The Days After

The Days After

The days after Bailey’s passing were some of the most difficult of my life. Despite all the loving support from family, friends and colleagues I felt completely empty.

Now, before I go on about the events subsequent to February 10^th, I should say that I am now and have always been the most sane person I know. I generally scoff at the scientifically unexplainable and certainly do not (and never have) believe in ghosts. But two days after the worst day of my life, I stood at my sink with the water running when I heard a bark. I turned off the water to listen more closely….nothing. I turned the water back on to resume shaving when I heard it again. I looked at myself in the mirror as if to say to myself: “Rob, you’re going crazy.”

As the day went on I kept thinking of the mysterious bark. In an effort to check my own sanity I told Melinn about what I had heard. While she had not heard the bark, she did say that she had heard the sound of Bailey’s collar jingling in the living room. She went to look what was causing the noise expecting to see Elle, Ivy or Lola playing with Bailey’s collar….but nothing and no one was there. At the time, we chalked it up to our incredible grief and the void that we both felt-- that was, until Sunday morning.

On Sunday morning Melinn and I were sitting in the living room near the front of the house. As we talked about how much pain we felt and how much we missed Bailey, the front door swung open. Because our front door is always locked we sprung up from the couch expecting to see someone…but no one was there. Now maybe it is possible that I was just hearing things when I heard him bark. And maybe Melinn was hearing things too when she heard the jingle of his collar. But this could not be our imagination.

In my head I know there is a reasonable explanation for everything. Maybe the door on this one occasion was not locked and the heavy winds of a February morning blew the heavy oak door wide open. Or maybe it was my best friend coming back to check on us—to let us know that he will never be far and he is here to watch over us.

Throughout my whole life I have always chosen logic over mystery and science over mythology, but just this once I have chosen to believe that he was there on that day. I choose to believe that he will always be with me and my family—watching over us, protecting us and reminding us that he loves us and maybe more importantly that he knows that we loved him.

Sadness and emptiness are powerful emotions. While they can rob us of our senses and throttle us into a deep dark depression, the power of these emotions pale in comparison to the most powerful emotion of all—love.

I have said it many times before, I am so much better as a person because I was given the opportunity to love Bailey and was even more fortunate to have him love me back.

Unfinished Business

Unfinished Business

In the time since writing about the day Bailey left us, I have strived to move on. I have a new puppy now—a beautiful silver lab named Ash’s King Clancy. Clancy has not replaced Bailey in any way, but he has helped me cry a lot less. In fact, it has been quite a long time since I last cried—until today.

In referring to one of my many stops of the day, I told my assistant Katrina: “I have to drop something off at Bailey’s vet.” As the words came out of my mouth I caught myself. Of course I meant “Clancy’s vet” but 13 years of habit is hard to break. Katrina reminded me that Bailey was a special creature that was unique in every sense of the word. As she spoke, I welled up with tears. It reminded me of my love for my friend and more importantly, that I wasn’t finished telling our story.

While I do not recall the drive home from the vet clinic, I do remember how empty our home felt the instant we walked through the door. Of my three daughters, Ivy took Bailey’s passing the worst. Even though she had just turned four years old she fully understood what had happened. I held her on our couch in the family room as we both cried. And although Bailey had been gone for less than an hour Ivy kept saying: “I miss Bailey.” Ivy is a true animal lover and from the moment that she was born she had her own special connection with Bailey. Sometimes I wonder if it was because we allowed Bailey to sleep in our room on the first night we took Ivy home from the hospital—something we did not do with our first daughter, Elle.

I didn’t fall asleep that night until about 4:00 am. When I woke up, Melinn had just come back upstairs after feeding the kids breakfast. Before saying a thing, she broke down in tears. You see, Melinn too had her own relationship with Bailey that was separate and distinct from everyone else. Melinn is an early riser—getting up before everyone else to prepare breakfast and have her morning coffee. But Melinn was rarely alone in this routine. Every morning Bailey would get up with her and go downstairs. Similarly, when Melinn went to bed, Bailey would often join her. He was her shadow—a quiet companion that kept her company in the early morning hours and made her feel safe when I was away.

I went down to the kitchen to greet the kids. As I entered, Ivy said: “I miss Bailey, Daddy.” “I know, Ives. Me too. But where is Bailey now?” I asked. “He’s at Rainbow Bridge” she replied.

In explaining the passing of Bailey to my children I had told them the story of Rainbow Bridge:

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. 



When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. 
There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. 
There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable. 



All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. 
The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind. 



They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster. 



You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart. 



Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together.... 



Author unknown...

Today I was reminded of my unfinished business. Although Bailey is gone, there are at least a few more stories to tell….and so I will keep telling those stories until there are no more.

February 10, 2011

February 10, 2011

There are certain dates in everyone’s life that they will never forget. February 10, 2011 is one of those days for me. On that day, a piece of me died.

The day started like any other day. I woke up and Bailey was already downstairs eating his breakfast. After a quick shower, I took Bailey to Urban Dog for a day of fun with his buddies. Late that afternoon I did something I rarely ever do—I turned my cell phone off so I could give my full attention to a meeting I was attending at a downtown law firm. My cell phone is always on—even in the middle of the night.

At about 5:30 pm the phone rang in the meeting room at the law firm. The lawyer who answered the phone turned to me and said: “Rob, your father is looking for you very urgently.” As I picked up the telephone I heard my father say: “Rob, your dog is very sick.” Tears welled up inside and I began to feel the worst pain I had ever felt in my entire life.

My mother had picked Bailey up from Urban Dog where he had been vomiting and had diarrhea. Melinn and Mom were taking Bailey to the Veterinary Emergency Clinic to meet Dad and I. How could this be the end? He was doing so well.

When I arrived at the clinic, Bailey greeted me with his tail wagging. I looked into his eyes praying that he would tell me if he was ready to go. But there was no sign. To me Bailey looked full of life. We had too many adventures left for this to be the end.

Sometimes our heads tell us things that that the heart wants to hear. The reality was that the tumor had grown and was blocking Bailey’s urethra causing his bladder to fill up. There were a few options but none of them were very good. If we did nothing, Bailey’s bladder would explode (actually giving him some relief) and he would have maybe 12 hours to live. Alternatively, we could have tried a catheter to empty the bladder—but even if that worked his bladder would soon fill up again. And if the catheter punctured the tumor Bailey would have to be put to sleep immediately.

This was really the end and I had just one decision left: Put him at risk and watch him suffer or allow him to go peacefully before any of the serious suffering began. I looked to Melinn and my parents but they knew that the decision had to be mine. And while I could not bear the pain of living without him, the pain of watching him suffer would have been worse. With tears in my eyes I told the vet and my family that we would let him die peacefully that night.

