Gasping, I tightened my face mask, trying to cope with billowing dust and tiny fiberglass remnants floating about. Workmen restoring our flooded-out cottage in England were lining the walls and ceilings with insulation, before applying plasterboard. Rearranging some dusty papers I noticed a grimy photo of Mom and David's slim, lovely Alsatian dog, Kate, resting her head on his knee, her eyes locked on his, and full of love. She died in his arms four years ago, of extreme old age. The picture triggered a glowing memory of her first day with them.
In 1989, Mother and David decided to adopt another dog after their beloved elderly lab, Fred, died in 1988. Off they trooped to the Hereford city pound to inspect the hopeful residents. A large, exhausted young Alsatian with enormous stand-up ears bearing scab-crusted tips shot them a despairing look. (Mom's cherished childhood "police" dog, Alex, had that same terrible look when her family left him behind when moving in 1930. It still haunted her.)
This dog's history was unnerving. She'd been dumped on the road, filthy, frightened and ear-injured; someone had tortured her. Less than 2 years old, and beautiful, she was soon adopted by a family, but quickly returned; they'd found her aggressive behavior alarming.
Now, as it happens, David has an almost magical way with dogs. Put simply, animals adore him. After a discussion with the staff, they decided to take her on trial; it was her last chance.
The frightened dog was walked to the car; as she was put in back, she snapped at David. Instantly he looked her straight in the eye, and roared, "NO!" Shocked, the dog sat, miserable. David held onto the moment, before finally releasing her from "The Look." Speaking gently, he reassured her with a few soft words. The ride home was silent.
She was taken quietly out of the car on a lead, ushered into the cottage and shown water and a bowl of dry food, which was ignored. Off the lead now, she explored her surroundings, hackles rising as CAT was scented. (Jinji had removed herself from view, but was watching this shocking turn of events with her usual catty equanimity.)
Mother and David sat at the dining room table, talking quietly to her. Kate stopped and looked at her new owners; her tail twitched, tentatively. But she kept her distance. Suddenly, David coughed. Cringing, the nervous animal urinated on the carpet, just a little bit.
Now came the miracle. Kate was absolutely horrified by this breach. With a low whimper she sneaked a look at David, hoping he hadn't noticed. Then she furtively pawed a small area rug lying nearby, maneuvering it carefully over "the mistake." Finally, she sat on it, head down, huge ears flat. She dared to look up. Mother and David stared back, open-mouthed, disbelieving.
She was in.
David put Jinji-cat on Mom's lap and introduced the two animals. Kate snarled and lunged; David, talking quietly, held the leash taut, and amazingly, Jinji kept her claws sheathed, content to trust her people to keep things reasonable. Inch by inch Kate was allowed closer; Jinji, eyes closed, tolerated the huge dog's terrifying advance. Their noses touched. Fascinated, Kate deep-sniffed every single inch of Jinji's fur. The cat purred. Kate's tail wagged. David released her.
And that was that.
For years the two animals shared house and grounds, and even napped together, with Jinji snug next to Kate's belly. Not once did they fight.
Kate knew she was a lucky dog; like Jinji, she'd found her heaven.
Dee Blair's Sunnybank Gardens are at 325 Sixth St. in Traverse City. Visit her Web site, www.deeblair.com for more information. Find more of her columns online at record-eagle.com/deeblair.
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