For my dog, Bailey McKenzie, 1996-2011.

There hasn't been any Napa training in the last three days. My beloved dog Bailey died this week. And of course by "died" I mean we had to make the decision to end her life and end the suffering that she so rapidly descended into beginning Sunday (1/9/11) and ending Wednesday (1/12/11) at around 10 AM. Bailey was the best dog ever. Yes, I'm biased. If you read this and you have a dog then you will think your dog is the best dog ever. And of course we would politely agree to disagree. She was nearly 14 and half years old. Born on the day after my birthday in 1996. Born just days after my eventual family--Arlen, Mitchell, and Daniel--returned from New Zealand. Here on earth even before Arlen and I were married. Here on earth several years before Jackson was born. 14 years. It IS a long time. I know that. As someone commented on my facebook page, there are a lot of memories packed into that 14-year period. He was right. They are all good memories. Or, I suppose, mostly all good memories. Certainly the last two days were not good memories. Our little girl was most likely riddled with cancer (so supposes our vet) but this riddling was not evident until Monday morning. Indeed, Sunday she was herself at the park...smiling in her way. Yeah, she was deaf--lost her hearing about 2.5 years ago. Yeah, she had severe neurological damage to her hind quarters--this became accute about 9 mos. ago--which made walking difficult. But it didn't matter. If you saw her at the park...saw the smile...you would know it was all ok. So when it was not ok...early this week...well...those are the memories I will retain, will honor, but do not smile at. At Xmas, I gave her a knowing look and said little girl, we'll have you another 1 year. She seemed that good. But she wasn't. And I know now I was deluding myself. But we got 14+ years from her. A near decade and a half. And I can live with that. Or more to the point, I'll have to live with that. But that's ok. Though if truth be told, I'd give a lot for just 1 more day. One more time for me to take her to the park. Just her, not the other two dogs we have. One more time for me to walk in the door from work and see her lift her head, see me, and wag her tail. As old as she was, she did that every day...or at least until the last two days. But she was so sick then. But I'd give an awful lot for just one more day. Just 1 more day.

And I would.

But I cannot.

So let me talk about Bailey a bit. You can indulge me. You choose to read or not. I thank you for reading btw.

Bailey was too smart. You could see the gears in her head move smoothly. You could see her brows furrow with worry as she thought through things. Pros, cons. Costs, benefits. July 2000. Somewhere in Ohio. Me, Bailey, Blaze (our other sweet dog [who died in 2008]) and Newman [my cat who died in 2010]) and a large moving van I was driving. On our way to Long Island for our move to SUNY-Stony Brook. I was tired. We had driven the following distances: Tucson to Tucumcari, NM. Tucumcari, NM to Kansas City, MO. Kansas City, MO to this part of Ohio. Dead tired. Blaze complied. Newman was in a box. Bailey thought through things too much.

We had a second-floor room. This was a motel. The stairs were open-air stairs insofar as you could see through the lower and upper steps. Bailey didn't like this. This worried her. Just to be clear. Here are the things that worried her: wood and/or smooth floors, open-air stairs, bathrooms, garden hoses (because of the possibility of a bath), and a variety of things that existed but that I cannot remember. So here I am: dead tired. Blaze in room: check. Cat in room: check. Bailey in room: Shit. I turned around and Bailey was nowhere to be found.

Mind you, it's past midnight. I'm in *this* part of Ohio. It's hot and humid. I could sleep for days. And I have to drive to New York tomorrow. And Bailey is nowhere to be found.

So I go down THOSE steps and call for her. Nothing. Look around. Nothing. Go to the parking lot. THERE. In the distance. A border collie. Running, yelling, pissing off every redneck, traveler, amateur porn filmmaker staying here at Motel Sex looking for my too-smart, overthinking dog. But I find her at the very end of the motel. Pacing by the door that leads INTO the interior of the motel. And I could see why she was here. Through the glass of the door, you could see stairs. The stairs were not the "see-through" variety but standard stairs. Like we had in our house in Tucson. This was her proposed route upstairs. I reached for my key to unlock this door....remember this is Motel Sex so card readers were (and no doubt still remain) features of the distant future. No key. No fu*king key. And I don't need to tell you what no key means (though I will anyhow): no key= no access to my room where my compliant dog and boxed cat were. I also have no leash. So I take Bailey by the collar. Go to the front desk. Let go the collar (why you ask? A: Pets were not allowed in Motel Sex so how could I have an oversmart border collie in tow?) Anyway, I get my replacement key, pray to Jah Bailey is nearby and exit the office. Jah came through. Bailey is pacing around. I pick her up (she was about 55 lbs then) and carry her to the menagerie I call my room. Open it up. Go straight to sleep.