My parents waited at the clinic while Melinn and I drove home to get Elle and Ivy. As I have said before, Bailey belonged to everyone—not just me. Elle and Ivy had known Bailey their entire lives and we wanted to give them the chance to say goodbye.

So on a cold winter evening my Melinn, my parents, Elle, Ivy and I sat in a room saying our goodbyes. We fed Bailey treats, took pictures and told him how much we loved him. When it came time, I asked everyone to leave Bailey and I in the room alone. I just figured that it all started with just him and I—and it should end that way too. I hugged him and kissed him and asked him to wait for me at Rainbow Bridge.

Bailey slowly drifted off to a deep painless sleep…and he was gone.

There are no words in the English language to properly describe the pain I felt or the love I still have for him. He was my best friend and greatest teacher in the most formative years of my life. I hope he is watching over me knowing that he changed my life forever. I hope he is proud of me and what he created. I hope I can live my life in a way that gives honor to his memory.

I love you Bailey and I always will. Rest well.

Belle’s Ace Bailey
December 2, 1997 – February 10, 2011

Treatment

Treatment

The Guide taught me more than I ever wanted to know about cancer in dogs. I learned new terminology that would help me ask the right questions and select the right treatment for Bailey.

In mid-January Bailey had a biopsy to determine the root of the cancer. While I hated the idea of sedating him, the biopsy was because knowing exactly what we were up against would determine the appropriate course of action. After the procedure, Bailey looked like he had been on a bender on St. Patrick’s Day at an Irish pub. He was wobbly and unsure of himself. I began to second-guess myself. Should I have put him through this? Was fighting the right option? But the next day, Bailey was back to being Bailey. It was as if the day before never happened. There would be no more second-guessing. We would continue to press on.

Unfortunately surgery was not an option and neither was radiation. Neither had proven to be successful in treating Bailey’s type of cancer. The only option was chemotherapy. Chemo brought both good news and bad. The good news was that chemo is administered to dogs in much lower doses than for humans. As a result, the chemo would not be painful and would at worst, cause some nausea and vomiting. The bad news was that chemo was not a cure. In many cases, chemo could extend the quality and quantity of life for another three months. The oncologist at the Veterinary Emergency Clinic provided even more hope when he said that Bailey could even have a year or more.

Despite all this information, I was not done asking questions. I needed a second opinion. A few months earlier, the Board of the Ontario SPCA retained former University of Guelph Vet School Dean Alan Meek to conduct an investigation of the ringworm outbreak at its Newmarket shelter. I reached out to Dr. Meek to see if he could introduce me to the chief veterinary oncologist at the University of Guelph. A few days later, Bailey and I drove to Guelph to meet Dr. Paul Woods.

Dr. Woods and a team of three other vets greeted us with open arms. They examined Bailey and spent almost two hours answering questions about possible treatments. They were warm, caring and compassionate—and for that I am eternally grateful. I realize that we probably received special treatment because of my role with the Ontario SPCA but if it weren’t for Bailey I would have never volunteered my time to the cause of animal welfare.

I left Guelph with the confidence that chemo was the right route to go. Although I would have been willing to drive to Guelph for Bailey’s chemo treatments every three weeks, Dr. Woods gave his full endorsement to Dr. Kevin Finora at the Veterinary Emergency Clinic in Toronto.

On January 26, 2011 Bailey went for his first chemo treatment. Unlike the biopsy a week earlier, Bailey responded to chemo with flying colors. There were no adverse side effects—no nausea, no vomiting, nothing. Even when Bailey went for a follow up visit ten days later, Dr. Finora was impressed with how well Bailey was doing.

I was more hopeful than I had been in weeks. Bailey was going to fight for every moment and for every day. I knew there was no cure, but at least we had some time…or so I thought.

My Guide

My Guide

I call this journey the Cancer Iditarod. Once you find yourself on it, you must follow it all the way to the end. There are no easy off-ramps on this highway, and you must get used to the rules and the pace.

It’s totally possible to do this, especially since your partner is your dog—probably your best friend and the best team player you could wish for.

Dog Cancer Survival Guide, Demian Dressler, DVM

The first step in our fight was to find out everything. To educate myself so I could ask the right questions and select the best form of treatment. This brought me to Demian Dressler’s Dog Cancer Survival Guide. Dr. Dressler’s book appealed to me for several reasons:

Firstly, The Guide takes a Full Spectrum approach to cancer treatment. It looks at both traditional veterinary medicine as well as alternative strategies as part of its overall approach to fighting this killer.

Secondly, it identified me, Bailey’s owner, as his Primary Health Advocate. I am his best friend and his father. Only I could make the decisions that are best for Bailey.

Thirdly, The Guide did not try to act as a substitute for in-person veterinary advice. Rather it sought to arm me with as much information as possible to allow me to fulfill my role as Bailey’s Primary Health Advocate.

Fourth, it provided a keen insight into the mind of a dog. Whether I realized it or not, Bailey could sense my emotional state. I had noticed this anytime I was sick or sad—Bailey just knew. My emotional state was important not only for Bailey, but to allow me to make the very best decisions regarding his well being.

Lastly and possibly most importantly, The Guide provided hope. It reminded me that “a cancer diagnosis does not equal instant death”. And there was still some life to be lived—and still an opportunity to love and express that love.

In providing the overview of its Full Spectrum Cancer Care, The Guide provided this quote from Lance Armstrong:

If children have the ability to ignore all odds and percentages, then maybe we can all learn from them. When you think about it, what other choice is there but to hope? We have two options, medically and emotionally. Give up or fight like hell.

The opening chapters of The Guide were aimed at helping me understand the nature of the Cancer Iditarod and prepare me for becoming Bailey’s Primary Health Advocate. One of The Guide’s many exercises was designed to help me get reconnected with Bailey. Now, I know what you may be thinking—this is all hocus pocus. How could anyone me more connected with their dog than I was with Bailey? But life had become busy. Between work, three growing children, my time with the Ontario SPCA and other leisurely pursuits I had somehow neglected my “Ace”. And now it was time to fix this.

The exercise of telling Bailey his Life Story not only assisted in reconnecting with Bailey, it also helped me remember many of the stories that I have written about in this space. It also allowed me to focus less on my own feelings of distress and more on Bailey and the battle he was facing.

So on a cold winter night in January while Bailey lay quietly on the couch in our basement, I kneeled on the floor beside him and told him his Life Story. I gently stroked his head and started from the first day I held him in my arms. I laughed a little but I mostly cried. I reminded him of all our adventures. I spoke of our time in California and our many trips to Florida. I also told him about all the important events in our lives and how he had touched all of us in a way that I couldn’t fully comprehend. I also talked about the non-events in our lives—the times when we just hung out together on a warm summer day or on a night at home in front of the television.

