Once upon a time I sent out half a dozen emails to labrador breeders looking for a puppy. I had a 2.5 year old pantbeast at the time that didn’t get along with other dogs. The idea was that she would accept a puppy and then they’d grow up together.
The notion was at the very least hairbrained and at the very best ill-advised.
But I was young and full of optimism.
One of my emails was followed by a phone call that lasted more than an hour. That phone call was followed up with a series of emails about the right time to check out a 16 week old puppy. The last email I got before making the drive read:
“call when you leave please. I will have the coffee ready. đ He has ridden in the front of my pick-up many times. you may want a collar and leash. I suggest a leather rolled and stitched collar because nylon collars break the hair coat. And a leather leash because it is easier on your hand than a nylon leash. Although he should not have to take a potty break on the way home. Its only an hour drive. For training and walks you will want a slip collar because they wont come off over his head. He cuddled up next to me on the ride home yesterday and looked so sweetly into my eyes. I hope you like this puppy. He is really a nice one.”
And that’s the first chapter of Omar. He ate so many things that scared us and destroyed so many more things. At my parent’s house he dug.
He was a really nice puppy. He was a great dog. I could easily forgive every transgression because he gave so much to me– to us. He was my first labrador. The one that made me fall in love. From now on there will be a piece of him in every dog I love.
This week’s story is a tribute to him.
The Last Sunset
Jill N Davies
The dilution gene doesnât exist in the Labrador line. I would knowânot only have I been doing this for 66 years, but Iâm also a geneticist. I got my PhD back when cracking the human genome was just talk. Back when clones would be the doom of our future. When I thought weâd ace the cure for cancer.
Tracing Labrador lines was a hobby at first. I figured I might as well, since I was taking up the family business. But passion and obsession run parallel on opposite sides of the same, fine line. It was only a matter of time before I became that expert.
I didnât know what type of dog was stalking the back forty of our kennels, but it wasnât a Labrador.
Misty saw him first, about two weeks ago. She was finishing her evening chores just past sunset when she came racing up the back porch, hollering.
My Hannah jumped right up. I was glad she was home because I donât always understand Misty when she gets going like that.
âI knowit waza boy âcause I just come from thâwhelpinâ rooms,â Misty said. All the words came out at once, the way they did when she was excited. She was getting lessons for it at school, but those lessons had a way of vanishing after a certain o-clock.
âMom, donât! Why donât you let us go get it?â Hannah scolded when she turned and saw me on my feet.
I already had a leash in hand, not that I thought Iâd need it. But itâs better to be ready. Just in case.
âDonât be foolish. Iâm not made of glass,â I said, ignoring her and making my way across the lawn. A loose dog was just interesting enough to make the pain fade.
âGrammy, I donât think itâs one of ours,â Misty said.
âItâs not a lab?â I asked.
âLooks like one, but. Butâbut.â She twisted her face in concentration.
âSlow down,â Hannah admonished.
Misty took a deep breath, untwisting her tongue, âHeâs the wrong color. Heâs silver!â
âThatâs no lab, then,â I said, mostly to myself.
âIt might be Jack Daniels. He likes to get in the lake. If heâs soaking in the right light there could be a glint,â Hannah offered.
âMaybe,â I said, but went out, ignoring their protests and expecting something else.
It wasnât Jack. He was rolling in the grass right where he shouldâve been. I didnât spot the dog that night.
Hank saw him next and confirmed that he was, in fact, silver, but didnât respond to call. He and Fred went out with a raw ribeye, hoping to lure him in. All they got for their efforts was the rear-end view of a running dog, which served them right for making me stay behind in my slippers.
The thick otter tail confirmed there was lab in him, which gave us a good starting point. We searched for anyone that purchased, bred, or otherwise had an association with the so-called silver Labrador, but there werenât any in our neck of the woods. Our best guess was that he was crossed with a lab (maybe even from our lines). I was sure Iâd recognize his cross once I finally spotted him. In the meantime, our main concern was that he stayed off our property and far away from the kennels.
I saw him for the first time three nights ago when I was coming back from the whelping room. Whiskey Sour had just delivered her third and final litter. Eleven pupsâ6 boys and 5 girls, all black as the night. I wouldnât admit it to anyone, but I was bone tired and ready to be back to the house. It was well after midnight and the full moon was high in the sky.
I always think the long grass looks silver in that kind of lightâlike part of an old, black and white photo.
He walked right out of the tree-lineâas if from a vision. I could tell his coat was supposed to be black. The thick fur had the look, but it shone as silver as the grass, iridescent. When he saw me he stopped in his tracks. We stared at each other for a long time, him glowing in the moonlight and me searching for a logical explanation.
He was a lab, alright. No hint of mix to him. He had perfect structureâfrom his blocky head and thick bones all the way to his double coat and broad rudder of tail. But he was silver.
He opened his mouth, tongue lolling out in a friendly pant, smiling. I recognized him.
âKing?â
His tail hung low, swishing back and forth over tall tendrils of grass.
Well, come on over here! The words hung up in the back of my throat. I was too afraid to say them out loud and have him dissolve into a dream.
King watched me like he was thinking the same thing. It was a moonlit standoff. If the back door hadnât slammed when Hank came out looking for me, Iâm not sure what would have happened. King turned and trotted off. I was sure it was him then.
The moon isnât as bright, and itâs lower tonight, just above the horizon. But nobodyâs going to slam the door and shoo him off this time. Iâm waiting at the edge of the yard, where the tall grass meets the treesâwhere we always met and ran off to explore. Before I went off to college. Before I met Hank and had Hannah. Before I took over the Kennels and became Granny. Before the cancerâŚ
It doesnât hurt so bad tonight.
King walks over to me as if heâd always been there and I just hadnât noticed. My hand sinks down into the silvery fur, both real and not real. I rub behind his ears and he huffs with satisfaction.
Together, we walk out into the woods.
The End
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