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…

The Phantoms Years

The Phantoms Years

In the summer of 2000 I took a leave of absence from TD Securities to spearhead the purchase and relocation of an Arena Football League team to Toronto. In October of that year the Toronto Phantoms Football Team was born with yours truly as President and CEO. This begun a new chapter for both Bailey and I. Instead of being an employee, I was running a company—and as I frequently joked, Bailey was my Chief Operating Officer.

Our new offices intentionally lacked the corporate feel of the bank. They had exposed ceilings and hardwood floors. Of course Bailey had the run of the entire office. When recruiting people to join our office two of the key interview questions were: 1. “Are you allergic to dogs?” and 2. “Do you like dogs?” Irrespective of the quality of the candidate, if they answered even one of these questions wrong there would be no offer of employment. I simply felt that work should be a fun place to be and if Bailey couldn’t share the experience with me, then it wasn’t worth it.

To keep Bailey active during long hours at the office I hired a dog walker named Sally Pickering. After only a short while if anyone even said the name “Sally”, Bailey would spring up and start looking for his leash. As my Zaida Irving (my mother’s father) used to say: “This dog is part human. He is the smartest dog I have ever seen.”

The Phantoms office was small and everyone acted as a family—front office staff, coaches, players, cheerleaders and Bailey. During busy times, different people took turns walking Bailey. Many of our players came from inner cities in the United States and the idea of having a dog around all the time was foreign to them. Some of the players were scared of Bailey at the beginning but by mid-season all fear had evaporated. I always found it amusing that these enormous football players who made a living by being tough were actually frightened by him. As I came to understand, many of the players were taught to fear dogs from a young age. In turn, those players had begun to teach their children the same thing. A few of our players told me that Bailey was the first dog they ever got to know and it changed their perception of dogs.

Before I met my wife Melinn, Bailey would always stay at my parents’ house whenever I traveled or knew I was not going to be home until very late. My parents have a huge backyard and a swimming pool, both of which Bailey loved. On more than a few occasions Bailey would go out into the yard to do his business only to disappear from sight. When Mom or Dad would go out to look for him they would always find him sitting on the pool steps cooling off. Although they would have to dry him off each time before he could re-enter the house, they seemed to accept the fact that there was no way to keep him out of the pool.

On one night at the end of the Phantoms’ first season, I had planned a night on the town with a few friends. Bailey would be staying with Mom and Dad so I wouldn’t have to worry about being out late or getting up early to let him out. That night I returned to my apartment at approximately 2:30 am and fell asleep on the couch. At 6:45 am I woke up to a ringing phone and a telephone number that I did not recognize. I answered the phone and the voice on the other end said: “Are you Bailey’s owner?” My heart sunk and any after-effects from the few drinks the night before quickly disappeared. “Yes. Is everything ok? Who is this?” I said in a nervous voice. “Oh its your neighbor down the street. I found Bailey walking on the road alone. He’s ok. He’s playing in the backyard with my dog. You can come by anytime.”

Dad had woken up early that Saturday morning and let Bailey into the yard to relieve himself as he did every morning. I am sure that when Bailey disappeared from sight, Dad thought he was in the pool. When Bailey didn’t return, he realized that the gardener had left the gate open and Bailey had escaped. Dad put his housecoat over his pajamas and began running down the street in a panicked search for our dog. About half way down the street his cell phone rang. “Dad, where is Bailey?” Dad actually sounded like Bailey panting on the telephone as he nervously looked for him. Before he could answer I told him about the phone call I received from his neighbor—he was so relieved.

I felt bad for my Dad that morning. He and my Mom were looking after Bailey for me. He let Bailey into the yard as he did each and every time. He had no way of knowing the gate was open. Moreover, Bailey was not the “escaping” type. Bailey loved his surroundings so much that he never tried to run away. I can only imagine that Bailey stumbled upon the open gate and figured he’d go for a short adventure before returning home for breakfast (and if he was lucky, some table scraps from Mom—just kidding Mom).