I had my doubts about actually telling Bailey the story of his life. I, probably like you, thought that this kind of thing was too touchy-feely—even for me. But I trusted Dr. Dressler’s words that after I finished telling Bailey his Life Story I would understand why—and I did. After 13 years together, I didn’t think I could love Bailey anymore than I already did—but I was wrong. On that night, I fell in love with him all over again, just as I had 13 years earlier in Simi Valley, CA.

Cancer is horrible. It robs us of the most important things that we have. But if there is anything good that I can take from this whole experience its that it gave me the chance to thank Bailey for being my best friend and provided me with opportunity to fall in love all over again.

The News

The News

I walked through the front door and Bailey greeted me with his tail wagging—but something was different. He wasn’t himself. He was slower and more lethargic than usual. The medication had helped him pee but he wasn’t 100%.

The next day I called Dr. Tung to ask about a stronger, more aggressive medication for Bailey. Dr. Tung prescribed the stronger meds but suggested that if Bailey isn’t back to normal in a few days that I should take him for an ultrasound. Sure enough, the stronger medication worked and Bailey was back to being Bailey—but not for long. After the stronger medication was finished Bailey once again struggled to pee. I reached out for Dr. Tung once more to get another prescription, but no dice. Dr. Tung told me that if it was a urinary tract infection it would have been cured by now and Bailey would have to see a specialist and have an ultrasound.

The specialist’s office was located in the Veterinary Emergency Clinic—a 24-hour animal hospital where sad news is dispensed on a regular basis. The specialist, Dr. Mason lacked the warmth and compassion that I had hoped for—everything was just a matter of fact with him.

Dr. Mason examined Bailey before taking him in the back for his ultrasound. “What do you think?” I asked nervously. “Well, dogs his age that have this problem usually have cancer, but let’s see what the ultrasound says.” My eyes filled with tears.

There it was--the enemy staring us in the face. The bullet that had been dodged for 13 years. What were the odds that Dr. Mason was wrong? What would the ultrasound tell us? The two hours that followed were two of the longest hours of my life.

Melinn and I returned to the vet clinic where Bailey was thrilled to see us. To him, it was just another adventure. To Dr. Mason, it was a time to deliver the news. “Bailey’s ultrasound was not normal,” he said. I broke down. There was no possibility of keeping it together. Dr. Mason continued: “We can see a thickening of the bladder wall and spots on his urethra.” I looked over at Melinn to see tears running down her face. “How long does he have?” I asked. By now, Dr. Mason could tell how badly we were taking the news. “Now, what I am going to tell you is extreme. If his urethra becomes blocked, it’s a matter of just a few days. But on the other side of things, he could last three to four months.”

Dr. Mason outlined the two options: Do nothing and let nature run its course or chemotherapy, which would first require I biopsy to properly identify the source of the cancer. I was confused and conflicted. After hearing the word “cancer” not much else made much sense to me. I knew I wanted Bailey to be with my family for as long as possible but at the same time I could not bear to watch him suffer.

To fight or not to fight. We decided to take Bailey home to weigh our options. That night, somewhere in the midst of a million tears I decided that I would arm myself with as much information as possible. I realized that Bailey had no idea that something was wrong—and as long as it stayed that way I decided that the best option was to fight…and fight hard.

The Phone Call

The Phone Call

In December 1997 I opened my heart for the first time in my life. My love for Bailey made my heart grow bigger. This overwhelming love also made me keenly aware of my vulnerability: One day Bailey would be gone and life would never be the same.

As Bailey got older I became more vigilant in watching for signs of potential illnesses or other health problems. In my own mind Bailey was doing well if he was eating, sleeping, playing and going to the bathroom on a normal schedule. My concern for Bailey led to my decision to reduce his time at Urban Dog from four or five times per week to two or three times per week. This way, I could make sure that Bailey was active enough to keep him young and healthy, but not so active as to wear him down.

Fortunately Bailey steered clear of any serious health problems for three full years following his 10^th birthday. In December 2010, Bailey turned 13 and I had planned to celebrate by throwing him a Bark Mitzvah—as if he was a Jewish pup becoming a dog for the first time. However, December 2010 had proven to be a busy month. My daughter Ivy turned four, there were several year-end holiday parties and my family had planned our annual trip out to Edmonton for Christmas and Miami for New Years. The Bark Mitzvah, we decided, would be in January 2011.

Unlike some of the previous years, we made the decision not to bring Bailey to Florida. The drive was too long for both Bailey and I. Instead, Bailey would stay with my parents and his best friend Tetley.

On January 4, 2011 Melinn and I took the kids to the Shake Shack in Miami Beach for the last dinner of our vacation. The next day we would return home to Toronto—back to work, school and of course, Bailey. And then the phone rang.

The voice on the other end of the phone was my father. Bailey had been struggling to urinate and they had just returned home from Dr. Tung’s office. While there was no definitive diagnosis, Bailey was put on medication to help him pee. If the medication worked, the likely cause was a urinary tract infection. If the medication, did not work we would have to send him for more tests.

That night my heart sprung a tiny leak. Even though I kept telling myself not to jump to conclusions, somehow I knew we had reached the beginning of the end. The Bark Mitzvah would be put on hold. I couldn’t wait to get home.

Wondering How It Might End

Wondering How It Might End

For Bailey’s 10^th birthday we celebrated by throwing a party at Urban Dog. We had rented the entire place so friends and family could pay tribute to the dog that had become everybody’s friend. Dogs played in Urban Dog’s huge recreational area while owners and friends enjoyed food and drinks up front. We even had a birthday cake and sung Happy Birthday to Bailey. I remember thanking everyone for coming and declaring that the next big celebration would be his Bark Mitzvah when he turns 13.

Yet amongst this happy group of people and canines I found myself worrying about the time that Bailey and I had left. By all accounts Bailey was in perfect health. At the same time I knew that 10-years old was a long life for a lab. Although I told no one, my biggest fear was finding out that Bailey had cancer. I remember the story of a colleague’s yellow lab named Reagan. Reagan was about Bailey’s age when he was diagnosed with cancer—and it took Reagan’s life very quickly. By the time the vet had identified the cancer, Reagan lasted only a few days.

What would life be like without Bailey? I couldn’t bear the thought.

From that point on, every time Bailey’s sensitive stomach began acting up I wondered if this was the beginning of the end. Would he ever eat again? Would I have only a few days left with Bailey just like Reagan and his owner? And every time Bailey bounced back and began eating again I would tell him: “Keep dodging bullets Bails. I need you with me.”

