For Leo

My recent post about my dog walking experience brought back memories of my first and only dog, Leo, so I thought it would be fitting to pay tribute to him in my Facebook way.

My parents had gotten Leo a few years before I was born, but my earliest remembrance of him occured when I was about six years old. It was a summer evening, and my sister (who was about four at the time), myself and my dad were all out in the backyard playing with Leo.I was running around the lawn, and Leo was running with me, but at one point it seemed that he began chasing me. He caught up to me and jumped on me, knocking me off my feet and onto the grass. Of course now I realize that he was just trying to play with me, but at that time my six year old mind was convinced he was trying to eat me or something. So for the next five years or so, I was very nervous and frightened around my poor Leo.

Besides the knocking me over incident, Leo was well socialized with people. The way I see it, he would've made a useless guard dog as every stranger was a new friend! Unfortunately, my parents failed to socialize him to other dogs, so the sight of another dog would cause him to go into an aggressive-fearful frenzy. We used to walk him through a forest down near our house, and would usually let him off the leash there. It was the site of a few dog fights, all initiated by him (I remember he had to get a few stitches in the aftermath of one, courtesy of a pair of little terriers).

Around the time I turned eleven, my fear of Leo had subsided to the point where I would actually take him on little walks on my own, and eventually it vanished altogether when I would hug him and he would sit there and happily accept it.

Sadly, by this time Leo was already pushing thirteen years, which made him a sexagenarian in human years. He began to develop arthritis in his bones and in his joints. The vet gave us pills to give to him to ease the pain, but Leo was suspicious and it became a huge ordeal to try to get him to take them (My idea of trying to sneak the pill in under a treat failed miserably as Leo would nip the treat and leave the pill). As with many diseases, his arthritis got worse and worse until it was basically crippling him.Then came the summer day when my aunt arrived to take Leo to the vet, for the very last time. I remember my dad lifting him into the back of my aunts' hatchback, which was always lined with blankets for Leo. My sister and I each gave him one last hug goodbye, while my aunt was close to bursting into tears (out of all of us, she was the most attached to Leo). She didn't come back that day.

Looking back, I can see that Leo was a fantastic dog. Sure, he had his shortcomings when it came to other dogs, but when he was around us he was the nicest, most loyal dog. I wish I had known before what I know now about dogs, and had engaged in playing with him, training him, and keeping him more company.Which leads me to this. I now know that my family were awful owners, and we neglected Leo in providing him with constant companionship and care. Yes, we did feed him and change his water and clean up after him everyday. No, we never ever abused him or anything like that. But we kept him outside in a fenced portion of the backyard all the time, which meant the time he spent with us was limited to whenever we felt like taking him for a walk. Over the years, even the time we spent walking him dwindled to the once a week my aunt would faithfully drive all the way out from Vancouver just to walk him and spend a few hours with him. I think the only time he was allowed inside the house was when he was a puppy, and as soon as he was big enough he was shunted outdoors. When I mentioned this to my mother a few months ago, she said, "Well, their type like being outdoors." Leo was a Husky mix, so technically yes, they like and can tolerate the outdoors, but they also need constant constant company, otherwise they get lonely and depressed. Which is how I think Leo felt towards the end of his life.

My parents didn't intentionally mean to raise our dog badly; they just did not educate themselves properly about all the details about owning a dog (plus, I have a feeling my father wanted a dog and my mom did not, but she consented to having one anyways). At least I know well enough now that raising a dog entails research, dedication, but most of all, it becomes a part of your family. In memory of Leo, I hope I have a dog someday that I can take joy in raising, but until then I hope everyone that considers getting a pet of any kind will acknowledge every aspect of love and care that animals require.