Jill Rants and Raves: calvin, cowboy, cal,

On Friday we lay in the sweet lilting grasses on our late afternoon walk. The dogs and I. Roo, Allie, Riley, Target, and the man himself, Calvin. He had begun over the last few weeks, to insist on getting into the car to come on the morning walks but would just look at me a little defeated from the front seat of the car. He didn't want to get out. But somehow the late afternoon air lifted his spirits and his short low body with the knees with their scars from surgery, his strange little skin tags and his old man bumps and lumps, and propelled him along with everyone else towards the park.

It was a beautiful day and as with every passing day, I wondered how many more times this gorgeous gray and white mottled dog would come along.

He came to the park yesterday morning and stayed in the car. At 4pm he had another seizure so he didn't go to the park. And he won't be coming along today. Cal died at 2.40 am in the crossover between Saturday night and Sunday morning. He was pacing his circular route around the garden, bumping into things, wearing himself out, oblivious to everything but the demented internal map scrawled on his brain. I stood in front of him and lured him up the stairs with food, and he started his inside the house pacing. I picked him up, which until yesterday would have had him snapping fiercely at me. He agreed and I put him on the bed. Then he launched himself off the bed and landed on the ground crying.

I called the emergency vet at 2.30 am, loaded everyone in the car, let Calvin jump into his familiar spot next to me, and drove him to his death. It was as gentle as any euthanasia I've seen, calm and absolutely the right thing. Roo, Allie and Riley were in the room with Cal and me, Target stayed outside to guard the car - her words not mine.

Calvin - bought as an Australian Shepherd from a pet store at 7 weeks old sometime in the summer of 1996, by a woman who then discovered as so many people do that she simply could not take care of him adequately. By the time he was a young adult he was so severely suffering from separation anxiety he was on sedatives full time, he destroyed every piece of furniture, scratched his way through doors, screamed and was in effect a total nut.

The Milo Foundation got a call in May of 2003 about this strange and sweet looking dog that had been left at the boarding facility of a vet for 4 months, needing cruciate ligament surgery and the owner had finally agreed to surrender Cal. I went to pick him up after surgery and brought him home not knowing what might happen with my other dogs, especially Frank the cranky border collie. I think Frank figured an injured mutt posing as an Aussie, but which looked more like a corgi mix, was totally undeserving of a bite to the head and left him alone. Perhaps Frank was just happy to see another man in the house.

Two days after having leg surgery which should have left him completely immobile for a while, Calvin dug a hole under my fence and disappeared.

I found him trotting around the neighbourhood with his post surgery morphine pain patch hanging loose and his expression one of pure ' I got found out'. I opened the car door, and he jumped in as if nothing had happened. The next day it happened again. And the more I patched holes, the more he found ways to go. And then it changed to destroying everything in my house. But Milo kept getting calls about this handsome guy and he went to two homes - and then returned for being unadoptable. One day he asked whether I'd mind if he stayed. An offer I couldn't possibly refuse. Who needs furniture I figured when you have the love of a good dog? By the time he needed surgery on his other knee he had long since forgotten why on earth he would ever want to escape.

Calvin became, over the seven phenomenal years he loved me, the most loyal, most amazing guy - he was great with dogs, so much so that I would take him to animal shelters to 'test' other dogs. He was so bomb-proof I could gauge the other dogs behaviour without him reacting, he was good with cats, he was housetrained, slept through the night, loved chasing other dogs' toys, stealing balls so that the apoplectic owner was screaming at me, he adored little Roo and came with me to the shelter the day I picked her up. She nestled in his fur for the ride home.

There was the time an animal control officer enticed Calvin off my deck and impounded him for 'running at large', and it took my calling Council member Dona Spring and the City Manager of Berkeley and threatening unspeakable things to get my dog released, there was the time Calvin must have been lured into someone's car and for five miserable days I searched for him. When I finally found him in Oakland Animal Shelter they told me he had been found at a common dumping ground for dogs at a reservoir south of Oakland and the only reason they had sent an animal control officer out was because a woman called screaming that there was a pitbull threatening kids. Instead there was Calvin. His collar had been taken off.

Calvin was one of my precious pack with RiffRaff, Roxy, Frank and Roo. And then Oscar. Only Roo remains of that illustrious gang. And though it is hard for me to say, I don't adore Target, Riley or Allie in any way shape or form the way I loved that dog.

Thanks Calvin - for every stressful moment you brought me. Each and every one was worth it.