Sometime around his 10^th birthday Bailey developed a small lump on his side. Once again, the thought of cancer dominated my thoughts. Although Dr. Tung didn’t think it was malignant we wouldn’t know for sure until the lump was removed.

In typical Bailey fashion, he rebounded from the surgery like nothing happened. In fact, the surgery took a greater toll on Melinn and I. Melinn was horrified to see that a large part of Bailey’s left side had been shaved. I think it may have been the first time that Bailey’s mortality became real for Melinn.

But the surgery was not even half the battle—we still had to get confirmation from the lab that the lump was not cancerous. When I saw Dr. Tung’s number appear on my call display, my heart stopped. “Its just as I thought”, Dr. Tung said. “Its benign.” I was overcome with a sense of relief. “Dodged another bullet Bails.”

Each successive trip to Dr. Tung’s office brought more and more questions about Bailey’s health. Every time Bailey had his blood or stools tested I worried about the result. It seemed that every older dog I had ever heard of had lost a battle with cancer. How could he ever avoid this fate?

While living in Dunedin, FL I remember reading about the oldest dog on record—a 21-year old yellow lab. I would remind Dr. Tung that 21 was the goal—I reminded Bailey too. “Hang in there Bails. We’ve got lots of time left.”

I wish I was not writing. I wish I could tell you that 21 was still the goal. But in January 2011 we had we began what was the beginning of the end…

The Ability to Remember and Forget

The Ability to Remember and Forget

When bad things happen, we tend to harbor the memories for a lifetime. The same is often true for dogs. There are countless stories of dogs that have experienced a trauma creating a life altering effect. For instance, a small dog that is bitten by a much larger dog will hold on to that memory and avoid contact with larger dogs for the rest of his days.

But Bailey was different.

One night when Bailey and I were still living in my parents’ house, Bailey was left at home while my parents went out for the evening. (I was out of town at the time). When they returned they noticed that Bailey did not run to the door to greet them. When they found him, he was lying in the foyer with his ears pinned back in fear. Upon further investigation, they found that the back door had been pried open by burglars.

Although we will never know for sure, our suspicion is that the burglars either hit Bailey or threatened to hit him. Whatever the case may be, they had certainly scared him.

For the few weeks that followed the break-in, Bailey refused to run to the door to greet anyone. Beyond the car that was stolen we feared that the burglars had robbed Bailey of his sense of security in my parents’ house. But part of Bailey’s beauty was his ability to forget unpleasant events. Before long Bailey had returned to his normal self. He was not fearful of greeting new people and never expressed any of the aggression that is typical of dogs that have been though such an event.

As I look back on our lives together it still amazes me what Bailey chose to remember and what he chose to forget. Even after several months away from my office in Dunedin, FL Bailey would remember exactly which office was mine (or his); he would remember where the Milk Bones are kept at a place he had only been once; and if you had ever played with him or taken him for a walk he would always show you he remembered you by bringing you a toy or his leash.

On the other hand, Bailey always chose to forget life’s most unpleasant memories. Whether it was a trip to the vet or getting bitten by another dog, Bailey elected to let those memories vanish into thin air.

Bailey’s unique ability to remember the good and forget the bad serves as a lesson I hope to keep with me for the rest of my days. It is yet another ideal that I have strived for in my life and continually fallen short.

I think if Bailey could have communicated his mission in life it would have been: Live. Love. Play. Remember. And of course….forget.

The Flood and The Four Seasons

The Flood and The Four Seasons

I began writing about my life with Bailey because I was afraid that one day I would forget all the wonderful stories that had occurred over the years. But if writing in this space has taught me anything it is that Bailey, if nothing else, was memorable.

About eleven or twelve years ago I had returned home from a friend’s wedding to find my apartment flooded in three feet of water. The water was warm and Bailey was soaked. I found him by the front door wagging his tail as if to say: “I’m ok, Dad.” A pipe had burst in my apartment and Bailey and I would have to find new accommodations for over a month.

The insurance company assured me that they would cover all costs for the damage to my apartment, my stay in a hotel and a kennel for Bailey. “A kennel???” No way. Bailey was not a kennel dog. Even when traveling without Bailey he would always stay with my parents or friends—but never a kennel. I informed the insurance adjuster that Bailey would be wherever I am—and that was not negotiable.

As good fortune would have it, the only hotel in the city that would accept dogs was The Four Seasons. So for over a month Bailey and I lived in the luxury of the finest hotel in Toronto.

Not surprisingly it wasn’t long before everyone at The Four Seasons knew Bailey. Because my room did not have a kitchen, room service often provided at least one of my meals each day. After about a week, the room service operator would routinely ask: “Can we send anything up for Bailey?”

The concierge and valet also came to know Bailey. Sometimes they would even keep plastic bags in their pockets in case an extra one was needed to poop and scoop on one of his evening walks. “Hello, sir” they would say while looking at Bailey, “Oh, and hello to you too Mr. Godfrey.”

Even after we had moved back into the apartment, staff at The Four Seasons would often inquire about Bailey. He had certainly left an impression.

Bailey created the same lasting impression at the Loews Hotel in Miami Beach. While living in the Tampa area, we often spent weekends in South Beach. Upon arrival, Bailey would be greeted by hotel staff as if he was the one who made the reservation and left his credit card to hold the room. On one occasion, when Melinn and I were living in Toronto, we took a trip to Miami leaving Bailey with my parents. When we arrived, several of the staff looked around to for Bailey. It was as if we walked in naked.

The truth is that Bailey never cared for either The Four Seasons or the Loews. Its not that he didn’t enjoy himself--rather that the luxuries of high-end hotels paled in comparison to the comfort of people who loved having him around. As long as we were together and he could continue to bring happiness to those around him we could have been in a roach-infested motel or a homeless shelter for that matter.

In the days, weeks and months since he passed, I am continually surprised at how many people want to share their own special and personal memories about Bailey. It feels good to know that I am not alone in being touched by this truly unique dog. With each story that I hear and each story that write my fear of forgetting slowly starts to dissipate.

Although he is gone, I will never forget these stories. He is a part of me and he always will be.

Simplicity and Beauty

Simplicity and Beauty

It’s been a little while since I’ve posted another story in this space. I have made many excuses to myself about why the frequency of my writing has diminished—work, kids, charity work, family vacation. None of these excuses hold water. The truth is that every story about my life with Bailey brings me closer to the end and closer to the time where I have to talk about his diagnosis, my emotions, his final days and the time immediately after his death. The wounds are still very fresh. Maybe I feel that writing about the saddest times would re-open a floodgate of emotions. Or maybe I know that writing about these times would somehow help me to move on—and I am not ready to move on. I am filled with fear—the fear that one day I will have moved on and forget how much he meant to me. I do not want my actions or feelings to be a disservice to his memory.

