A life well lived

Canyon, the world's greatest dog, passed away today. She would have been sixteen on April 28. We made the painful decision of letting her go while she still had a little bit dignity left. The end was peaceful and calm and while I'm heartbroken, I know that she's shed the old, pain-ridden body that she's carried around for the last few years. I hope that the spark is back in her eyes and that there are plenty of squirrels in dog heaven.

I met Canyon a few days after I graduated from college in 1995. She was one of four border collie puppies born on the ranch where I had my summer job. She was only four weeks old when I first saw her and while I already knew that I wanted to get a dog that summer, I didn't know at the time that I was picking out a puppy who would be my companion for the next 15 years. The ranch owner told me to take my pick and as I sat down outside the dog house, three of the puppies jumped and scrambled all over me. They were cute but I had my sights set on number four, a little black and white bundle who sat inside the doghouse and peered out at me with a little bit of shyness and a little bit of judgement, frankly. Those were two traits that she would carry for the rest of her life.

As a puppy, Canyon was curious and smart and independent. She traveled with me from the ranch in Lander to Steamboat for a winter, Cody for a summer and then eventually to Cheyenne. She was my only roommate for many years and lived with me in several awful apartments. She guarded my yard from renegade squirrels and the occasional moronic rabbit. Canny also kept those pesky mailman and UPS guys from loitering on our sidewalks for too long. While she was never aggressive to people, she hated folks in uniform and I never really figured out why. I also never figured out how she knew a uniform from regular clothing, but I told you she was smart.

Canyon had a conscience the size of Oklahoma. When she was younger, she would occasionally chew on toys or clothing while I was at work, but she would always leave the evidence on the rug inside the front door so that it would be the first thing I saw when I came home. She was so smart that at one point she could whisper, speak and smile on command. During her heyday, she loved to play catch with anything that could be thrown: frisbees, tennis balls, sticks, toys and the occasional cigarette butt that she'd find in a parking lot and drop at an unsuspecting participant's feet.

The highlight of Canyon's life was definitely me meeting Glenn. In Glenn, she found her own soulmate. She loved to go hiking and camping with him and she'd even show enthusiasm when he was packing up his hunting equipment even though she was terrified of the guns. Before age caught up to her, she'd happily go on long walks and jogs, pulling the leash taut in front of us.

The last few years have been a little harder on Canyon. She hasn't been able to go on walks or play catch for very long and she's had to share her space with small humans. While she was never super friendly with other kids, she showed patience with Will and Reina and even permitted them to throw the ball for her once in a while. Lately, you'd often find her standing under Reina's high chair enjoying the veritable buffet of mac & cheese, toast or the occasional hot dog piece that would find it's way to the floor.

Canyon was my dog for my entire adult life so far. I don't have many memories of significant events that don't include her in some way. She was there when I bought my first house, she met Glenn at the door when he came to pick me up for our first date, and she stood in the dining room and cautiously sniffed the carseat when we brought Will home from the hospital. (Actually a few minutes later, she sat there and pointedly looked away from the carseat with an air of certain indignation and "how-could-you's!!!" but that's a story for another day). Today, when it came time to say goodbye, there were so many things I wanted to say. I wanted her to know how much she was loved, how many people would tell stories about her and remember that crazy border collie who could smile, how much she would be missed, but all I could say was "thank you." People have said today that we gave Canyon such a good life, but I think it's the other way around. She gave that to us, and so much more. Thank you Canyon, for being such a good roommate, jogging partner, hiking buddy, border patroller, bed warmer, companion and friend. While we will surely have more dogs in the future, we will never have another dog like you.