He Was the Strong, Silent Type

How can you fit a great love affair into a few words?

When my daughter was about 7, I was newly divorced and we had moved into a big two-story house in my hometown of Redlands in Southern California. I thought she was old enough to care for a dog so we went to an adoption event where a young, slender Jack Russell Terrier sat nervously in a crate.

"He'll be so much fun," I told her. "Look how pretty he is."

To this day, she'll say she wanted another dog: the description changes each time. But the dog we got was Badger.

The woman with the animal rescue asked a few questions.

Do you have a fenced yard? Yes.

Do you have a big house? Yes.

Do you have time to take him for runs and play with him? Yes.

"I have to warn you," she said. "He was adopted to an older lady who lived in a mobile home. She brought him back after a couple of days because he tore up her whole house."

"Okay," I said.

Then she described how he really needed another chance even if he might have some "behavioral issues." He was from a puppy mill and when he started growing too tall and getting aggressive, they'd docked his tail. When that and punishment didn't work, they dumped him at an animal shelter in a nearby town. When the rescue found him, he was within a day of being euthanized. His name was Badger and it was lucky my daughter was 7 since Jack Russells were good with older kids but not little ones.

"Now, here's what's going to happen when you get him home," she said. "He's likely to be pretty scared. He might hide for two or three days before he feels confident enough to move around your house," she said.

I thought, yeah but supposedly he tore up this lady's house ... I looked at him and he didn't seem aggressive. He looked nervous and gentle.

She took him out of his crate and I took him for a walk around the parking lot with my daughter. By the time we got back, she said she wanted him, so I bought his dishes, food, leash and collar, and toys. We put him in the back seat of the car and drove home.

When we got out of the car, my daughter noticed first. "Mom," she said. "He's got a big heart on his back."

As soon as we got inside, Badger trotted from room to room, sniffing everything. I could barely get his food and water out fast enough. He gobbled the food like he hadn't eaten for days, drank the whole bowl of water, then ran in the back yard, playing with every toy.

Then he ran back inside, straight to the living room. He plopped down on the couch and went to sleep.

Did I mention: Badger was smart?

Without realizing, I had also made one of the countless mistakes I've made in my life. I thought my daughter was mature enough to care for a dog. She loved to play with Badger but she was still too young to be responsible for feeding him, taking him for two or three walks or runs a day, cleaning up after him, and training him.

So he became my dog. I know a lot of people say their dogs are their best friend. I know it's true, too.

No man I dated was ever interested in hiking or rock climbing. So Badger became my hiking and climbing partner.

We did Anza Borrego, the Pacific Crest Trail, the Backbone Trail. We climbed mountain peaks. We went everywhere ...

Even to "Lion Canyon." Here's another one of those millions of mistakes. I took Badger on the Lion Canyon trail in the Sespe wilderness and thought, "Ha ha, why would they call it 'Lion'? Like the 'Lion King'?" Ha ha ha ha ...

So we were about four miles out and I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Badger stopped beside me and I saw the hair on his back stand up too. Maybe 100 yards away from us across the nearly-dry riverbed I saw the reason for the canyon's name. Long, lean, buff-colored and just ambling along the stream. No way to know how long she'd been shadowing us. Let's just say not all lions have big manes and live in Africa.

Badger was brave. Perhaps like his partner: often foolhardy. He sometimes woke me in the middle of the night to be let out. When we lived in Woodland Hills, there were many animals in the area but between the two of us foolhardy adventurers, safety wasn't always thought number-one. One night I felt a "presence" and a massive owl swooped silently over our heads, carrying a squirrel in its claws. Another night, I let Badger off the leash and no sooner did he run off than a coyote twice his size appeared. This animal's wild eyes seemed to beckon and Badger harried him, barking and biting.

"Get back!" I yelled. "He'll kill you!"

Badger ignored me but fortunately, so did the coyote. He could certainly have killed Badger with a single bite but instead, the coyote just turned around and walked off with a type of stiff dignity, as if the incident were beneath him.

No man would get up at 3:00 a.m. with me so I could get ready for work to teach at 6:00 a.m. Badger did.

Except one day when I got up and turned on the light and got my bath ready, Badger didn't follow. He looked up at me, then put his head back down on his pillow and went back to sleep.

Even the most faithful have their limits.

Through good times and some of the worst times imaginable, Badger was always there.

He was a great listener. He had deep feelings, too. He was adventuresome. Brave.

We went hiking near a lake where there were all types of birds: ducks, geese, even a few swans. Badger was very interested in them and went chasing them by the shore. When they flew out farther, he ran after them and just started swimming. Farther and farther he went until he realized: he could never catch them. Nor did he really have much more in the way of swimming power than ... dog paddling.

Hanging his head, he paddled back to me. Oh, that smell of wet dog, the marks of his muddy paws.

My daughter still makes fun of how I treated him.

"Mom," she said. "You gave him gummy worms and Paydays."

I didn't know then what I know now: those foods are bad for dogs and for people. Today, he'd have only the best grain-free food. But back then, he got the meat out of my Egg McMuffin. He shared all my food with me.

My daughter moved away for a year when she turned 18. In the meantime I moved to my own small apartment and I was so happy. It was just me and Badger.

Then she called and said she wanted to come home.

Of course I agreed. And she wasn't back too long before Badger started slowing down. He no longer jumped up first thing in the morning. He would go on walks but his legs moved more slowly. He tired easily. He started having trouble with his eyes.

Badger had such beautiful eyes.

So one day he had a seizure. And taking him to the emergency vet, I learned the reason for his eye trouble and slowing down. He had a brain tumor.

While we were right there, he had a seizure. The vet said he would keep having them and he would likely die within a day or two.

My love, my best friend, the love of my life.

And there was nothing I could do.

So she got a blanket and sat there on the floor of the clinic with me and put him to sleep in my arms.

There is not a day that goes by that I don't think about him. He was brave and complex and deep and sensitive and strong and silent. Who could want anything more?