Still I can’t get the picture out of my head of my father in his pajamas and housecoat running down the street. I’m sure he thought, “I better find this dog or Rob’s gonna kill me.”

Thankfully everything was fine and Bailey had no idea of the panic he created. To him, it was just another adventure and just another day.

Addendum to Chapter 6

Addendum to Chapter 6

Shortly after posting The Sensitive Tummy, I received these two emails from Mom:

I know you don’t believe it, I didn’t feed him table food. Ask Dad!

Bailey and I had a rapport. Tetley follows me around when I’m cooking. Dogs can smell food.

It doesn’t matter, Mom. I love you and so does Bailey.

The Sensitive Tummy

The Sensitive Tummy

Since Lance Armstrong’s first success in the Tour de France he has constantly denied allegations of using performance-enhancing drugs. A close second to Lance in the category of denying allegations is the persistent denial of my mother that she never fed Bailey table food.

Bailey was fortunate to be in good health throughout his life—at least until the very end. Bailey’s only condition was an extremely sensitive stomach. If he ate anything other than his own food and Milk Bones, one of us would be cleaning up his mess at 3:00 am. Although these late night “clean-up” sessions were often torturous, Bailey’s delicate tummy was actually a blessing. Because his diet was limited, Bailey avoided the weight problems that labs often face. As a result, we got to spend 13 wonderful years together.

On visits to my parents house Bailey would follow my mother around as if she was wearing lamb-chop boxer shorts. Never was Bailey closer to my mother than when she was in the kitchen. He would sit right beside her and let out several high-pitched puppy barks—even when he was no longer a puppy. He never did this with me or anyone else in the family. It was as if he was saying, “What’s the big secret? Just drop some food on the floor and I’ll take care of the rest.”

I am sure that on at least a few (regular) occasions food from the table or the counter made its way into Bailey’s stomach. Mom, of course, denies ever feeding him table food. Either way it doesn’t matter. I sincerely hope that Mom isn’t angry reading this. Mom loved Bailey and the feeling was definitely mutual. She would call Bailey her dog. When Bailey would give her that high-pitched bark she would talk to him as if the two were carrying on a real conversation.

I have said it before but its worth repeating. My parents loved Bailey and treated him like he was their own child. They constantly went out of their way to do what was best for him. Although I have said thank you many times, they may never know how truly grateful I am. More importantly, I know Bailey was grateful too.

Irrespective of whether Mom actually fed Bailey table food, she was certainly not the only one. Bailey had a look that just said, “I’m hungry”. I am sure that people saw that look on his face and wondered when he had his last meal or if he had ever been fed at all. Beyond that look that cried out “feed me”, Bailey had no sense of time and nowhere to be. If Bailey found someone with a plate of food he would wait until the plate was empty and there was no longer the possibility that at morsel would fall. I would often see this when my daughters were eating in our kitchen. Bailey would move from chair to chair hoping for even the smallest piece of food. At times I thought, “How long can one dog wait for a piece of food?” And then I always reminded myself that Bailey had no plans to follow. He had no agenda and no meetings to attend. As long as there was food around, he would just wait—no matter how long.

Beyond his stomach’s low tolerance for table food, Bailey would often get sick whenever I left town. If he saw my suitcase, that was it. It got to the point where I would have to hide the suitcase. We would wait until Bailey was laying comfortably on the couch so we could close the door and sneak the suitcase upstairs. Once I finished packing the suitcase would be moved into the garage so Bailey couldn’t see it.

Often Bailey joined us on family vacations. Bailey has been back and forth to California; to Florida several times; to New York; and even to Calgary to serve as the “Best Dog” in our wedding. Whenever possible, we drove the car instead of flying so Bailey could be with us for the entire journey.

When Bailey couldn’t come along on a trip, I felt bad about leaving him. I knew he missed me, but I hope he knew how much I missed him too—and of course, I hope he knows how much I miss him now.

Addendum to Chapter 5

Addendum to Chapter 5

The morning after posting the chapter called Bailey at the Office I received an email from Maryanne Sturley. Maryanne is the receptionist at the Toronto Blue Jays, where I had the honour of working for six years. She is also possibly the kindest person I have ever worked with. More importantly, Maryanne was one of the people who had a soft spot for Bailey and claimed at least a partial ownership stake in him.

