Ten years ago today, I received a phone call that would change my life.
"The pups have been born," said my breeder. "And there's one for you."
Every week for the next month I received an e-mail with photos of the pups: three males and two females. By the fourth week, there was one that stood out. He or she (I didn't know which) was obviously the most lively of the bunch - the one that stayed awake while the others slept, the one that escaped from the whelping box first, the one that always seemed to get into trouble. In the photos, this pup was almost always staring straight at the camera - straight at me. I didn't know if it was a male or a female. All I knew was that it was "blue dog", for the colour of its collar. I wanted that pup, but the choice wasn't mine to make.
When the pups were five weeks old, I asked the breeder at what point she would decide who would get which pup. "I usually wait until they're 7 weeks old," she said, "but in this case I can tell you now. There are two females. One is a nice, laid back, friendly little pup who loves everyone and everything. And then there's the other one - little miss troublemaker. I can't possibly place her in a pet home - she would drive them crazy. So she's yours. She's the one with the blue collar."
And so it began. Blue pup came home and became Ruby. She trotted into my life without a backward glance, as if it was meant to be, and stole my heart from the very first day. Over the months, she grew into 50 lbs of energy and joy, leaving a trail of broken furniture, torn screen doors and stolen food in her wake. Training was a blast. Chosen to be an agility dog, she threw herself into her job with a level of enthusiasm that took years to harness. "Crazy Ruby" hit the competitive agility circuit like a tornado. While not particularly successful at first - it was at least two years before she realized the obstacles had to be done in some kind of order - she was unforgettable: fast, driven, exciting.
We got our act together and learned how to be a team in the ring. We won two provincial championships, lots of titles, and a podium place at the 2011 National Championship, when she was just 4 years old. Ironically, the real turning point in our relationship came when I injured my knee very badly, underwent surgery, and was told to quit agility. While still on crutches, I started training Ruby to work at a distance from me, with verbal cues. She was outstanding. In the ring, with me out of the way, she became an agility machine. A month after throwing the crutches away, we won our third provincial championship. Two months later, we drove 700 miles to New Brunswick and won the National Agility Championship and the National Steeplechase event in her category. Three weeks after that, at our home club's fall trial, we earned the elusive 100th standard qualifying point for Ruby's Lifetime Achievement Award.
It was the best year of my life.
Six months later, we were watching TV one Friday evening when Ruby cried out in pain, crawled into my lap and put her head on my shoulder. It was the first sign that something was wrong, and the beginning of the worst week of my life.
Ruby died five days later. She was eight years, two months and five days old.
Tonight, on what would have been her tenth birthday, I'll raise a glass to the best dog I'll ever have, with love and gratitude for everything she gave me. The sun has never shone quite as brightly since she left, and while my heart keeps beating, there's a piece of it that broke beyond repair when she drew her last breath.
Ruby, you were one of a kind. I'll remember you always. My very best girl.
"The pups have been born," said my breeder. "And there's one for you."
Every week for the next month I received an e-mail with photos of the pups: three males and two females. By the fourth week, there was one that stood out. He or she (I didn't know which) was obviously the most lively of the bunch - the one that stayed awake while the others slept, the one that escaped from the whelping box first, the one that always seemed to get into trouble. In the photos, this pup was almost always staring straight at the camera - straight at me. I didn't know if it was a male or a female. All I knew was that it was "blue dog", for the colour of its collar. I wanted that pup, but the choice wasn't mine to make.
When the pups were five weeks old, I asked the breeder at what point she would decide who would get which pup. "I usually wait until they're 7 weeks old," she said, "but in this case I can tell you now. There are two females. One is a nice, laid back, friendly little pup who loves everyone and everything. And then there's the other one - little miss troublemaker. I can't possibly place her in a pet home - she would drive them crazy. So she's yours. She's the one with the blue collar."
And so it began. Blue pup came home and became Ruby. She trotted into my life without a backward glance, as if it was meant to be, and stole my heart from the very first day. Over the months, she grew into 50 lbs of energy and joy, leaving a trail of broken furniture, torn screen doors and stolen food in her wake. Training was a blast. Chosen to be an agility dog, she threw herself into her job with a level of enthusiasm that took years to harness. "Crazy Ruby" hit the competitive agility circuit like a tornado. While not particularly successful at first - it was at least two years before she realized the obstacles had to be done in some kind of order - she was unforgettable: fast, driven, exciting.
We got our act together and learned how to be a team in the ring. We won two provincial championships, lots of titles, and a podium place at the 2011 National Championship, when she was just 4 years old. Ironically, the real turning point in our relationship came when I injured my knee very badly, underwent surgery, and was told to quit agility. While still on crutches, I started training Ruby to work at a distance from me, with verbal cues. She was outstanding. In the ring, with me out of the way, she became an agility machine. A month after throwing the crutches away, we won our third provincial championship. Two months later, we drove 700 miles to New Brunswick and won the National Agility Championship and the National Steeplechase event in her category. Three weeks after that, at our home club's fall trial, we earned the elusive 100th standard qualifying point for Ruby's Lifetime Achievement Award.
It was the best year of my life.
Six months later, we were watching TV one Friday evening when Ruby cried out in pain, crawled into my lap and put her head on my shoulder. It was the first sign that something was wrong, and the beginning of the worst week of my life.
Ruby died five days later. She was eight years, two months and five days old.
Tonight, on what would have been her tenth birthday, I'll raise a glass to the best dog I'll ever have, with love and gratitude for everything she gave me. The sun has never shone quite as brightly since she left, and while my heart keeps beating, there's a piece of it that broke beyond repair when she drew her last breath.
Ruby, you were one of a kind. I'll remember you always. My very best girl.