Canella, A Good Ol' Dog

I’m trying to think of what I can say about Canella.  You know, something flashy, something heroic.  And there’s nothing.  She was a mixed breed, a mutt, really.  A rescue dog.  She was brought to my parents’ property on a temporary basis.  My nephew and his girlfriend were all into saving animals.  They just weren’t very good at it.  They were really bad at finding good homes for animals at the shelter.  The girlfriend ended up taking most of them, the smaller ones at least.  But this dog was close to two years old and weighed about 50 lbs (even though she was underweight).  So nephew asked grandpa if he could house Canella for just a few days while nephew and girlfriend searched for other accommodations.  Long story short, other accommodations were never found.  Canella just sort of became grandpa’s dog.

Canella came with a story, as all shelter dogs do.  Horribly abused and then abandoned by criminally neglectful owners, she should have been put down, because (some) abused dogs cannot be trusted around humans.  But Canella escaped that fate because of my father’s generous nature.  Bud would have shown the same kindness to the birds that flitted around his house.  That’s why he hooked up a half dozen humming bird feeders on various tree limbs, as well as built and erected a purple martin house in the back yard.  The nephew and girlfriend warned Bud that Canella may not behave predictably.  So there they were, the two of them, standing in the back yard, looking at each other.  Canella not moving, her head respectfully lowered.  Bud two feet away, hand on hip, looking down at this big yellow dog.  He slowly, carefully reached out a hand and touched Canella’s head.  She flinched, just the smallest twitch.  He slid his hand under her head, cupped her jaw, and lifted that big yellow head so their eyes could meet.  My father has always been a good judge of character.  I’ve heard my mother say that about him in this mysterious way.  The two of them must have been judging each other.  Canella’s tail began to wag, just a bit.  Bud lowered his head toward the dog, just a bit.  Then Bud announced, “She’s okay.”  And that was that.  I guess from that moment on, they owned each other.

The story could well end after that.  Bud has had Canella for 10 years.  She gained weight to at least 60 lbs., probably more.  She lived in the fenced back yard with a locked gate.  The neighborhood children were warned not to reach in the fence to pet her.  Almost all of them ignored this warning.  They would carefully reach through the fence to give that big yellow head a pat.  Canella would allow it, then walk away.  The child would smile, then walk away.  And that was as dangerous as she got. 

Now that’s not true.  There were a few times when an adult (always a male) would approach the house and get too close to the gate.  Canella would let out this growl that sounded like a truck engine.  The one guy stupid enough to continue walking around started her barking.  It was the first time Bud heard her bark.  He was in the house watching TV.  The bark was so loud and frightening that everyone in the house came pouring out to investigate.  They saw the back of the salesman running away.  Canella turned to look at Bud.  The lips came back down to cover the fangs.  The eyes cleared.  The tail wagged.  She came up to the gate and poked her head through the bars, inviting Bud’s pat.  And the whole family knew not to ever let Canella loose without a leash.

For the last 10 years she has led a good dog’s life.  Well fed.  Well housed.  She slept in the garage at night, and Bud installed a window unit air conditioner in the garage to make sure the hot Texas nights were comfortable for her.  Usually a calm-natured dog, Canella would occasionally get playful.  She would jump up and put her front paws on Bud’s shoulders.  Standing erect, she was taller than Bud, and it was all he could do to keep standing when Canella gave him a big hug.

And that was Canella’s life for the last 10 years. 

Last week Canella went missing.  The gate was locked.  No one could figure out how she got out.  The family has searched the neighborhood and surrounding woods for days, calling her name, just calling, calling.

Throughout this time it has been raining in Texas, especially in the San Antonio area.  We could only speculate what happened to her.  The woods have wild animals.  Canella is big but would be no match for an organized pack of coyotes or wolves.  And still Bud would drive around the property every evening after dinner, searching and calling.

We found Canella’s body in a far corner of the property.  Bud could not tell if she was snake bit or attacked by another animal.  Because of the weather, her body was already degrading.  Bud wants to bury her on the property.  Mother said that he was crying about it.  I’m sure he would not want you to know that about him.

That’s the whole story.  She left as suddenly and as quietly as she came.  There won’t be another dog.  At least not for a while.  For an ordinary mutt, Canella left her mark.