Maryanne’s email stated:

What do you mean Rob and Bailey???????? It was Bailey and Rob. If you need anything let me know.

M

In writing about my time with Bailey there are so many memories. Some come to mind immediately and others require the gentle nudge of a good friend like Marryane. Her email to me reminded me of a time that I got on a packed elevator at the Rogers Centre before a Blue Jays game. As the people stood shoulder to shoulder I saw one person lean over to her friend while gesturing at me. “That’s Bailey’s Dad,” she said quietly. I smiled at them and then got off the elevator.

Another time when I was feeling particularly ambitious, Bailey and I decided to walk from my apartment in Yorkville to the Rogers Centre—roughly a 2.5-mile walk. About half a mile from our destination Bailey and I passed a bike courier who looked at both of us and said, “Hi Bailey”.

Bailey often sat with Maryanne behind the reception desk at the Blue Jays head office. When he wasn’t there he would often be outside for a walk with my colleague and friend Erik Grosman. As a result, Bailey was known and loved by people I did not know. It gave me a great sense of pride and inner warmth to know that others could see just how special Bailey was. To these many people whose names and faces I do not know—I wish I could share these memories with you too. Bailey had an impact on the lives of so many. I know if Bailey could talk he would say that he cherished every encounter with every person he ever met—even if only for a few moments.

Bailey at the Office

Bailey at the Office

On the last day of August in 1998 I started working for TD Securities in investment banking. Each year the major investment banks receive hundreds of applications for only a few positions. Landing a job in this industry meant that you accepted a very simple trade-off: You would be paid far more than anyone else of your age or experience but you would also work more hours than anyone else.

I was excited to be amongst the few to actually get a job in investment banking. But being apart from Bailey was another matter. In the beginning, Bailey split time between my parents house and that of my girlfriend (now ex-girlfriend) at the time. Even though I missed hanging out with him, I convinced myself that he was better off having room to run and play.

In late October my father’s company Sun Media was the target of a hostile takeover bid from Torstar. The idea that his company could be taken from him really shook my father. For my entire life Dad had never shown that he was rattled—in any situation—until now. Dad was shaken. I could hear it in his voice when we spoke on the phone and I could see it in his face. My typical jokes and light-hearted attitude didn’t work.

On the Friday after Torstar launched its bid, I picked up Bailey from home and went to visit my Dad at his office. The elevator doors opened on the sixth floor of the Sun Media building and Bailey grabbed his leash from me and went prancing into Dad’s office. For the first time that week Dad smiled. He gave Bailey a big hug and then showed him around the office. For a brief moment on that fall Friday afternoon Torstar’s hostile bid faded to the background and there was happiness.

Bailey was like an elixir for what ailed you. The world of hostile bids and corporate finance meant nothing to Bailey. If you were sad, he somehow knew how to make you happy. If you were sick, he would lie with you until you were better. Being around the people he loved and those who loved him was all that mattered. To those of us blessed with Bailey’s love, there will forever be a hole in our lives.

The world of investment banking was the ultimate meritocracy. If you were responsible for driving revenue to the bank you were handsomely rewarded. By contrast, if you were a drain on the bank, you were summarily dismissed. Over the next year, I was fortunate enough to be in the former category as opposed to the latter. Although I was young and new to the business, I succeeded in developing my own client list. Beyond being well compensated, I learned that the rules weren’t the same for everyone.

That year my relationship with my girlfriend came to an end—and Bailey’s day to day routine would change. Instead of going to the horse stables with my ex, Bailey would be either at my apartment or my parents’ house all day long. I had to find a solution.

On at least two weekdays each week I would go home at lunch to be with Bailey. At 5:00 pm (the end of the workday for most normal people) I would get Bailey and bring him back to the office to burn the midnight oil. On weekends, Bailey would accompany me to the office from morning til night. He was the only dog in TD Centre and people seemed to love and accept him—or so I thought.