Another memory (filed under Bailey thinking too much): Fall, 2000. Long Island, NY. We actually did make it to Long Island. Port Jefferson, NY specifically. We settled into our rental well enough. But here's the thing. In Arizona it does not rain. In New York...it did. So the dogs would get very dirty requiring a bath. Also, unlike Arizona, New York would get cold. So I devised the brilliant idea that I would give Bailey a bath in the large, ceramic tub installed in this hell hole of a rental. It seemed a good idea at the time. Now presciently, Bailey KNEW when a bath was coming. It made no matter how dirty or clean she was. It made no matter the season. It made no matter the proximity of me to a water spout. She would know. So as (which is most likely the case) Arlen was drawing the water, I went for Bailey. Yes, I got her. Picked her up. Guided her to the bathroom. As we approached the bathroom, she, much like a 747, opened the landing gear. In this case, landing gear means her 4 legs. Sprawled. Spread eagled. Me: arms around torso. Here perpendicular to the floor. Legs, 180 degrees spread (back and front). Mind you, when Bailey was a fully flailed death machine, her horizontal distance was many inches wider than the width of the bathroom door frame. Undeterred, I proceeded, though I soon detected a problem. Getting her in the door would require repositioning Bailey. Unfortunately for me, my mind moved more slowly than Bailey's urinary tract, for as I approached the door, the tract opened for a steady and unbroken stream of Bailey piss for what seemed like an eternity. So picture this: dog hyperventalating, floor inches deep in dog pee, water filling to near overflowing in bath, and me now also needing a bath. As my shirt cuffs were drenched in you-know-what. Yes. Bailey thought through things too much.

Which is why we loved her.

Other memories.

Bailey loved the desert. Between Arlen and I, we took here out there while living in Tucson countless times. She would explore. Smell. Mark her own territory. Go off willfully to do whatever she thought she needed to do. She loved it. It was her domain. She was an Arizona-born dog and Arizona was here territory. I ran miles and miles with her at the trails around Pima Community College. Cactus needles? So what. Rocky terrain? Who cares? Packs of coyotes? Uh oh. Bailey didn't do so well against the coyotes. Or maybe she did. Attacked twice by a pack of coyotes, Bailey held her own. She came out with some wounds but she was ok. Willful. She was very willful. And that's ok. Today, I miss that willfullness. I miss it so much.

She also was a very beautiful dog. A rare reddish border collie, she never developed "mature fur." Her fur was perpetually like a puppy dog's hair, even as she grew old. She never had a gray muzzle, even in her old age. She was a young dog. Young in an old body. Her body betrayed her. Her mind never left her.

Another memory: Last week (1/2011). She couldn't run so far or fast but I will tell you that the border collie in her...her instinct to work...NEVER left. I would throw the ball. The dogs would "herd" the ball. Sunday (1/9/11) I hold the ball up. Bailey lowers her head, steps so so so slowly as border collies do: track the object without making yourself conspicuous and does not release until she needs to. Then she gets the ball. I cannot throw it far...she wouldn't get there...but I throw it short...and she does. Success. This was last Sunday mind you. Now she is gone. (5 days, or so, later). But you see, that was Bailey. She has gone away. I'd give a million for another day. Just one more day. With her here as she so recently was. But she is not. And I have to accept that. But she will never leave my thoughts. A dog right? Just a dog? No. She was a member of our family. Full-fledged. Here through the best and the worst and the best. She'll always be here. But what I'd give for 1 more year. Selfish? Yes. I know she had to go. I know she is not suffering. But I miss her so much. My eyes are like lead weights with tears. I wish she were here to irritate me. Irritate for a few more years.

Goodbye Bailey.
Goodbye Coconut Legs.
Goodbye Shaky Town.
Goodbye to the best dog ever.

PS: And my beloved Arlen misses her like I do. She wants me to remind you all of Bailey's love of rocks. That is, to find a big rock in the desert, and push it over the sand or gravel with her two front paws. She loved this. Random memory huh? I tell you what, Arlen and I gotta million of 'em.

Peace. Arlen and Brad