So while I am not yet ready to talk about those things just yet, I will say this: My love for Bailey grew deeper after his diagnosis. It made me truly appreciate the gift I had been given. As I look back on his life, it is not the collection of stories contained herein that I think about. Rather I think about the simple times and just how beautiful and perfect they were.

Bailey seemed to really enjoy our routine. After the kids were asleep Bailey and I would retire to the basement for an evening of television. As I would head towards the stairs leading to the basement Bailey would spring to his feet as if we were going somewhere exciting. Once in the basement, he would lie on the couch next to me occasionally lifting his head to make sure I had not left him—and as long as we were together there was no other place in the world that he would rather be.

On days that Bailey accompanied me to work, he would always be excited to greet everyone in the office. At work he would sit by my desk scratching the drawer where I kept the Milk Bones. It didn’t matter to him if I was on the phone or had someone in my office for a meeting—if Bailey wanted a treat, he would sit there until I obliged his request. I always found it amusing that his needs were always so simple: feed me, love me and hang out with me. It was this simplicity that made him beautiful.

Wherever we went, I always took great pleasure in his happiness. It didn’t matter if we were taking a drive or going to the vet. No matter where we went, he was happy.

I miss the simple times the most. Watching television, going to the office, feeding him treats, giving him toys, and watching him get excited when someone new comes over. And maybe this time with Bailey has taught me about being a better father to my daughters. We live in a world where we tend to over-program our children—ballet, skating, music class, play dates. The best times are the simple times—just being together.

The Jewish New Year

The Jewish New Year

Bailey never actually professed his religious beliefs, but if I had to guess I am pretty sure he’d say he was Jewish. He didn’t have any knowledge of the Old Testament or believe in a single supreme being but he sure loved Rosh Hashanah—the Jewish New Year.

Each year my mother would make several of her now famous honey cakes as gifts for friends and family to celebrate a sweet new year. And for a few years in a row, Bailey somehow managed to outsmart everyone and get a hold of one of these honey cakes. Even when the cake was placed on the counter against the wall, Bailey found a way to get that cake on the floor and eat the entire thing. For many, the Jewish New Year is celebrated by going to temple or eating apples and honey. For me, the holiday often meant cleaning up a mess in the middle of the night after the Bailey’s stomach and the honey cake disagreed with one another.

The holidays were as special for Bailey as they are for the rest of us. These annual events meant plenty of people and lots of different kinds of food. Bailey’s penchant for eating these holiday goodies became somewhat of a running joke as I would ask my mother if she made a honey cake specifically for Bailey. But Bailey didn’t discriminate—he loved all the holidays equally. One year on Thanksgiving, Bailey devoured an entire sweet potato pie leaving nothing but the pan and the plastic wrap. Upon finding the evidence of the empty pan, Bailey would routinely give himself up by putting his ears back and looking up and away as if to say: “Ok. You got me. I did it.” I often described Bailey as being like an alcoholic (for people food)—he knew eating it was wrong but he just couldn’t help himself.

I will always remember the time I had purchased an economy pack of 24 Pop Tarts. (Side Note: Who is actually thinking of the economics when they buy a package of 24 Pop Tarts?). I never thought that Bailey would even identify the box as containing something edible. After all, they were not only in a box, but they were also packaged in silver foil wrappers. One day, I returned home to find Bailey lying on his side in the kitchen surrounded by a whole bunch of these silver wrappers. He had eaten 22 of the 24 Pop Tarts and then finally given up. I can just imagine the effort it took to break into each wrapper to get the prized Pop Tarts. I fully expected that the Pop Tarts would be ejected from his rear end the same way they fly out of the toaster—and I wasn’t far off.

To this day, I can’t look at a box of Pop Tarts without thinking about how Bailey almost ate a month’s worth in just one sitting. Even more, I can’t think of receiving a honey cake from my mother without asking if she made one for Bailey. Holidays like Rosh Hashanah and Thanksgiving will be the toughest. Without question, I will be thinking about how much Bailey loved being around all the people and all that great food.

I hope the holidays in heaven have as many honey cakes, sweet potato pies and even Pop Tarts as he can handle. Oh… and I hope there’s someone there to clean up the mess too.

Bravery and Trust

Bravery and Trust

Author Ambrose Redmoon once wrote: “Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important that fear.”

A few years ago, I received a call from my friends at Urban Dog telling me that Bailey had jumped up on the gate and sustained a cut underneath his right front leg. I left the office and rushed over to Urban Dog. When I arrived, I found Bailey behind the reception desk wagging his tail. The wound had stopped bleeding but the cut was very deep. I immediately took Bailey to see Dr. Tung.

At the vet, Bailey was happy to be amongst another group of people who welcomed his arrival. Because Dr. Tung was not working that day Bailey was examined by a very nice vet named Joanne. While Bailey was his usual carefree self, he also knew that something was wrong and so he remained very still during the examination. Not surprisingly, Bailey would need stitches. Joanne said that Bailey should be lightly sedated so she could perform the procedure as quickly and carefully as possible. I protested the idea of sedating him and pleaded with Joanne to let me be there when they stitched him up. Joanne warned me that dogs tend to squirm when receiving stitches and it would be easiest to allow him to be sedated. Well as you might already know by now, I didn’t ever care about what might be “easiest”. I knew Bailey and he was not “most dogs”. I knew that Bailey would remain still if he knew I was there with him—we were a team. After a few minutes of debate, Joanne agreed to not sedate Bailey and allow me to be with him during the procedure. However, Joanne also said that if Bailey began to squirm, all bets were off and things would be done her way.

Joanne and I carefully lifted Bailey up onto the table and laid him on his side. I held him firmly with one arm while I gently stroked his forehead telling him to be brave. Bailey laid there as quiet as I had ever seen him. His eyes never left mine as Joanne slowly and carefully stitched him up. Although I cannot remember Joanne’s exact words I do recall her commenting how she had never seen a dog lay so calmly while being stitched. As I said, Bailey was not just any dog.

Bailey was so brave. Over the course of 13 years I was fortunate to see this bravery on more than a few occasions. But as I look back, I also believe that it was something much more than bravery. “Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important that fear.” As I think about this statement and my life with Bailey, I would like to believe that his love and trust were the things that that were more important than fear. Bailey trusted and loved until the moment he took his last breath. He chose to believe the good in people without ever entertaining the possibility that anyone could hurt him. On that day at the vet clinic, he trusted that I was doing what was best for him and that I wouldn’t break my promise to him. I know that trust came from his inherent ability to love. I hope he knows that scars on my heart and the tears in my eyes are symbols of my gratitude for being the recipient of that trust and love during each and every day of his life.