One day I was called in to speak to TD’s Human Resources representative on our floor, Jim Ruyter. Jim was a good and rather timid individual. “Rob, you know we all love Bailey,” he started, “but this is a bank and there have been a few complaints that this is not a place for dogs.” I knew he was right but I didn’t care. My blood was boiling. I took the whole thing very personally. “Jim,” I said, “This is a good job but its not that fucking good. If I can’t have Bailey here, I fucking quit.” Jim was shocked. He stuttered and stammered for a few moments before urging me not to do anything rash. “Give me an hour,” he said.

I went back to my desk absolutely furious. About an hour went by and an email from Jim popped up in my inbox. “What a spineless jerk.” I thought. “He didn’t have the guts to say what he had to say to my face.” I opened to the email trying to calm myself from totally losing it. The email stated:

Rob-

Don’t worry. Bailey is now approved to be on this floor of TD Centre.

Regards,

Jim

I sat there stunned. I don’t need to be told that I was wrong and Jim and the bank were right. I knew it then and I know it now. To this day, I still don’t know what I was thinking by speaking to Jim in that way. I just figured that Bailey and I were a package deal—if the bank wanted me then they got him too. If not, someone else would like the package deal and we’d move on.

Bailey wasn’t even two years old and we had broken the rules at an airline, a university and a major bank. There would be several more battles ahead but we were ready for all of them. As time went by, people stopped referring to me as just Rob—it was always “Rob and Bailey”. Yes, we really were a package deal.

The Bite and The Cover Up

The Bite and The Cover Up

In the summer of 1998 life was very good. Bailey and I had moved back to Toronto. I had four months before starting my job at TD Securities and the plan was to split time equally between studying for the New York Bar Exam and having fun with my new best friend.

My study partner for the New York Bar Exam was Nolan Bederman. Nolan and I had done our undergraduate degrees together at the University of Western Ontario. Nolan and I had a lot in common. We both had just completed our law degree and MBA; we were both studying for the New York Bar; and we both had new puppies named after legendary sports figures. Nolan had a loveable Portuguese Waterdog named Satchel—named after the first ever Negro League player to be inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame, Satchel Paige. In fact, it seemed the only thing that Nolan and I didn’t have in common was our grades. Nolan was consistently top of his class. He graduated first overall from the joint law-MBA program at University of Toronto—the Gold Medal Winner of his class. Me, on the other hand, once had lunch with the top student in my class—until he realized that he was at the wrong table.

That summer Bailey and Satchel became good friends. Some weekends we decided that the best study environment would be up at Nolan’s cottage on Lake Simcoe. At the cottage, we learned very little about the laws of New York State but nonetheless had a blast watching Bailey and Satchel spend morning til night running, wrestling and swimming.

I will never forget the first time Bailey saw Lake Simcoe. Nolan’s cottage was located on hill overlooking the lake. To get down to the lake, there was a series of stairs leading from one dock at the top of the hill all the way down to the dock on the water. As we approached the stairs Bailey saw the lake and his eyes changed. He couldn’t get down those stairs fast enough. About half way down the stairs Bailey decided it would be a waste of time to actually go down each of the steps. We were still about 15 feet above the water when Bailey leaped into the air headed for the water. My heart stopped—beneath us were a series of rocks and very shallow water. I rushed to the railing and looked over the edge. Below me Bailey was swimming in the warm water without a care in the world. Bailey looked back at me as if to say: “What’s your problem? I’m fine. C’mon down here.” Bailey was more than fine—he was in his element. Being free to swim and play with another dog was like setting his spirit free.

I will remember those days at Nolan’s cottage for the rest of my life. At night Bailey was so tired from playing all day that he literally passed out on my bed. Bailey would fall into such a deep sleep with his body stretched across the entire bed it was impossible to move him. He snored like an old man. No matter how hard I shook him to get him to move over to give me some room on the bed, he wouldn’t budge. By sunrise he was ready to do it all over again.

