He was sitting patiently in the corner when I entered the room. Suddenly he bounded over to my side and tucked his head under my chin as if wanting to listen to my heartbeat. Then I met those sad brown eyes. Casey has claimed me.
A friend mentioned that she knew of a dog that needed a loving home. Unfortunately, he wasn’t a good fit where he was, and I agreed to meet him.
Casey was an English Spaniel, a hunting dog. His original owner fell on tough times, lost his job, his home, and his dog. I know nothing else about his original owner, other than he probably drove a pickup truck. Casey got so excited whenever he saw one and so defeated when it didn’t stop for him.
During the bankruptcy hearing, the judge decided to take Casey home with him.
Casey was a beautiful boy who looked like he should be on the red carpet. But he didn’t belong in the confines of an apartment. This dog needed to run. He was an athlete, not a show dog. He never displayed aggression but would pace and pace, and then his stomach would rumble and explode.
He couldn’t fit into the small space they had allotted him.
Casey’s next stop was a rescue group. He stayed in a foster home for a bit and then was adopted by his current owners. They were enthusiastic about helping him but offered only a tiny fenced-in backyard. Also, they were accustomed to owning smaller dogs and had no understanding of the needs of a sporting dog.
Although his allotted space was a bit bigger, it was still confining.
When I met Casey and heard the story, I knew he had to come home with me. I have always been attracted to the broken ones, and I could see the brokenness in Casey’s eyes. It’s not because I wanted to fix him. It’s because we connected on a level that few understand.
My home was his fifth and final home.
I am sure he didn’t understand why he moved again and likely decided to give up on people. He wanted to be outside, in the open air. He didn’t return any of my affection and shied away from any human that attempted to pet him. But he was well-mannered and did whatever I asked, then would return to the yard and gaze longingly through the fence at the tall grass and open fields.
With love, patience, and a lot of space, Casey finally released his need for isolation.
He started to show us affection, gingerly at first, then wholeheartedly, with sloppy kisses and furry cuddles. When we would walk around the neighborhood, he would keep his keen eyes open, always looking for birds to chase.
Our first outing was to a conservation area. It wasn’t an expansive space, but I thought it would be a great place to see how Casey behaved in public. He trod along the paths, alert for anything moving in the tall grass. Finally, we rounded the corner and spotted the pond full of ducks. He could contain himself no longer. He broke into a run, dragging me behind him. We both ended up in the marsh, full of mud. The ducks all survived, and Casey was the happiest I had ever seen him.
After that, we went on weekly outings to find open fields he could run in. And run he did. He was overflowing with joy at finally having enough space to let his spirit free. He would return full of burrs and mud and with a look of contentment on his face.
When he spotted a pheasant, he would slow down and form the most beautiful stance. Casey was as graceful as any ballerina. Then he would point at the bird and look back at me, expecting me to shoot it. He finally learned no gunshots would happen during our walks, but he never stopped his dance.
We had several happy years together, romping through fields and returning home mud-covered and filled with joy. He finally had enough space to roam freely, wherever his spirit took him.
One night, he woke me up with coughing and noisy breathing. It was like he couldn’t catch his breath. I rushed him to the emergency vet, where he received a breathing treatment and antibiotics. These episodes became more frequent, as did the vet visits. We were ultimately given an inhaler, the same as the one’s asthmatics use. He had a special mask that fit over his long nose. He was such a good boy; he tolerated these treatments like a champ. But that sad, tortured look was returning to his eyes.
We had to give up our outings, as he would quickly run short of breath. There would be no more mud-filled journeys for us. One day he could barely make it across the yard without running out of air. He would lay on the deck, dreaming of our days in the open fields. His space had become confined again.
I knew he was telling me it was time to go. He couldn’t do the things he loved anymore.
It was like he was back living in that apartment.
My heart didn’t want to hear his message, but I knew he was born to run, to be an athlete. It was in his DNA. Every cell in his body wanted to hunt, and he couldn’t do it anymore.
I suppose if he weren’t fenced in, he would wander off somewhere to die. But we stop our domesticated dogs from following their instincts by fencing them in to keep them safe.
My heart told me the kindest thing I could do for Casey would be to stop his suffering. I wasn’t ready, I wanted him to continue being my front seat dog, but I loved him enough to let him go.
When we entered the vet’s office, she asked me if I wanted to stay with him. I told her definitely yes. I had vowed to him when I brought him home that I would always be with him, no matter what. I wasn’t about to leave him now. So, I lay with him as he took his last breath and then for a while longer, while his essence expanded and left.
Casey was cremated and buried under a tree in his favorite spot in the yard, overlooking the open fields.
I continue to rescue dogs and get heartbroken when their time is over. Sometimes dogs, like people, are abandoned for no reason of their own doing. Each one has a unique space in my heart, and I am so much richer for giving them that place.