Summary

A dog reflects on his life with his adoptive mother, recalling his journey from a shelter dog to a beloved companion, through challenges and joys, and ultimately becoming a source of comfort and motivation during his mother's illness.

Abstract

The narrative unfolds from the perspective of a dog named Alfie, who begins by recounting his early days in a shelter and his eventual adoption by a woman grieving the loss of her sister. Despite initial challenges, including Alfie's rambunctious behavior and subsequent encounters with animal control, his mother remains dedicated to him. Alfie undergoes training and faces health issues, including a persistent ear infection that leads to surgery. During his mother's battle with cancer, Alfie provides emotional support and even stays on a hobby farm to protect other animals. In his later years, Alfie mellows and becomes a cherished figure in the community, especially among children. As his own health declines, he and his mother share a poignant final walk that brings them both joy and peace, with Alfie sensing his time is near and providing a sign of comfort to his mother after his passing.

Opinions

The dog perceives himself as a guardian breed, protective of his mother and environment.
The mother is seen as compassionate and patient, committed to Alfie despite his behavioral and health issues.
Alfie is depicted as having a complex personality, capable of both mischief and deep affection.
The community views Alfie with curiosity and admiration, often inquiring about his size, diet, and breed.
Alfie's mother believes in the spiritual connection between her late sister and Alfie, seeing him as a gift sent to help her cope with her loss.
Alfie's presence is considered therapeutic for his mother during her cancer treatment, giving her a reason to persevere.
The bond between Alfie and his mother is seen as mutually beneficial and deeply loving, with each providing support and comfort to the other during their respective health crises.

If my dog could tell me about our life together, here’s what I hope he’d say

I don’t remember much of my first year. There must’ve been kids around, because I love kids. I like to wander too. I’m told it’s because I’m a guardian breed. That’s probably how I ended up at an animal shelter. After no one claimed me, I was put up for adoption. People came to visit, but it was always the same excuse. I’m too big. I drool. I’m mouthy. Then, after about six months, she came along. My new mom.

I sensed a sadness in her. I think she needed me as much as I needed her. She told me she felt her late sister from beyond had sent me to her. A project to take her mind off her loss. I was a project all right. No one knew just how much of one at the time though. The shelter staff described me as a gentle giant with a bad hip socket, and said I’d likely want to spend my limited days relaxing on the couch. Mom didn’t care. She gave me a home with a backyard, a big brother and sister dog and even a cat who I liked to drool on.

But I wasn’t what mom expected — or wanted for that matter. At least not for the first few years. I was kind of a jerk. Mom used to tell me that I was like the men she used to date. Sweet, sensitive and affectionate, but sometimes I could be a real asshole. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong. My bad hip socket never ended up giving me any trouble so as soon as we hit the forest trails, I was off exploring ignoring my mom’s calls for me to return. At 125 lbs., my adolescent puppy-like antics didn’t always garner me fans. Didn’t these people know it was my nature to guard and protect my mom from threats like bicycles, joggers, bears and coyotes?

One of those joggers got mom in trouble. We lived in a small town and as luck would have it, I chased the same jogger twice in one week. Mom got so excited she was yelling my name over and over and trying to catch me. It was so much fun! But three days later animal control was at her door. Apparently I was the only huge white dog named Alfie in my hometown, so it was easy for them to find me, especially since mom was a responsible pet owner and had gotten me licensed.

Mom took me to a few trainers, and sure it helped, but I was hard-headed with a penchant for being naughty and her impatience was no match for my stubbornness. I knew how to come when she called me; I just didn’t want to she said. But she never gave up on me. Mom said that I may’ve looked foreboding to some and sound more so to others — I was quite talkative — but I had a good heart and a soft mouth. Mom knew I’d never hurt any sentient being. In fact, one day she found me in the backyard with a squirrel in my mouth. Fearing the little rodent’s demise, she was happily relieved when the little bugger scampered up a walnut tree — albeit a little stunned and coated in a copious layer of my viscous drool — once I released him from my tender jaws.

Speaking of drool, my over abundant lips formed pockets big enough to store nuts for winter. But I used them to catapult the sticky slaver they collected onto the walls, floors, furniture and ceilings. Mom’s weekends were usually spent cleaning up the dried dirty chunks of saliva from all over the house. She used to tell me that if she could bottle my drool and sell it as a newfangled superglue, she’d make enough money to pay off her mortgage.

I sensed mom was a bit shy, but she had to get over that with me, as when I wasn’t being naughty, I garnered a lot of positive attention on our walks. Not a day would go by where someone wouldn’t ask her a question like: “How much does he weigh?” “How much does he eat?” “What breed is he.” Mom told me about another money-making scheme that how if she had a dollar for every time someone asked her these questions, it would be enough to pay my food bill.

As if mom wasn’t challenged enough with my bad boy antics, I had health problems too. But not with my hip. It was my ear. An infection. Seemed simple enough, but it was bacterial and after a couple of years of failed attempts to resolve it with antibiotics, numerous diets and a holistic vet, mom and her vet decided the only way to relieve my pain was surgery. I had a total ear ablation, a surgery which removed the ear canal. It wasn’t completely successful and I’m pretty sure I almost died. But mom and my vet worked hard to get me better. The infection never completely went away, but I did recover enough in time to return the favour when mom got sick.

I couldn’t stay with mom during her chemotherapy. Her oncologist said it was too risky for her to be exposed to the bacteria that would sometimes ooze out of my ear. Plus mom was too weak to walk me. I knew she was sick, so I was extra protective of her and I fell back into my asshole behaviour some of the time, so I had to go away for a while.

I got to stay on a hobby farm and take care of the resident ducks, turkeys and chickens. Mom came to visit me once every few weeks, but she’d always leave, making me sad. But one day she came and I went home with her. I was so happy, but I could tell that she was still so weak. She told me that if it wasn’t for me, she’d have stayed in bed all day, but she knew I needed her and that’s what kept her going.

The last three years of my life, mom says I was a dream dog. While my head did grow harder, my heart softened. No longer interested in the chase, I simply wanted to gently play with all the dogs we met and fill children’s hearts and heads with oohs and awes as I towered over them while they stroked my fur and hugged my neck.

Last summer I started coughing and was getting weaker. I was almost 11 years old, so mom was concerned. Turned out my old ticker was starting to break down. The meds worked for a few weeks, but then I started to cough again and wouldn’t eat very much and just wanted to sleep.

On one of our last walks, mom must’ve sensed it was nearly time to say goodbye, so she took me to the elementary school, one of my favourite places where I could watch the kids play in the field. But this time she timed it so that when we were walking home we passed the school children on their way to school, so I got a line of kids who stopped to hug and stroke me. I was so happy I leaned into them for as much love as I could hold. Mom was just beaming. She knew how happy they made me.

Before it was time, Mom asked me if I could give her a sign that I was OK after I crossed over. She says that about a week later, a sense of calmness came over her. That was her sign she said. And I think she knows that someday, we’ll be together again.