Bailey and the Blue Jays

Bailey and the Blue Jays

Bailey had become a fixture both at the Rogers Centre and at the Blue Jays spring training facilities in Dunedin, FL. Front office staff, security, coaches and players all came to know and love Bailey—except for our second baseman Orlando Hudson. I always found it funny that the player known as “The O-Dog” was actually afraid of dogs. Even though Orlando knew that Bailey couldn’t hurt him, he didn’t want any part of him. “Keep that damn dog away from me,” Orlando would say.

Most of Orlando’s teammates knew of his fear and some even took advantage of it by sneaking up behind him making barking noises as if Bailey was right there. Everyone seemed to enjoy watching Orlando hit the roof each and every time.

But Orlando seemed to be the only one who didn’t welcome a dog around the team. Outfielder Reed Johnson and pitcher Ted Lilly also had labs and as a result, took a particular liking to Bailey.

During the 2005 baseball season Melinn and I lived at the SOHO Metropolitan near the stadium. Coincidentally, both Reed and Ted lived in the same building. After many home games the three of us would meet in the park with our dogs so they could run and play. On one evening, I was home with Bailey while Elle was sleeping in her crib. Because I couldn’t leave to take Bailey for a walk, Reed and Ted offered to take Bailey with them. About 20 minutes after they left, I received a nervous call from Ted in the lobby. “Rob, Bailey was bitten by a German Shepherd. But don’t worry, its not bad at all.” When Ted brought Bailey back to the apartment I could see that Bailey had a small nick on his nose—nothing to worry about. “Where’s Reed?” I asked. Apparently, Reed was so mad at the owner of the German Shepherd he got into a heated argument with him and threatened to beat him up. At the time, Reed was so fired up and felt so bad that he had to cool off before returning to the building.

Even though I didn’t see the attack, back at the apartment Bailey’s demeanor was the same as it always was—happy. Bailey was born without the ability to get angry. Whenever another dog was ornery, Bailey seemed to treat it like a game—bouncing back and forth as if the situation was anything but serious. Reed on the other hand, was not so calm. While I am thankful that Reed cared enough about Bailey to stand up for him, I am also grateful that he didn’t put his fist through the other guy’s face. In the end, Bailey avoided serious injury and we all avoided the headlines in the newspapers the next day.

Weatherman and Doctor

Weatherman and Doctor

The coming of spring is often marked by certain occurrences. For some it is the melting of the snow and for others its growth of new leaves on the trees. At our house, the first day of spring was always the day the Bailey refused to come back inside from the backyard. He would lay on the back porch with his nose in the air inhaling everything that the new season had to offer. It always made me happy to watch Bailey on our porch. He looked so content—never wanting anything more than what today had to offer.

In the spring of 2006 Bailey began to follow Melinn around the house. He followed her everywhere she went. If she got up to get a glass of water, he was practically glued to her leg. Other than following Melinn downstairs for her morning coffee, Bailey never seemed to follow any of us too closely. As long as he knew we were nearby, he was happy. But this was different. We began to wonder what brought on such unusual behavior. A few days later we found out that Melinn was pregnant with our second child, Ivy.

Throughout the pregnancy Bailey kept on eye on Melinn. After we learned she was expecting, Bailey didn’t follow Melinn as closely as a few days earlier, yet he was always keenly aware of where she was in the house. Later that year we moved to Florida where Melinn would give birth. On Christmas Day, Bailey once again became glued to Melinn’s leg. The discomfort of being 9 months pregnant combined with having a constant shadow seemed to grate on Melinn’s nerves. The baby was not expected until January 12, 2007 and Melinn was worried about tripping over Bailey over the next 18 days. But as was often the case, Bailey knew more than we did. On the night of December 26^th Melinn went into labor.

Bailey welcomed Ivy into our family in the same way he had welcomed Elle almost two years earlier. To him, Elle and Ivy were as much his as they were ours. This time around, Bailey was not exiled to the living room. Instead, he slept in our room not too far from Ivy’s crib.

The bond that Bailey developed with Ivy was greater than that with Elle and eventually Lola. I often wonder if it is because Bailey felt included in this pregnancy every step of the way—and this time he knew exactly what to expect.

By the time Melinn got pregnant again in the fall of 2008 with our third child, Lola, Bailey had become an old pro. Once again, Bailey followed Melinn closely both before she found out she was pregnant and right before going into labor.

I often think of my Zaida (my mother’s father) saying: “This dog is part human. He is the smartest dog I have ever seen.” But it was much more than intelligence. Bailey seemed to always know when someone was sick or depressed or about to give birth. His emotions were inextricably tied to ours. He truly had a sixth sense.

As much as I miss Bailey now, I think the toughest part will be finding a new way to identify the coming of spring.

Bailey Becomes A Dad

Bailey Becomes A Dad

Just two years before we were blessed with Elle, Bailey was five years old and still not neutered. He had never displayed any of the typical aggressive or dominant behavior of an unfixed male. Moreover, Bailey did not have exposure to female dogs that had not been fixed so there was never the worry of creating an unwanted litter. (Note: I can’t use the word “bitch” even in the proper context of a female dog—at least, not without giggling like a kid. It just sounds odd to me.)

Dr. Tung, Bailey’s vet, had warned me of the potential for an enlarged prostate (and even prostate cancer) if he wasn’t neutered. I remember thinking: “How could Dr. Tung get prostate cancer if Bailey isn’t neutered?” When Dr. Tung made it clear that it was Bailey who could be at risk (and not Dr. Tung himself) I took his words seriously. But before de-balling my buddy, I figured I would give him one shot at fatherhood.

That spring Bailey went away to a farm for a few days to mate with a black lab named Cleo. Although I missed him, I wanted him to do what I thought would be the most natural thing in the world—breed. However, there was one problem: Breeding didn’t come naturally to Bailey. Secretly, I worried that I had rubbed off on him and as a result his sexual prowess (or lack thereof) mimicked that of his owner. Reports back from the farm were that Bailey had the drive and desire to mount Cleo, just not the direction. Apparently, the first time Bailey tried to mount Cleo, it was done at the wrong end. I couldn’t help laughing while thinking of Bailey trying to mount Cleo from the front. Who knows, maybe I did rub off on him. Or maybe he knew exactly what he was doing and just considered it part of foreplay.

Eventually, Bailey figured out the front from the back and Cleo was pregnant. Two months later, Cleo gave birth to seven puppies—five black and two chocolate. A few weeks later, the puppies were brought to the Blue Jays offices to meet their dad. Bailey loved the puppies and was very careful not to accidentally step on them. While several experts have told me that Bailey would not have identified the pups as his own, I would like to believe that he knew. After all, Bailey was different than all other dogs—he had a sixth sense about him.

