Dogs Change Us for the Better

Macy came into my life and as soon as she did, I knew she was another member of the family. I don't know how I named her Macy but my mother seems convinced it comes from the state she was in when we first found her. She had given birth to a litter that was nowhere to be found and had engorged breasts, wounds from being hit by a car, and was emaciated. So what was supposed to be a temporary situation wound up to be permanent because my mother, the self-proclaimed "animal-tolerator" could not even resist her charms.

Rhodesian Ridgebacks seem to be a relatively unknown breed even amongst dog owners. When my friends told asked what type of dog I had and I replied with "Ridgeback", the general response was a quizzical look with a squinted brow. They really are beautiful, unique dogs. Every Halloween she shared with us, I was always tempted to spike up her ridge with gel and call her a punk rocker.

All throughout my elementary and middle school years she had the sweetest temperament. But something changed when I went into high school. She became what my father called "territorial" towards the other dog in the house, a Chow Chow and Spitz mix named Sandy. At the beginning, it was just playing around that we took in good humor. The lame family joke of the time was that maybe Macy, having the lion-hunting instinct in her, thought that the bushy furball of canine was a lion. But then it got serious once blood was drawn. There was talk of giving her away but I protested ardently. My parents eventually consented to giving obedience lessons a try before any drastic decision was taken. Five minutes into her first lesson, the instructor talks about how she does not believe that dogs are territorial since the wolfish instinct in them was probably bred out thousands of years ago. What Macy's deal was, I can only guess. But she was getting old, already over the hill in dog years. With a regimen of tranquilizers, she eventually calmed down and things seemed better.

My parents separated when I was fifteen and their divorce was settled a month after I had turned sixteen. My dad rightfully took Sandy who was always his dog, even though my brother and I rescued her from the pound. I paid a full ten dollars for a dog to become attached to the person who woke up at five a.m. feed her. Chow chows are known for attaching themselves loyally to the first person to show them constant affection. But Macy started sleeping in my room and I cannot count how many times she licked away my tears. Or she heard me crying and got up in bed with me, a habit that would last till her very last days.

Eventually my dad and I came to rescue two kittens which I named Poco Loco and Elliot. I had concerns about Macy, not because she was still violent but because she was such a puppy. Macy always had a puppyish streak to her, something that visitors had to embrace heartedly or get out of the way. But these two kittens that I could hold in my palm seemed so fragile when compared to the massive stallion of an animal. But she was always patient with them, never tried to nip at them when they played with her tail. Old age seemed to suit her well.

I always knew Ridgebacks had a naturally shorter lifespan but I never expected her to die this summer at the age of nine. I was holding her when she died and still she found the strength to lick my tears away. I still come home expecting her to be there and each time she's not, it's a painful reminder of what I have lost. I miss her terribly and I know I will never be as lucky again to find a dog like her. As silly as its sounds, I wish to emulate the characteristics I saw in her. I want to keep a positive attitude about everything, always be loyal to the ones I love, and never forget to put others before myself.