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Coalette

July 1984 - April 1999

"Only the wholly other can inspire the deepest love and the profoundest desire to learn" - Joseph Needham

The letter below is special to me since it was written by my brother-in-law to Coalette who was a special member of my family.

Written by Tim

Your mom picked you out.  When she first picked you up you stretched your front and back legs out straight and rigid, straining to free yourself from our grasp.  You were wild, born without the interference of man.  The first three months of your life were spent like a soldier behind enemy lines:  kept hidden under an abandoned house while your natural mother carried food to you and your brothers.   The smallest of a three pup litter, your brothers were more appealing.   Bigger, with their ears pointed like wild canids and their coats the colors of their sheep - and cattle-herding mates, they were healthy, alert, and by all appearances the better choices for a "pet".  Luckily, your human "mom" had a soft spot for the runt of the litter.

Because you were smaller than your brothers, your natural mother may have been favoring them because of her inability to feed all three of you properly.   The coat that draped your small, bony, malnourished body was pure black, and indication of the lower class of mutt your mother had mated with.  You bravely resisted our attempts to remove you from your hiding place under the dilapidated 100 year old house, but we tricked you and scooped you up as you tried to make a break for freedom.   After escaping the clutches of man for three months, our hands probably felt as comforting as red hot pokers, but we did our best to calm you as we drove away to your new "home".  We never learned the fate of your brothers, the man who owned your mother had said he would drown all of you.  He hadn't asked for any additions to the herding crew, and certainly wasn't going to feed any half-breed mutts anyway.  Maybe you were the lucky one, maybe not.  We feel very lucky.  We will take credit for saving your tail:  he asked if we wanted it "trimmed" before we left with you.  We recoiled from such an idea, even if it was true that it would "make you run faster".

The first night at your new home was rough.  You cried for your natural mother, and when released in the house, ran to a corner and put your nose into it, refusing to budge.  You were named Coalette because you were as dark as a little lump of coal.  We put you in a large cardboard box with a blanket to sleep, but you cried and whimpered so pitifully that your mom picked you up and put you on the bed next to her.  I was determined to have an outside dog, and was alarmed by the damage she was doing by spoiling you so.  You spent many years sleeping next to us, only moving to the floor when you passed out of your adolescence, and became an "adult".  On the many occasions we went camping, however, you crawled in the sleeping bags and slept with us like the old days.  And no matter how uncomfortable a mummy bag was with an adult and a dog crammed in it, we put with the discomfort to feel your warmth, to feel the bond of pack kinship with you.

When your mom and I decided to split up, you stayed with me because she could not afford to rent dog-friendly accommodation in the big city she moved to.   Having to take full responsibility for your care angered me because I hadn't chosen to acquire a dog in the first place - your mom had.  I guess I was probably angry because I knew I would have to consider you in all the major and many minor decisions I made in my life.  Accepting this kind of responsibility for another living creature was intimidating.

The period when we lived by ourselves brought us much closer together than we might have otherwise been.  I began to recognize the extraordinary levels of intelligence, energy, enthusiasm and loyalty you possessed.  I taught you how to "heel" in three hours.  You remembered for nearly 15 years, allowing us to walk safely in urban areas which weren't dog-friendly.  I taught you lots of tricks, but soon realized these were for my benefit, not for yours, and therefore a waste of your time and an unnecessary imposition of my will.  You were the finest example of high-performance design I have ever seen.  Watching you run next to me, full speed with all four legs off of the ground as you galloped, while I coasted down a deep hill on my bicycle nearly caused me to crash on more than on occasion.  Maybe not a greyhound, but a level of coordination, grace and drive which would have enabled you to survive in the wild if we hadn't caught you.  Jackrabbits didn't stand a chance!   Your nickname was "The Black Bullet", and when you set your mind on getting somewhere quick, you did.  The expression on your face while you ran towards me at full tilt was a combination of boundless joy, unlimited enthusiasm and love for life.  I felt privileged to be part of your life.  I didn't feel worthy of your dedication to my life.