One of Bailey’s daughters, a chocolate puppy named Bear, went to my friend Donna McNicol. In the years that followed, Donna used to joke that Bear is the most costly present she had ever received. When Bear was just over a year old, her and Bailey met again on Dog Day at the Rogers Centre. The two dogs were immediately drawn to each other. As they ran up and down the hallway in the Blue Jays offices, Bear held Bailey’s jowl between her teeth. Normally Bailey would look to escape from the bite of another dog—but not from Bear. Bailey loved it. It reminded me of what the “experts” said and reaffirmed my conviction that Bailey knew that Bear (and her siblings) belonged to him.

Now that Bailey is gone, I often think of calling Donna to ask if I can see Bear. I have even picked up the phone but never dialed. The wound is still fresh for me—and it may always be fresh.

If You Love Your Dog...

If You Love Your Dog…

On January 18, 2005 we were blessed with the greatest miracle of all when Elle Jordan Karen Godfrey was born at 7:01 p.m. in Dunedin, FL. I had fallen in love for the third time in my life and needless to say our lives were once again changed forever.

In the months leading up to Elle’s birth, we made the decision that Bailey would no longer sleep on our bed. We were worried that once Elle was born, Bailey might jump on the bed and unknowingly injure or kill the baby. Truthfully, the adjustment was tougher on me than it was on Bailey. Just like every other major change in our lives, Bailey handled the move to the floor without missing a beat. To Bailey these changes were minor. As long as he remained in our company, he was happy.

Melinn’s obstetrician Dr. Joy Wolff, was introduced to us by Roy and Brandy Halladay. Dr. Wolff had delivered virtually every Blue Jay baby in the Dunedin area for the past 20 years. Dr. Wolff did not have any children but was an avid dog lover—having two dogs of her own. As Melinn neared her due date, Dr. Wolff warned us:

“If you love your dog, don’t leave him alone near the baby.”

Dr. Wolff believed that any dog, no matter how docile or friendly, is bound to be jealous of a new baby. In the worst possible scenario, a jealous dog could injure or even kill a newborn leaving the family without its child and its dog.

Naturally I resisted this advice. Irrespective of what Dr. Wolff had said, I knew Bailey and he would never do anything to harm anything or anyone—much less a member of our family. But Melinn took the advice seriously and I was left without a choice. This was an issue where I could not afford to be proven wrong. As a result, when Elle was born, her bassinette would be placed beside our bed and Bailey (and his dog bed) would be just outside our bedroom.

Once again, the adjustment in sleeping arrangements was harder on me than it was on Bailey. To Bailey, life was good and having a baby in the house gave him one more person to love. But these sleeping arrangements wouldn’t last long. When Elle was just over a week old, Melinn and I woke up one morning to find Bailey in our room sleeping beside Elle’s bassinette. Bailey wanted to be closer to us, and that meant being closer to Elle as well. We realized that the rules that applied to other dogs and other families didn’t apply to Bailey and our family.

As Elle grew older she would insist that Bailey was her brother. Even when an adult would tell her that she didn’t have a brother, she would correct them. “Bailey is my brother,” she would say.

Now imagine waking up one day and not being capable of hatred, anger, jealousy or any other negative emotion. What if the only emotions that we were capable of having was happiness and love? This was Bailey. In my entire time with Bailey he was never angry and never jealous. He hated no one. He was our best friend, our son and our brother. Most of all he was our teacher. He somehow knew that life was far too short to harbor a single negative emotion—even for a brief moment. He treated every day as a gift from God and every person as a blessing in his life. As a father, I pray that I can teach my girls these lessons. If I can, it is because I have been taught by Bailey—the world’s greatest dog and teacher.

Giving Back

Giving Back

I stood behind home plate at SkyDome looking towards the right field seating area. Hundreds of dogs and their owners sat in the sunshine enjoying the first ever Dog Day at a Blue Jays game in support of the Ontario SPCA. I was so proud. I remember turning to Bailey and saying: “This is for you, buddy.”

A series of events led to the creation of Dog Day and my involvement with the great folks at the Ontario SPCA. First and foremost, I have two parents that taught me the value of giving back to your community. In 1979 on a quiet evening at home, my parents read a story about a young boy from Brooklyn, NY named Herbie Quinones. Herbie suffered from a rare birth defect that made it difficult for him to breathe while eating. The only place in the world that could help Herbie was Toronto’s Hospital For Sick Children. My parents could have simply lamented about Herbie’s situation and then gone about their lives—but they didn’t. The massive fund raising effort that ensued generated more money than was needed to help Herbie. Once Herbie’s life was saved, my parents realized that there were more children who could use help. Now more than 30 years later, the Herbie Fund has helped over 600 children from more than 100 countries.

The Herbie Fund will always be close to my heart and very special to me. Members of my family including my parents and wife continue to be involved to this day. But the Herbie Fund will always be their cause. No matter what I do for Herbie, it will forever be the charity that Paul and Gina Godfrey created—as it should be. If I was going to give back to my community, it would have to be something of my own doing.

A few years after being blessed with Bailey, I found my own calling in a newspaper story. A man had gone on vacation for three weeks leaving his dog in a cage in a dark closet to starve to death. I was so angry. I loved Bailey so much that I just couldn’t understand how someone could be so cruel. This was my cause.

Bailey’s love was unconditional. On many days, I have been a complete jerk to everyone around me. At times I even lost patience with Bailey when he didn’t deserve it. Yet to Bailey, this didn’t matter—he loved me no matter what, even when I didn’t deserve it. I began to think about all the other dogs and cats out there who had no voice and no one to protect them from senseless abuse. And then I met the people at the Ontario SPCA.

Dog Day was more than just a gimmicky promotion for the Blue Jays. It was an opportunity to give something (even if it was just a little) back to the community. The Ontario SPCA not only shelters unwanted animals but also has the responsibility of enforcing animal cruelty laws in the province. They are forced to find a balance between the animal rights activists that could drive even the most sensible individual to the loony bin and a government that doesn’t list animal cruelty as a priority. While some would say their job is thankless, this is not true. Gratitude is seen in the eyes of every animal that is saved from an abusive situation.

In 2009 I was invited to join the Ontario SPCA Board of Directors. As Chairman of the Board, I am proud to carry on the work that would have been impossible without the life lessons of my parents and the unconditional love of my pal Bailey.

Urban Blessings

Urban Blessings

Some blessings are readily identifiable-- the health of our family; the birth of our children; and the presence of good friends. I count Bailey as one of my many blessings in life. The blessing of having his companionship and learning his simple, yet powerful life lessons for 13 years was most certainly both a blessing and a gift from God.