Back in the city, Nolan and I turned our attention to our studies. Neither of us wanted to fail the New York Bar Exam and there would be no second chances. Passing the exam was not a requirement for either of our jobs, so if we failed we just would never have the time to take a second crack at it.

One night Nolan and I were studying at his apartment on Heath Street when my father called. Dad and Bailey were playing tug-o-war with a rope when Bailey let go to get a better grip of the rope. Unfortunately that “better grip” included part Dad’s hand. Bailey’s bite caused my Dad’s hand to bleed and stitches would be required. I was worried that hospital would have to file a report on Bailey. To the best of my knowledge, every dog was entitled to “one free bite”. After that, any subsequent bites could result in disciplinary action up to and including an order to destroy the dog. My Dad felt terrible. He said that as soon as Bailey’s teeth touched his hand, his ears went back as if to say: “Oops. Sorry.”

None of us were going to allow any report to be filed on Bailey—and hence the cover up. Lucky for us, Nolan’s father was renowned plastic surgeon in Toronto. Even though it was about 9:00 pm at night, Dr. Bederman met my parents at his office. Dad was stitched up and Bailey would be in the clear.

Life is funny sometimes. Bailey bit my Dad and both of them felt horrible about it. From a young age, Bailey was taught to never put his teeth on anyone—even if he was just playing around. Bailey knew he was wrong and it showed all over his face. This regret made my Dad feel bad for him. And that’s the way it always was with Bailey—if he did something wrong, he would admit it even before he could be scolded. We are taught that no one is ever perfect—we all make mistakes. But Bailey’s ability to confess his wrongs actually made him perfect—and not just in my eyes.

Campus Life and The Threat

Campus Life and The Threat

Pepperdine University is located on the side of a mountain in Malibu, CA overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It is peaceful and serene, beautiful and breathtaking—and very strict when it comes to its rules. Even today, Pepperdine’s website states that no pets are permitted on campus. I was well aware of this rule. At the same time I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Bailey at home while I attended classes. If left at home, Bailey would be unattended for up to six hours at a time—and he was just a few weeks old.

In late January Bailey and I hopped in my car and drove north on Pacific Coast Highway toward Pepperdine. I wasn’t sure how he would be received or if I would soon be heading south on the same road back to my apartment. I carried Bailey into the Career Services Office, which overlooked a patio adjacent to the law school cafeteria. The women who worked in this office were always very nice to me so I figured that this was my easiest point of entry. The moment they saw Bailey there was no battle to be fought, no rules to enforce. They were taken in by his lovable personality and his desire to be around people. One of the women, Leslie Iwataki, took him from me and rushed off to get him a bowl of water. Bailey was set up on the patio outside the sliding glass doors of Leslie’s office—and it was there he spent the rest of the semester.

Bailey and I settled into a nice routine. We would wake up in the morning, eat breakfast, go for a short walk and then head to school. While I was in class Bailey would be visited by staff members and students who were between classes. Soon enough the Career Services Office had a picture of Bailey on the wall. He became a fixture, a member of the student body or staff—a member of the Pepperdine community. Never once was I reminded by anyone that pets were not allowed on campus. Bailey was just accepted.

One day I finished a morning class and immediately went to visit Bailey at the Career Services Office. He was gone. Naturally I panicked asking Leslie and everyone else in the office if they knew where he was. No one knew. I ran through the sliding glass door of Leslie’s office onto the patio adjacent to the cafeteria to find a group of first year law students (who I did not know) sitting at a table studying contract law. Bailey was curled up in one girl’s lap enjoying the sunshine and the warm breeze—and of course the attention. The students had no idea who I was—but they knew Bailey. The girl called Bailey her “study partner”. Yet again it was another lesson to me. The reason that nobody ever sought to enforce the rules when it came to Bailey was because that most people thought that Bailey was in some way theirs.