The single best moments of my life have been the many times we spend together on the top of mountain peaks, after anywhere from three to six hours hard hiking to reach the summit.  You always led the way, running ahead to scout the trail, but remembering to wait for us while we caught up.  At the top, we would sit and admire the view, checking every direction, marveling in the beauty of the earthly paradise we shared.  You closed your eyes and took in the scents carried by the ever-present winds, and I knew that you loved the same sense of freedom, and escape from the effects of man's presence that I did.  We were cut from the same cloth, only the tailor followed a different pattern.  No matter how rocky the summit, I would find a semi-flat spot for us to lay together, you within my reach, with the sunshine and breezes lulling us to sleep.  My sense of peace was total, and the pressures and disappointments of my modern human existence would evaporate like the clouds that tried to form above us.  We understood the same things about the natural world.  I had worked hard to educate myself about nature, and gradually, over a number of years, had evolved to be able to appreciate all of creation.  You instinctively felt the connections between all living things, and the environment in which they exist.   Watching you in a natural environment made me pay more attention to the details, and therefore, develop a greater respect for the world we shared.  Any system that could have created you must have created numerous other marvels.

We never really noticed you getting older.  You slowed down some, and I stared being more discriminating about the hikes I took you on.  Six-hour uphill hikes with steep talus slopes were too much for you an more, although you would never admit it.  I kept you active though, and you stayed amazingly healthy, accompanying me on many trips that a dog half your age would have had trouble with.   Your eyes began to get cloudy, and you seemed not to recognize me at a distance unless I talked to you.  But you could still catch a minute twig thrown in your direction, or a stuffed toy kicked towards you.  Above all, you never lost your spirit...you ran the house like you had for the previous decade.  Kept all of us in line and reminded us about the important milestones each day.  You started each day in a good mood, waking me with a slight nudge from the toy you held in your mouth.   Placing 4 or 5 choice toys in front of the bathroom door while I was showering, leaving it to me to guess which one was the chose one for the morning.  As I threw the "wrong" ones to you, you would let them fly by inches from your head without a blink, tail wagging in anticipation of me finally picking the "right" one.   You valiantly charged out the door into your yard to do battle with kitties, a life-long passion.  Your aging legs would rise to the occasion every time, propelling you at speeds approaching your glory days for a brief moment.  You aged gracefully, enjoying every day of your life as if it was your first.

It had to happen one day, but your playfulness and spirit kept us from dwelling on it much.  I held you for an extra few seconds when you let me pick you up, knowing that I wouldn't be able to feel your heartbeat forever.  I made certain to tell you every night that you were my special girl and that I loved you.   We hoped we could stop the inevitable with our love, devotion and herbal remedies.   I cried sometimes when I was sure your mom couldn't see me.  The though of life without you was unthinkable.  You were too big a part of me.

Your last day started the same as so many days you spent with us.   Everything seemed normal.  You never let on, though I believe you knew.   While we were gone for a few hours in the afternoon, you ran barking into the yard, once again asserting your control over your domain.  Your heart couldn't keep up with your spirit.  You seemed subdued at dinner, but still didn't complain.  We thought you had just hurt a leg slightly or something that simple.  It wasn't until later in the evening that we understood how seriously ill you were.

Your heart, which had propelled you to the top of uncounted mountain peaks, and into the deepest recesses of our hearts gave out.  We lay with you and held you as you fought for breath, telling you the same things we had whispered to you for 15 years.  I felt so helpless watching you in distress - I had worked so hard to protect you from any harm all those years.  Taken every precaution, anticipated every dangerous aspect of your surroundings.  But I couldn't do anything now.  I asked your mom to bring the hypodermic containing euthanasia in, but couldn't ring myself to subject you to the stress of shaving your leg to get to your vein.  You sensed this willingness to help you, and took it as your cue that we could let you go.  Your breathing began to slow.  You had been holding on for us.

In your last moments you stretched your front and back legs out straight, trying to be free.  We knew this time, however, it was not freedom from us you sought.  Your loyalty and friendship over 15 years was absolutely unquestionable.   You wanted to escape from the ravages of age, and run down that hill next to me once again, all four legs in the air with the cool, fresh desert air filling your lungs.   The last noises you made were like the first we heard from the little black lump of coal we had brought home with us so long ago.  I placed my hand lightly on your ribs and felt the last breaths you took.

We owe so much to you, Coalette.  The last lesson you taught us about selflessness was the hardest we ever had to learn.  Your mom and I look at the many pictures we have of you and still can't really accept that you are gone.  We watched the ashes fall from your funeral prye, and know that you no longer physically inhabit the conscious world that our limited human minds are confined to.  But your presence is still strong, because our bond was so very strong.  I see, hear and smell your presence everywhere, from my past to my future.  We are still connected, but the connection now stretches across an indefinable void.  Your mom and I will cross over that void one day.  Please wait for us.