was poor and I sadly made the decision to let him live his last few weeks or months as a dog who was oblivious to the fact that he was dying from cancer. I made the decision to not go through any grandiose plans to try and save his life with radiation or chemotherapy. When I looked at him all I saw was happiness to be near me and happiness to be alive, who was I to upset the balance? What point did it make to put him through the pain of chemotherapy just to keep him alive for a few extra months? That would only benefit me, an utterly selfish thing to do to my sweet friend.
I never thought of a Cocker Spaniel as the type of dog which would be a good fit for me. I always gravitated towards sporting dogs like labs or retrievers. Dogs you would think of as "durable." The ones you took on long hiking trips or camping. Ones that were happy to be just as muddy and grubby as you.
But here I was headed down to the shelter to adopt this little dog.
To say that Elvis was a phenomenal running partner was an understatement. He would go as long or as far as I wanted with pure enjoyment in his eyes. He loved to run almost as much as I did. He completed 2 half marathons and a few smaller races just for good measure. He kept me company on several long grueling runs. Whenever we came home from a long run he would flop down with exhaustion but then be ready to go again in an hour, his tail wagging and whining by the door.
My friend Heather always got a kick out of the fact that Elvis went on long training runs with me. Anybody that saw Elvis would describe him as a bit "foo foo" and they were right.... he was. A beautiful dog complete with perfect markings, huge expressive brown eyes, and feathered fur around his feet that made him look like he was wearing little slippers. When he ran he always looked like he was a bit full of himself, his head would sway from side to side and his ears would flow in the breeze as if he had the long hair of a super model. The shelter said they thought he was mixed with a bit of King Charles Cavalier, so maybe that was were the regal part came from, who knows, either way he was not what you would typically think of as a running dog.
He was an anomaly.
When i finally made the decision to let my friend go, i will have to admit it was one of the saddest days of my life. I hugged him and said goodbye and cried the whole way home. A few days later i came back to pick up his collar and his ashes. Not a day goes by when I do not think about him and see his sweet face waiting for me at the door each day after work. It pains me to look at his ashes and sometimes I wished I had never brought them home. It is too upsetting and I had to put them, along with his collar into the closet so I could not be reminded every day of his passing.
I have never lived without a dog... ever. Even growing up, we always had dogs. They were not pure breeds, they were mutts or Heinz 57 varieties as my dad would call them. Most of the time they found us before we found them. We had strays that my dad would feed and they would eventually take permanent residence on his dad's lap. Every dog we had growing up would bond with my dad. He was their human, they were his dog. My dad was a stoic man that kept his emotions guarded, he had trouble expressing himself but each time a dog passed on my dad would break down and cry. Like a tiny piece of him went with each dog.
So it made sense that when I moved out on my own and could actually afford to finally feed myself that I too would own a dog. And as it was with my dad, I was also their human. My husband and son were mere extensions of the food bowl, chopped liver so to speak, when I was not around.
Before Elvis there was Brutus and after Brutus there was Bernie. Each dog held a special place in my heart.
After several months of missing Elvis, I knew i had to get another dog. Part of me felt guilty for wanting to replace him so quickly after his death but living without a dog was like living without water or food. A dog made my life complete. My husband, who you would call a "non-dog person" often had a hard time understanding this. "What was the big deal?" he would say. To him a dog was something you "had" to feed, an expense, a bother. While he was never cruel to any dog we have owned, he always treated them kindly, fed them, took care of them in my absence, it was as if he was only going through the motions. He did not connect to any of our dogs like I did. He did not understand that having a dog was what made my life 100 percent complete.
So my search for another dog began.
I started off at the Aurora Animal Shelter. My first pick was a little white terrier mix named Minnie. She was a little over a year old, kind of scraggly looking and small. Not what you would exactly term a sporting dog by any means. She was part Jack Russel, perhaps a good running partner for me or was I making a hasty decision? To fast in trying to fill the void.
I thought she would be a good fit for me.
They told me she had to get spayed and that they would hold her for me and I should call back in a day or two. I dutifully came back in two days only to see her kennel empty. Someone else had already adopted her.
I was upset of course, but when I saw the couple sitting in the waiting room and how happy the both looked to be adopting this little scraggly girl, I knew that perhaps this particular dog was not meant to be. You see they had just lost a Jack Russel Terrier several months ago and this dog looked like their old sweet dog. Minnie was their dog, not mine.
So the search began again...
A few days later while searching the Denver Dumb Friends League website, I saw one dog that looked interesting. His name was Tommy and he was a 6 month old Australian Shepard mix with a goofy face and a tongue that hung so far down the one side of his face it could have been mistaken for a pool slide. I showed his picture to my husband and he was favorably unimpressed. He said "That one?" "Are you sure, he looks a little doofy." He did, but I think that is what sold me on him, this doofy dog was coming home with me!
So we went down to the shelter to take a look. As soon as we took him into the meet and greet room he jumped up on my husbands lap and licked his face. Then he did the same to me. He was clumsy and bumped into things. In typical puppy fashion, every part of his body was a bit uncoordinated and moving every which way. A tail that flopped around, ears that did not quite stand up right, furry puppy fuzz and big goofy puppy feet. He did not look anything like an Australian Shepard but I was hooked. Don't those kind of dogs make great running partners?
So we adopted him.
It has now been a little over a year. My son has renamed him Cluebo. After his initial vet visit it was determined that there is nothing remotely Australian Shepard about him. As a matter of fact the vet thinks he is probably a Rottie mix! So go figure. He is only about 50 pounds soaking wet but he has huge web toed feet and a furry tail that kind of turns into itself much like a husky. He has Rottie markings for sure but I am still at a loss with what else is jumbled up inside his genetic make-up. Most definitely a Heinz 57.
It took me awhile to get him used to the leash as he would yank me all over the place. At first i thought he would always be this goofy puppy who chewed everything in sight (destroyed every potted plant i had on my deck, several pairs of socks, pillows, underwear and numerous transformer action figures) but since then he has turned into a remarkable and very intelligent grown dog.
And boy can he run! I feel bad for saying this because Elvis would really be upset, but I am pretty sure he has Elvis beat in the running department. This dog can go go go and keep going. He is fast and powerful. When he runs he is solid muscle and never tires. He can't wait until I take him out and if he had his way he would go again and again.
We are up to 9 mile runs together. It might take awhile to get up to Elvis's level of 15 miles but we are working towards it.
I was thinking the other day that I am so happy to have him to run with. I know it sounds corny but he really has become my running friend and protector.
So now i need to sign off as Cluebo has just dropped another tennis ball in my lap and is patiently obsessing about what i plan to do with it...
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