Another time the Malibu area had been hit with torrential rain causing mudslides. Even after the rain and mudslides had stopped sand bags remained throughout the Pepperdine campus—including the area that was kept for Bailey outside the Career Services Office. The sand bags didn’t bother Bailey though. It seemed to add to his home away from home. On one afternoon I went to get Bailey after class only to find his entire brown face (including his nose) covered with sand. Bailey (although not a chewer) had chewed through several sand bags. Instead of being angry or annoyed, staff at the school thought it was the cutest thing they had ever seen. Bailey looked up at everyone with the most innocent look on his face as if to say: “What? I am just passing the time”.

When people decide to accept a dog into their lives they do so understanding the great benefits and also the great costs. For me the costs were never anywhere close to the benefits I received. I think the people at Pepperdine felt the same way. The cost of having someone break the “no pets” rule was outweighed by the joy that Bailey brought to everyone at the law school. Similarly the cost of a few sand bags was nothing compared to the benefit of having Bailey around on a regular basis.

For Bailey it wasn’t an effort to please people. It was just Bailey being Bailey. He didn’t perform tricks to keep people entertained nor did he ever realize that he was usually somewhere where he shouldn’t be or wasn’t allowed. He merely took life moment by moment, without agenda. Through his actions he gave us an example of how to live our lives. He loved unconditionally. He held no grudges. He was loyal. And he loved people. At the same time, he never asked for anything special. His needs were simple: Feed me. Walk me. Love me.

Evenings also had a routine. Bailey and I would walk down Granville Avenue to Wilshire Boulevard to pick up dinner. On one particular night, I tied Bailey up just outside the front door of a Subway Sandwich Shop. As I paid for my sub I walked outside to find a scruffy looking individual eyeing Bailey. The man looked at me and said: “Is this your dog?” “Yes,” I replied. “Your lucky,” he said, “I was going to take him”. Now, before I tell you what my reaction was, you should know this: I am not a fighter. I hate the idea of any sort of physical confrontation and I am not violent in any way whatsoever. But on that day I was ready. The idea that someone would even think of taking Bailey from me boiled my blood. After all, I had made him a promise and we were meant to be together. “No you’re lucky,” I said. “I’d kill you.” Thankfully the man didn’t pursue the conversation any further. He gave me a strange look and walked away.

My heart pumped through my chest as I untied Bailey and took the short walk home. To this day I am not sure if the man was ever seriously going to take Bailey. But one thing is for sure: he knew I was serious. He probably walked away thinking: “This guy is crazy”. And if did think that he would have been right. I was absolutely crazy about Bailey. He had been mine for only a few weeks and yet I knew that God had planned many years for us to be together. The funny thing is that Bailey was oblivious to the whole thing. To him it was just another night in Southern California and we were on our way home to eat dinner.

The Promise and Our First Trip To Toronto

The Promise and Our First Trip To Toronto

Over the course of a lifetime we make several promises. Some promises are spoken out loud and some are implicit. I have always believed that when adopting an animal an implicit promise is made. For me, my promise was much more explicit and spoken aloud. Unfortunately I don’t know how many promises I have made in my life. Thankfully I don’t have a scoreboard in my mind of how many promises I have kept and how many I have broken. But upon reflection, I am particularly proud of having kept my promise to Bailey.

The sunrise on January 18, 1998 was simply grand. I got into my car and drove quietly out to Simi Valley. For most every trip in my car the radio would be playing either music or talk radio—acting as distraction from what might be a long drive in Los Angeles traffic. On this day, the radio was off. My soul was both quiet and excited.

I arrived at the home of Michael and Suzanne Thuotte and was once again ushered into the garage where I would welcome Bailey into my heart and home while his mother Belle would say goodbye to him forever. I remember finding the dog with the cat collar and picking him up. Instinctively I checked for the nail polish on one of his nails to be sure that the cat collar hadn’t been switched since I had picked him out. Sure enough, the nail polish was there. I quickly realized that checking for the nail polish was immaterial. Bailey was cradled in my arms once again giving me the exact same look that he did just a few weeks earlier. Looking back, I don’t even think the cat collar was necessary. Bailey was always mine. He was mine from the moment I held him in my arms. He was mine before he was even born. We were kindred spirits that were destined to be together.

