This is my second one so it is not like I wasn’t forewarned. I’m not sure what it is about them that I find so irresistible. Maybe it’s their free spirit, not a care in the world, party animals, not a hateful bone in their body, that touches my alter ego.

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Part of me wishes I could come back as a Golden. They just never have a bad day. I’m not sure, but just seeing their big silly grin, tongue hanging out panting after a full gallop, ears flapping in the wind always puts a smile on my face. Whatever they do, they do with all their heart.

I believe God sent a special dog to carry his message. Is it a coincidence that they are coloured gold like heaven? They are full of love and innocence. They have a warm and tender heart for children to snuggle in their silky fur, soft downy ears to dry your tears.

Okay accolades aside, they should come with a warning label. For me it is too late because I am already under their magical spell.

In truth, my first one was a Golden-Collie mix. However, none of the collie showed. The only hint that he wasn’t pure Golden was a slightly smaller Golden with finer features sporting the luxurious golden fur. But what a loveable rascal!

I was hooked from the start. I wasn’t looking for a dog at all. I had three cats and five parrots. I certainly wasn’t looking for a “bird dog”. I happened on him wandering the streets with a fresh gunshot wound in his ear. One look in those pleading almond eyes, begging for a second chance and it was over.

I picked him up and told him I would treat him, rehab him and find him a good home with children for him to play with. As soon as I took him home and he met my husband, Jim, the door slammed shut and he wasn’t going anywhere. He was home. We named him “Apache”.

We cherished him for about 15 years when he died in 2008. As I watched him breathing his last, tears streaming down my face, he looked up with his famous smile and put his paw in my hand as if to say “Don’t worry, Mom, I had the best life ever, please don’t cry!” And oh what memories we do have!

Jim remembers with a smile, the times he would leave his chair while watching football to answer the telephone. The coffee table left behind with his ham sandwich and goodies, only to return to an empty plate and a very satisfied looking pooch. When it came to food, the boy was never on his honour.

Daily doggy walks were always memorable. Better stated, they were always survival courses. Try as he might, the word “heel” always fell on deaf ears. He always seemed to interpret it as “pull”. Always out for an adventure every time we hooked up the leash, he was ready to make the most of it. He lurched forward with all of the enthusiasm of huskies training for the Iditarod.

Every bush, tree and especially a hole in the ground was worth his careful investigation. Nothing was too trivial to warrant his utmost attention.

When faced with freedom from a leash, he was euphoric. Running was his passion.

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We learned early on that for his own safety, he had to be restrained on a leash or he could quickly find himself in close vicinity of busy streets. Loving him like I did, I always had a death grip on his leash for fear he would run into a car while chasing a squirrel. “Death grip”; and I mean that literally.

How many times did I go body surfing through the mud, and snow fighting to stay upright on slick footing. And then came the day when I almost lost my life trying to keep his safe.

It was a cool crisp afternoon just before dusk when we went for our walk. We lived in a peaceful wooded setting in the Eastern part of the United States.

The oaks and maples were sporting their fall colours of bronze and gold. I had been deeply entrenched in a computer problem for most of the day and was still mulling it over while we were walking, so my attention was somewhere on another galaxy. Bad move…

Apache saw the rabbit ahead but I didn’t. It quickly ducked down a ravine. Apache made an abrupt left hand turn in hot pursuit and down I catapulted behind him. Always in fear he would head for the highway after his target, I tightened my grip. Here is where most sane people would have dropped the leash in preference of their own life.

I went body sledding at top speed and finally came to an abrupt and horrifically painful stop as my body slammed into a very unforgiving oak tree.

I lay on the ground screaming at the top of my lungs, knowing for sure I had mangled body parts strewn all over. I hurt so bad, all I could do was scream and cry. I am sure it was somewhat like being in a car crash. Apache, having lost sight of the rabbit, quickly ran back looking down at me like “Geez, Mom, what ‘ya doing down there?”

I had been using one of those retractable 15’ leashes and it is amazing how much momentum they can gain! The cord was wrapped around every bush and trunk around. Since my screams brought no help, and it was quickly turning dusk, I felt I should try to make it back home. I made an attempt to stand. And by some miracle, I found all body parts still attached. I took a few agonizing steps forward and found to my surprise, I could actually make it home under my own power. The dude was none the worse for wear as I cried and moaned the whole way home.

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I immediately suspected broken ribs and that turned out to be the case. Getting up or lying down left me screeching in pain. I knew that they don’t normally do much for broken ribs as long as you don’t have a punctured lung.

After about four days I thought it would be best to get a few x-rays. My usual doctor wasn’t in so I saw his colleague. When I disrobed, she gasped because I had a huge purple bruise from pelvis bone to breast. Biggest bruise I have ever seen. It covered half of my torso.

The doctor nervously said, “now, by law, I have to ask this. Are you sure a dog did this?” I laughed heartedly and said, “yes, I know it looks like spouse abuse”. She looked a bit relieved. Placing the film on the box, she said “yes, there it is, number 5 and 9”.

Always the jokester, I put on my serious face and said “Now, I want you to save this as evidence”. To which I am sure she thought, “Ahh, here comes the truth”. “Because”, I continued, “I am going to sue him for everything he has; his doghouse, his leash, his milk bones and all his rawhides. He will never own a thing again”. I am sure when I left her office she was shaking her head, thinking I should be committed.

But that was our pooch and we loved him dearly and do have a lot of fond (and a few painful) memories.

But when he was gone, I was inconsolable. Though we have other pooches and lots of pets, the vacancy left by our sweet Golden, has left a painful void.

So, Jim seeing my pain began to check the adoption ads in the paper. One day he dropped the classifieds on the table and said “call this number”. I read about a 9 month old female Golden retriever. I called and when I saw “Leila’s” picture sent by e-mail, I shrieked with delight.

And so Leila appears to be pure Golden Retriever. She is bigger and heavier at around 75 lbs than Apache was at 50. More weight always means more force. Oh, did I mention her appetite?

She’s a bionic trash compactor in fur! The girl has never turned down a morsel. The volume she can put away is astounding.

So, for survival, Jim and I are trying to train her. She is a handful. Every day, in her utter thrill for life she greets us like a locomotive, by running full speed ahead, tongue wagging and ears flapping, and then to our horror, she is suddenly airborne heading straight for us as we make the “sign of the cross”. (Cesar Milan, you are our hero).

Now, instead of tranquil (relatively) walks through a wooded setting, we walk through the rain forest brimming with the excitement of wildlife. Iguanas, snakes, and armadillo skitter across the path. Monkeys and squirrels chatter overhead adding to the myriad of temptations for our exuberant Golden.

Add to that, the challenge of walking on an incline of a slippery muddy mountain trail. This setting is a virtual minefield of opportunities to go body surfing.

Even though our little protégé is trying hard, there are times the gleam will appear in her eye as she spots something too tempting to ignore. Suddenly she lurches forward and I have flashbacks and my life once again passes before my eyes. Then after the crisis passes, I say three “Hail Marys”, an “Our Father” and a few “hallelulas” and find myself upright once again to survive the day.

What is it about those Goldens? Magical pooches, but they need to come with a warning label.

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Written by Gloria Dempsey of Gloria’s Jungle Animal Rescue who is a Zoologist living in Arenal, Costa Rica.

If you would to contribute to the rescue and care of wildlife in Costa Rica and maybe help with the cost of a new portable X-ray machine, please send a US cashier’s cheque to our Zoologist friend in Arenal Gloria Dempsey:

Gloria Dempsey
5717-28 Nuevo Arenal – Tilaran
Guanacaste, Costa Rica.

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