Ode to Deacon

I grew up with dogs on the farm and after we were married, Forry and I had a succession of terriers that grew up with our kids. But I've never had a lap dog or one that was really a house pet. Our dogs were farm dogs and mostly they lived outside. They were just part of the farm landscape.

Then we went to Alaska for a National Rural Health Association convention in Anchorage. We made plans to spend a couple of weeks after the convention traveling with our friends, Gail and Danny as well as a third friend who had lived and worked in Alaska as a pediatric physician with the military. Danny was our tour guide planning most of our stops and stays. One of the places we visited was with a man who raced a dog team in the Iditarod. It was late May and the snow was gone, but we visited his facility. His dogs were housed outside, chained to little dog houses, spaced far enough apart so that they could not fight with each other. Gail felt sorry for them and I swear, she managed to pet and hug every one of them. It made us all a bit nervous and even the owner suggested she might want to be a bit more careful approaching strange dogs.

A few nights later, we stayed at some remote cabins. The owner and his wife had a beautiful husky that was chained outside of the office. We were all waiting outside the next morning, eating muffins and waiting for Danny to come back from getting the car gassed. Gail was petting the husky, getting down on her knees to hug him when he panicked and attacked her. She was badly bitten and clawed on the head and neck. We were over 200 miles from the nearest emergency room and were unable to arrange for a helicopter. We had a nightmare ride to the hospital in Fairbanks with my heavily bleeding friend. (Another long story about my nursing experience very quickly coming back to me; Forry's speeding trip over frost-heaved roads; a visiting on-call doctor from Anchorage who did an excellent job repairing Gail's injuries and her refusal to have the dog put down.)

Anyway, as an aftermath of all of this, I realized I had become very frightened of dogs, especially big dogs. When we were out walking or hiking and met up with someone with a dog, I would quickly move without conscious thought to the other side of Forry away from the dog. If I would see a dog, I would cross the street. Not a very good way to live...

Sister Sherry has always had companion dogs. I honestly cannot remember her without one or two or more. When her Anatolian Sheepdog was getting old, she looked for a large quiet dog as an eventual replacement. She ended up with a Mastiff puppy named Deacon.

Deacon was a big dog, even as a puppy. However, he thought he was a lap dog. And he seemed to love everyone -- and he just assumed everyone loved him. When we went to visit Sister Sherry, there was no ignoring him. Unlike Peekaboo, the sheepdog, who didn't pay any attention to me, Deacon wanted to be friends! He also loved water and taking a shower. What do you do when a dog, who already weighed close to a hundred pounds, wants to take a shower with you -- and just comes on in? What do you with a dog, who when he sees you reading on the couch, just climbs up and puts his head in your lap and reads with you? How can you be frightened of big dogs when they act like that?

Deacon was a trusting friendly dog. I sat with him on a blanket in the farmhouse when the vet came, put him under and neutered him. He didn't even hold a grudge, still acted like everyone was his friend. Deacon was a farm dog. I don't know that he ever left the farm. He was my sister's guard dog and befriended a succession of mastiffs that came to stay or to visit. I brought him a Margarita collar from Florida and made him a succession of scarves for him to wear on holidays. No doubt about it, Deacon removed the fear.

One day last year, Deacon jumped off of something and tore the dewclaw on his front foot. Like sometimes happens with big dogs, it never did heal and eventually developed into a malignancy of the bone.

It's taken me a while to write this tribute to Deacon. It's hard to imagine that the passing of a dog I only saw a couple of times a year could have such an impact on me. But I truly feel that I have lost a friend. I will always owe a debt of gratitude to this big dog with an even bigger heart -- and perhaps an even larger debt to my sis who shared him with me.