The blessings that are harder to identify are often called blessings in disguise. Whenever I heard this term I always thought it was an overly optimistic way of describing a bad situation. Not anymore.

Life at the Blue Jays was like a boy’s dream come true. There is a certain romance that is tied to baseball. It makes us think of a simpler time and place—about playing a game of catch with your Dad out on the front lawn. In many ways I was living that dream. I was working in Major League Baseball side by side with my father and mentor—and to top things off I was bringing my dog to work. Who could ask for anything more?

But working with your Dad at a large public company (Rogers Communications) also had its drawbacks. Those who know me would understand when I say that very little of what I did was done quietly. Everyone at the Blue Jays took notice when I was on the field for batting practice or traveling with the team on the road. More importantly everyone noticed that I was the only one who brought his dog to work every single day. I had become a target and by default, Bailey had become a target too.

Some of the staff at the Blue Jays had been there since the mid-1980’s or even earlier. From the birth of the team in 1977 through the strike-shortened year of 1994 the Blue Jays enjoyed great success both on the field and particularly at the box office. What many people do not know is that the Blue Jays were a success at the box office in spite of themselves. Tickets were sold because the people of Toronto were hungry for baseball and especially hungry for Blue Jays baseball. After the strike in 1994 attendance declined every year until just after Ted Rogers bought the team. New people were brought in to stimulate sales and revamp the team’s lackluster marketing. Many of those that remained didn’t understand the need for a more marketing and sales driven culture. They hated the personnel changes and found themselves harkening back to the good old days when they didn’t have to work hard to sell baseball in Toronto. Ahhhhhh, the “good old days”—a time when management wouldn’t notice just how useless they were because the stadium was sold out and the team was winning.

When a few members of the team’s “old guard” got together to complain about “a dog in the workplace”, Rogers had to take action. As a first step, my father was notified that the office was no place for a dog and Bailey could not be on the premises during business hours. Dad knew that I would not take this news well, so before telling me he employed the help of my assistant Jacey to find a suitable alternative.

Urban Dog Fitness & Spa is located at 37 Parliament Street, just a short drive from the Rogers Centre. There are two large rooms for dogs to run and play, an outdoor area and even a doggie spa for baths and pedicures. This was to be Bailey’s new hangout during business hours.

Not surprisingly, on the day Dad told me the news I was angry. To be clear, nobody complained about being allergic to dogs or that Bailey was a nuisance—this was purely about taking a shot at me. Naturally, I resisted the idea of sending Bailey to doggie day care. I didn’t care how nice Urban Dog was because it meant that Bailey and I wouldn’t be together. But I was left without a choice. It was either Urban Dog or home.

As angry and hurt as I was, I am thankful to those useless and heartless people that complained about Bailey. Urban Dog was truly a blessing in disguise. Bailey loved it there so much that he would begin to bark as the car approached the day care. Beyond their facilities, Urban Dog’s ownership, management and staff were simply fantastic. They treated Bailey as if he was their own. Bailey became the King of Urban Dog. When new dogs arrived for their behavioral assessment, Bailey was always first in the room with the new dog. If he was tired, he was permitted to sit behind the reception desk, just as he did at the Blue Jays. When the media came to do one of several television or newspaper stories on doggie day cares in Toronto, Bailey was always front and centre. And when there was an over-abundance of puppies in the facility, Bailey was the only older dog that got to play with the puppies.

In Bailey’s later years, Urban Dog kept him active and stimulated. It kept him young and puppy-like right up to the very end. I believe that if it weren’t for Urban Dog, Bailey may not have been with us for 13 years. For that, I am forever grateful to Eric, Susan, Stacy and the entire staff. If Bailey were here today I know he would tell you how much he loved you and how you provided him with the time of his life.

I guess in the end, everything seemed to work out just fine. Rogers had said that Bailey couldn’t be on premises during business hours. Fortunately, Dad and I took this to mean the hours between 9:00 am and 5:00 pm. As a result, Bailey still attended all 81 home games each season—watching the games from a private box while trying to eat as many hot dogs, chicken fingers and crab cakes as he could get his mouth on.

When I close my eyes I can still see Bailey proudly grabbing his own leash and marching into Urban Dog. Thank goodness for blessings in disguise.

Falling in Love Part Two

Falling in Love Part Two

At the end of the Phantoms first season in 2001, our offices moved to the SkyDome where I would take on a dual role for both the Phantoms and the Toronto Blue Jays. At this point in Bailey’s life he was already accustomed to change. We had traveled, lived and worked in so many different places that change was actually part of our routine.

The SkyDome gave Bailey more places to go and more people to interact with on a daily basis. I have so many memories of my time at the Blue Jays but there is one that stands out above all the others—falling in love for the second time.

On one day in 2002, Bailey was sleeping below my desk while I worked at my computer. Outside my office I could hear a girl’s voice. Melinn Chaban was new to the Blue Jays and was being introduced to the other employees around the company. While I would like to believe that I was cool and nonchalant for our first meeting, my assistant Jacey tells the story much differently. To this day, I am reminded by Jacey of the look on my face and in my eyes the first time I met Melinn. Melinn was beautiful and bubbly and she dressed in a manner that was professional yet sexy.

I would love to write that Melinn and I immediately started dating and the rest was history but that would not be the truth. This one required a pursuit. However, despite my personal pursuit of Melinn, Bailey had a much easier time than I did. Bailey loved Melinn from the moment he met her and the feeling was mutual. The sound of Melinn’s voice always made Bailey wag his tail—and when Melinn laughed Bailey would get excited as if the two of them were sharing some sort of joke that was just between them.

In the months that followed our first meeting, Bailey and I would often take the intentional detour by Melinn’s desk. For both Bailey and I, seeing Melinn brightened our day and provided some promise of what might be in the future. However, getting Melinn to go on that first date was no easy task. She always seemed to be busy or sick or have some other reason for not taking that first step.

Through Bailey I learned the value of persistence. If Bailey wanted something he would not give up until he got it—or at least until he was physically pulled away. I remained persistent in my pursuit of Melinn stopping by her desk every day for months on end. Finally, Melinn and I went on our first date in December 2002, shortly after Bailey’s fifth birthday.

By April of 2003 Melinn, Bailey and I were living together. Our bed was one crowded place with Bailey relinquishing his position beside me to sleep at the end of the bed. The change in sleeping arrangements was no problem for Bailey. He loved Melinn so much that the joy of having her around outweighed the nuisance of moving to the end of the bed.

As I have written before, there were many people who staked claim to Bailey. But now, for the first time the phrase “our dog” replaced “my dog”. On the last day of September 2003, the phrase “our dog” would become permanent. It was on that day that Melinn accepted my proposal. Not too long after that, our family would continue to grow…