Chloe is our last dog. An Australian cattle dog, which has become our favorite breed after having two of them, is also called a Velcro dog in the industry because she will stick to her master like, well, like Velcro. We were also told that they don't bond to a second family. You cannot give them away or they pine away and die of sadness. And that accounts for the reason that she is our last dog. At our age, another Australian could well outlive us, or at least outlive the time we have here on this property where it could run and at least pretend to herd [us] to its heart's content.
Chloe was an odd little dog. We blamed the oddness on our first Australian, Magdalene (Magdi). That older dog made sure that Chloe knew in no uncertain, and slightly bloody, terms that she was the Alpha dog, even if she was not a male. So Chloe grew up a little more subdued than the average cattle dog. She still ran and played, jumping in the air to catch mascara-tube-sized grasshoppers and chasing butterflies, one of which she actually caught one day. Evidently having a flitting butterfly in your mouth is a bit off-putting, so she promptly spat it out and it flew away unharmed while she joyfully capered on.
She had an excellent ear and often found moles by hearing them dig underground as she passed by, which immediately sent her on a digging frenzy. A few times she really dug one up. She also learned to differentiate engine sounds. The first few times someone came to the house she would bark, but by the fourth or fifth time she realized he must be a friend and suddenly we had someone knocking on the door who had not been announced!
She was very smart. At times you would think she actually understood English. She learned the word "treat" quickly as most dogs do, and whenever I asked if she wanted to help me "feed the birdies," she was out ahead of me, running around the house and slinking behind the azaleas to chase away any snakes under the feeder and otherwise "help." Whenever she came to greet us as we returned from an outing, she ran up to Keith's side of the car as his door opened. He patted her head and then said, "Where's the Lady?" and she ran around to my side. I was "the Lady" and Keith was "the Boss." Sometimes we thought she had ESP. On bath day we had to be careful not only to not say that word, but to not even think it, or she would run under the porch and hide. ESP was the only explanation when we had been so very careful with our words.
Lucas was her favorite human. He still lived in the area when we got her so she bonded with him too. Whenever he came to visit, about a half hour before we expected him, we would say, "Chloe, Lucas is coming," and she would run out to sit on the edge of the carport and watch the gate until he did indeed come. After that, her Velcro strap to us ceased to exist, at least until he left for home. Then she watched him until he reached the end of the drive and went through the gate. Once again she was ours.
You have heard stories about Chloe for over 14 years now. She has cataracts and often runs into things or falls into holes. She has arthritis in one shoulder and on the bad days has a pronounced limp. And for the past two years she has had steadily progressing canine dementia. I had no idea that ever happened to dogs but, the vet said, this breed is so hearty that its body often outlives its mind. She would sit and "zone out." We would not be able to get her attention no matter how loudly we called until we walked right up to her, and then she would jump like we had scared her to death. When we went somewhere overnight, it always took a few minutes for her to remember who we were when we came back. She would creep up like she knew she was supposed to know us, but it took some talk and pats and sniffs before she finally started wagging that tail again. And every night she circled the house, once, twice, sometimes as many as a dozen times. "Sundowning" the doctor said, just like humans sometimes do.
A couple of weeks ago, on our usual Tuesday jaunt to Bible class, grocery store, drug store, hardware store, and all those other stops we try to do on just one day a week, when we arrived back home, she didn't come to meet us. We called and she didn't come. Keith went looking and what we had long expected had happened. She went into the field to lie in the sun and simply went to sleep. Chloe is gone.
But here is one more lesson we can learn from her. No matter how much she hurt, no matter how tired she was, no matter how confused she was, she wanted to be with us constantly. When we went to the garden, when we went to the mailbox, when we fed the birds, when we sat by a fire, she always came with us. We were the only thing that mattered to her. Getting a pat on the head from one of us made her deliriously happy. The only thing that broke that Velcro strap to her Master or Mistress (or Lucas) was death.
Is that how we feel about our Master, our Lord, our Father? Or do we have such a poor sense of priorities that few would even know we claim to be his children, his disciples, his servants. Is he the most important thing in our lives? Does having a relationship with him matter more than anything else? Nothing ever got in the way of Chloe's devotion to the three of us, even the things we would have considered, not excuses, but reasons. What might be getting in the way of the devotion you claim to your Father and your Savior? Remember this precious dog for just a few more days and consider that.