The drive back to my apartment was filled with excitement and anticipation—mostly on my part. Bailey lay curled up on the front seat of my car without a care in the world. He didn’t bother to try and look around the inside of the car or explore his surroundings. He was exactly where he was supposed to be—with me.

That night I had prepared Bailey’s kennel with blankets to keep him comfortable. A good night’s sleep was essential because the next day Bailey and I were going home to Toronto for my birthday. However, despite the blankets, the kennel was a cold place for Bailey. He whined for the first hour until I could no longer take it—it broke my heart. I tried moving the blankets to the bathroom to give him more room than the kennel but that didn’t work either. On our first night together, I learned something about my new friend. He was a people dog. He didn’t want a big dog run or a spacious dog house—he wanted to be around people. That night I slept on the pull out couch and laid Bailey on the floor beside me where I could keep my hand on him. (The bed in my bedroom was too high off the ground to allow this type of constant contact). Bailey stretched out on the floor beside the pullout and gently faded off the sleep with my hand on his back. It was that night—in the waning hours of January 18, 1998 that I made my promise. As Bailey slowly drifted off to sleep I said: “Don’t worry Bails. I promise I will always take care of you and never let anything bad happen”. I knew they were much more than words. I knew that for the first time in my life I was in charge of another life. No matter what happened or who got in the way, I was going to keep my promise to Bailey.

I remember waking up on my birthday and looking at Bailey still sleeping beside my bed. I thought he was the best birthday present ever—and up until my daughter Elle was born seven years later on the night of January 18, 2005, he held that honor alone.

When we boarded the Air Canada flight back to Toronto Bailey was still small enough to fit in a pet carrier that could be brought in the passenger cabin. We were lucky enough to fly executive class and even luckier to have an empty seat next to us. But the rules with respect to pets in the passenger cabin were very strict. All pets must remain in the carrier and under the seat in front of you. But as the world would soon find out Bailey was the dog that had permission to break all the rules. I removed Bailey from his carrier and placed him on the empty seat next to me. Much like the drive back from Simi Valley, Bailey sat quietly in his seat, until he was spotted by the flight attendant. “Uh oh. Here we go.” I thought. The flight attendant leaned over to look at Bailey and said: “ What a gorgeous puppy. Do you mind if I take him to the cockpit to show the pilots?” (Something that would have been impossible in the post 9/11 era). “Sure,” I said. From that moment on (and as you will find out) whatever the traditional rules were for everyone else didn’t seem to apply to Bailey.

I arrived in Toronto and hopped in a cab. I had told my parents that I was arriving on a later flight so I could actually surprise them with Bailey at their home. When I got home I left Bailey at the side door and went into the house to find my parents sitting in the family room watching television. I told them I had taken an earlier flight so I could show them something. I asked them to wait where they were while I went back to the side door. As I left the room my father turned to my mother and said: “He got a dog”. Of course they knew.

Bailey was welcomed by my parents with love and joy. Looking back on our 13 years with Bailey I am forever grateful to my parents for welcoming him instantly as part of our family and treating him as if he was their own dog.

That first weekend, my parents hosted an engagement party for my first cousin Steven. During the entire party I am not sure that Bailey’s paws touched the ground even once. My mother insisted on carrying Bailey around the entire time. He was introduced to everyone at the party as the newest member of our family. I quickly realized that Bailey could never be owned by one single person. He was so charming and beautiful that many people staked some sort of claim to him—and this is the way it was to be for Bailey’s entire life. In my heart he was my dog. In the hearts and minds of many others he belonged to them as well.

The next morning we Bailey experienced snow for the very first time. As he stood outside he lifted his right front paw and gave it a good shake as if to say: “What the heck is this stuff?” But Bailey came to love the snow. The more snow the better. Bailey would jump in and out of the snow in our backyard as if he was in his own personal playground. He loved the snow but hated the rain. He loved the breeze but hated the wind.

Soon enough we would return to California but until we did Bailey loved all the attention he received and felt right at home in our family. These days its hard to imagine what we ever did before Bailey graced us with his presence. He made the time that existed before he arrived seem like it never happened.

