In Tribute: Chance, March 2, 2005 to February 19, 2009

Chance was such a special boy.

We got them from the Arizona Golden Retriever Connection rescue. He and his father, Cody, had been in foster with Al and Onzie for at least nine months. They had become attached to the boys and it was really hard to give them up, but they could see how much we loved them right from the start. They didn’t know that I’d been looking at the photos on the AZGRC website that entire time. But our old dog, Jasper preferred not to share with other dogs. A few months after he crossed the rainbow bridge, the boys came to live with us.

They settled into a calm routine, following me around the house, playing with toys, leading the neighborhood bark-a-thons every morning and afternoon, and destroying any foreign objects that came into our back yard whether it was a pile of landscaping cloth with rocks on it or a volleyball. Chance played tug every morning with Nana and was always gentle with her because of her years. He played tug with me on and off throughout the day. It was his favorite thing to do, whether he played with one of his people or with his Golden dad, Cody. Sometimes they’d lie on their backs on a dog bed and play tug, growling and pulling, sounding fierce but looking lazy. Once in a while they would start in the house and both try to fit through the dog door at one time so that neither would have to let go. Usually this was done at a dead run. We called them the Bozo Boys because they were such clowns.

Chance loved Crunchy Cheetos and popcorn, but was not averse to cadging some bits of pretzel from his Nana. He liked to lie on the bed between mommy and daddy and push mommy off the bed with his three strong legs. (Obviously, he had daddy's sense of humor!) His very favorite part of the day was at the end when he could get up and lay all over Dan as he lounged on the couch. Chance would get in all sorts of bizarre positions so that his large body was draped over Dan’s lap and chest. Then they would start making noises at each other until it turned into a wrestling match. He loved to wrassle on the floor with anyone who was brave enough to get down there and endure body slams by a 90 pound Golden. They also loved to lie together on one dog bed or in a pile near my chair. Once, on a visit to a nursing home, Chance carefully crawled under one lady’s chair to try to take the tennis ball off the leg of another woman’s walker!

It used to make me sad sometimes to look at Chance while he slept peacefully next to me, seeing the smooth area where another giant leg and paw should have been. I always wished he could have had all his legs and that he had never known pain. He was so sweet and eager to please, so loving to everyone. It wasn’t fair. When I looked at him sleeping next to me the weekend before Christmas, it seemed like his leg was miraculously growing back! But on each of the next two days, the lump was larger and rounder, clearly not the regenerated miracle leg he deserved. On Monday, he went to see Dr. Val, one of his favorite people. She called Christmas Eve with the good news that it didn’t seem to be cancerous. But after New Year’s it was much larger. We went back and she recommended an ultrasound. I wondered why she kept talking about cancer. We thought it was the result of trying to force two 90 pound dog bodies and a chew toy through a one-dog-wide door. It had to be a blood blister or some bruise from all of the very rough play he and Cody did. He came back from the ultrasound with half of one side shaved, but just as much energy as usual. A day later, Dr. Val called to say it was cancer. He had one visit with the canine oncologist who said she could only make him comfortable, there was nothing she could do to save our big, beautiful puppy who wasn’t even four years old. Dan and I decided right away that we were not going to let him suffer. He’d done enough suffering already. But no matter what happened to him, he retained his goofy ways, his loving heart, and his great Golden spirit. He never allowed only having three legs limit him or define him. He did everything other dogs did, except give you his paw. Instead he would stand up and put his paw on your chest and get nose to nose with you, his favorite greeting.

On Wednesday, February 18th, Chance started to have problems getting up and moving around. His remaining shoulder had looked strained for a week and he had appointments the next week with Dr. Val for that and with Dr. Hershey to see what more she could do for the tumor that was now nearly as wide as he was. I helped him move around the house that day. That night, he got outside and couldn’t get back in. Dan went to help him. We lay with him on the floor of the living room, both knowing that it was time. Even at the emergency vet clinic near our home, he was his usual happy self, as long as he didn’t have to move himself. He stayed still while Dan carried him and enjoyed his first ride in the front seat of the Jeep, a big no-no in our family. But he’d been eating people food and that was a no-no too as was lying on the couch uninvited. He’d been getting away with those for nearly a month. He died peacefully in our arms, twelve days before his fourth birthday, while being told how very much he was loved. Two years of his company was not nearly long enough.