Little did I know when I went to the Franklin County dog shelter Thanksgiving weekend in 2007, that my life was about to change. And it had nothing to do with my new dog.
At the time, I was 46, single, and one year in with my new house in Worthington. I had always wanted a dog. This felt like the right time. So off I went to the Franklin County Dog Shelter on Morse Road. It was a cold, gray November Saturday afternoon.
As I walked past all the dogs, I noticed a gangly beige dog cowering in the corner of her cage shaking while the other dogs barked and rattled their cages wildly. My heart melted. I signed the papers, paid the small fee and loaded her up into my Explorer. She was an 11-month old short haired Rhodesian ridgeback mix with floppy ears.
By the time we had gotten home it was late afternoon and the clouds had turned into a cold light rain. Being a rookie dog owner, I failed to secure my new dog who was riding shotgun with me, so once I opened the door, she bolted. Boom! Out the door and down the street that curved out of sight. In a flash, she was gone.
I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening driving my small neighborhood in the rain looking for my new dog. She did have all of her shots and a collar with a chip which was my only saving grace. I called in and reported her missing. And waited.
Two days later, I received a call from a beautiful soul. My new dog had been commandeered by a neighbor three blocks away. The lady had literally spent an hour in her front yard coaxing my new dog ever so slowly with food until she was finally able to gain control of her.
I soon realized, men were the problem in this dog’s short life. She was obviously abused in some way by a male. When women came to visit, her tail wagged, but not for me. She did not make eye contact. We had problems adjusting to each other.
Then the strong winds of heartbreak blew in. My sister received bad news. There was a diagnosis and then treatment. Julie had cancer. To honor her, I decided to name my new friend Deuce. A second chance. For both.
Six months later, when I thought I had earned her trust, I took Deuce to my family’s Memorial Day gathering at Julie and her husband Dick’s house out in the country near London. Julie had just beaten cancer. Or so we thought. She & Dick had a huge, unfenced backyard. Their two dogs ran free with no problem.
Auggie was a short legged stout and aggressive male dog and Champ was an aging, laid back brown lab. Auggie had been dropped off out in the country near Dick & Julie’s house a couple of years prior by his previous owner. Dick saw him waiting in the same spot for a couple of days straight when driving home from work. They ended up taking him in.
Auggie immediately took a liking to Deuce that day. He was relentless and soon Deuce was nowhere to be found. We all hopped into our cars and drove down long country roads searching for her until nightfall. I drove back there the next day and a couple of days during the week looking and hoping for sightings of Deuce. But nothing.
Finally, Dick came up with a brilliant idea. A cage trap with bacon inside. He set it at the end of their long driveway near the road.
Within seven hours, Deuce was re-captured. The key word here – bacon.
Julie called me with the great news. I’ll never forget seeing her tail wag inside the cage when I arrived. Deuce had been gone a week but from that day forward, she was all in on me. She grabbed my heart and I never let go.
Then incredible loss. First, my sister Julie in 2009. Cancer. Deucer, in fact, was the one who woke me up at 3AM the morning she passed with my brother knocking at my front door. I immediately knew why he was there. Then in 2011, my sister Dianne passed. Cancer. By 2013, we had lost both of our parents as well. It was overwhelming.
As my world was crumbling, Deucer’s companionship and love was a welcome and much needed comfort.
But life has a funny way of offsetting the bad with something wonderful. In 2012, I met my wife. She and Deuce quickly bonded. I moved into Theresa’s house in Clintonville, and I took great pride in allowing Deuce out in the front yard with no fence while I did some gardening. Dogs would walk by, but she was undeterred.
On September 30, 2017, Theresa & I got married. The three of us became one big happy family.
At our wedding, for the mother-son dance, since my mom passed, I danced with my sister Debbie. We danced to Miranda Lamberts’ The House that built me. Unbeknownst to my sister, I picked the song as a pseudo tribute to my dog. In the song there is one line I would always sing to Deucer when she was alive, “And I bet you didn’t know, under that live oak, my favorite dog is buried in the yard.” It was my way of telling her I would definitely miss her someday.
Then, a couple of years later, Deuce started acting out of character. We took her to the vet. It was cancer. Nothing could be done. We had to put her down. Theresa, her two daughters and I gathered at the vet clinic to say our goodbyes. I read a tearful love letter telling Deucey how much she meant to me. It was June 18, 2019. Seven years ago, this week. We were all heartbroken.
For me, Deuce was the best dog ever. I gave her security, love and dog walks. She showed me what true loyalty really is. We communicated most of the time through eye contact. It’s doubtful I’ll ever share that kind of bond with a dog again.
Her twelve years with me were the most transformative years of my life. Her loss was an especially deep hurt because she connected me to my sisters and parents who were now gone. Deucer was also there to escort me to my wife and my new life.
Maybe that was her mission all along.
Featured picture is a rare shot of Deuce because she was very shy and would always turn her head.