For the love of Christ controls us, because we have concluded this: that one has died for all, therefore all have died; and he died for all, that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for him who for their sake died and was raised (2Cor 5:14-15).
Dene Ward
Chloe was an odd little dog. We blamed the oddness on our first Australian, Magdalene (Magdi). That older dog made sure that Chloe knew in no uncertain, and slightly bloody, terms that she was the Alpha dog, even if she was not a male. So Chloe grew up a little more subdued than the average cattle dog. She still ran and played, jumping in the air to catch mascara-tube-sized grasshoppers and chasing butterflies, one of which she actually caught one day. Evidently having a flitting butterfly in your mouth is a bit off-putting, so she promptly spat it out and it flew away unharmed while she joyfully capered on.
She had an excellent ear and often found moles by hearing them dig underground as she passed by, which immediately sent her on a digging frenzy. A few times she really dug one up. She also learned to differentiate engine sounds. The first few times someone came to the house she would bark, but by the fourth or fifth time she realized he must be a friend and suddenly we had someone knocking on the door who had not been announced!
She was very smart. At times you would think she actually understood English. She learned the word "treat" quickly as most dogs do, and whenever I asked if she wanted to help me "feed the birdies," she was out ahead of me, running around the house and slinking behind the azaleas to chase away any snakes under the feeder and otherwise "help." Whenever she came to greet us as we returned from an outing, she ran up to Keith's side of the car as his door opened. He patted her head and then said, "Where's the Lady?" and she ran around to my side. I was "the Lady" and Keith was "the Boss." Sometimes we thought she had ESP. On bath day we had to be careful not only to not say that word, but to not even think it, or she would run under the porch and hide. ESP was the only explanation when we had been so very careful with our words.
Lucas was her favorite human. He still lived in the area when we got her so she bonded with him too. Whenever he came to visit, about a half hour before we expected him, we would say, "Chloe, Lucas is coming," and she would run out to sit on the edge of the carport and watch the gate until he did indeed come. After that, her Velcro strap to us ceased to exist, at least until he left for home. Then she watched him until he reached the end of the drive and went through the gate. Once again she was ours.
You have heard stories about Chloe for over 14 years now. She has cataracts and often runs into things or falls into holes. She has arthritis in one shoulder and on the bad days has a pronounced limp. And for the past two years she has had steadily progressing canine dementia. I had no idea that ever happened to dogs but, the vet said, this breed is so hearty that its body often outlives its mind. She would sit and "zone out." We would not be able to get her attention no matter how loudly we called until we walked right up to her, and then she would jump like we had scared her to death. When we went somewhere overnight, it always took a few minutes for her to remember who we were when we came back. She would creep up like she knew she was supposed to know us, but it took some talk and pats and sniffs before she finally started wagging that tail again. And every night she circled the house, once, twice, sometimes as many as a dozen times. "Sundowning" the doctor said, just like humans sometimes do.
A couple of weeks ago, on our usual Tuesday jaunt to Bible class, grocery store, drug store, hardware store, and all those other stops we try to do on just one day a week, when we arrived back home, she didn't come to meet us. We called and she didn't come. Keith went looking and what we had long expected had happened. She went into the field to lie in the sun and simply went to sleep. Chloe is gone.
But here is one more lesson we can learn from her. No matter how much she hurt, no matter how tired she was, no matter how confused she was, she wanted to be with us constantly. When we went to the garden, when we went to the mailbox, when we fed the birds, when we sat by a fire, she always came with us. We were the only thing that mattered to her. Getting a pat on the head from one of us made her deliriously happy. The only thing that broke that Velcro strap to her Master or Mistress (or Lucas) was death.
Is that how we feel about our Master, our Lord, our Father? Or do we have such a poor sense of priorities that few would even know we claim to be his children, his disciples, his servants. Is he the most important thing in our lives? Does having a relationship with him matter more than anything else? Nothing ever got in the way of Chloe's devotion to the three of us, even the things we would have considered, not excuses, but reasons. What might be getting in the way of the devotion you claim to your Father and your Savior? Remember this precious dog for just a few more days and consider that.
For the love of Christ controls us, because we have concluded this: that one has died for all, therefore all have died; and he died for all, that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for him who for their sake died and was raised (2Cor 5:14-15).
Dene Ward
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