Sometimes we make promises that we wish we never made. We often hope to be “let off the hook” on our promises. If there is one thing I can say about my promise to Bailey, its that I wish he was still here with me today so I could continue to keep my promise.

Our First Meeting: Falling in Love

Our First Meeting: Falling in Love

In December 1997 I was just about to turn 25 years old and for the first time in my life I was about to fall in love. I was attending Pepperdine University in Malibu, CA pursuing my law degree and MBA. While I truly loved living in California, I missed my family and friends. Even more I had always wanted a dog—and some might even say that I had threatened my parents that as soon as I could I would get one of my own.

Earlier that year my friend Mando and I had gone to New York City to look for jobs for the following year when we graduated. I remember telling Mando on that trip that I was going to get a dog—and that dog would be a chocolate lab named Hershey.

The school year began again in late August of 1997. I was anxious to receive and accept a job offer for the following year. However, my desire to land a job early in the school year had more to do with getting my first dog and less to do with securing my future. You see, I always knew I would be employable. What I truly wanted was to accept a job offer early enough in the school year to allow me to worry less about the academic calendar and more about training and spending time with a new puppy.

In November of 1997 I accepted my first full time job, clearing the way for the most meaningful purchase of my life. The plan was to find my new friend as soon as exams had finished in early December—a task that was made more difficult by President Bill Clinton.

In early December 1997, President Clinton opened the White House and his family to its newest member—a 3-month old chocolate lab named Buddy. Because chocolate labs were the rarest of all labs and Clinton was enormously popular, what followed might best be described as the 101 Dalmatians Effect. Each time the movie 101 Dalmatians was released, swarms of people rushed to get one of these lovable spotted dogs—making the available supply of these dogs very limited.

As I called around to breeders in Southern California I found that most of them either didn’t breed chocolate labs (black and yellow only) or the chocolate labs they did have were all spoken for. Throughout my research, breeder after breeder kept referring me to the same woman who specialized in breeding chocolate labs. I had called this woman (If I remember correctly her name was Winnie) and left a message. I continued to call around to different breeders only to find the same answers over and over again. Although only about an hour had gone by since the time I left Winnie the first message, I decided to call again—and sure enough she answered the phone. Winne said that she had no chocolate lab puppies available but she did breed one of her champion male dogs to a family dog in Simi Valley, CA. Winnie then passed along the number to Michael and Suzanne Thuotte.

After speaking to Thuotte’s I had planned a trip out to their house in Simi Valley the next day. I lay awake in my bed that night unable to sleep. I was so excited, yet despite the excitement I could have never known how that trip to Simi Valley would change my life forever and for the better.

When I arrived at the Thuotte’s home they took me to their garage where their dog named Belle (formal name Lady Belle Michelle) was nursing her seven chocolate puppies—five female and two male. Belle was a beautiful chocolate lab with a great disposition. She had her tail wrapped in gauze because her teething puppies insisted on nibbling on her tail, which caused her great pain.

Falling in love: All of Belle’s puppies were so cute and simply irresistible. In fact, one might think that actually picking a single puppy out of the five that were available (three females and two males) would have been a difficult task—but it wasn’t. I held each of the puppies in my arms cradling them like a baby. The three females did not seem interested in being held in that way and one of the males made snorting noises when cradled. And then there was my puppy. When I picked him up and cradled him he relaxed in my arms and looked up at me as if to say: “I’m home. Take me with you.” It was at that very moment that I fell in love. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and I would like to believe that he fell in love at that moment too.

Unfortunately, my puppy had not been fully weaned and I would have to wait until January 18, 1998 to pick him up. I gave the Thuotte’s a deposit and then went to a local store to buy a cat collar and some nail polish. We painted one of his nails and put that cat collar around his neck so he could be easily identified amongst his brother and sisters as being “spoken for”.

Over the Christmas holidays I told no one that I was about to get a dog. As I had told Mando in the spring of 1997 I had planned to name him Hershey. But as I quietly looked into the best names for chocolate labs one thing became very clear—it seemed like at least half the chocolate labs were already named Hershey. The search continued for a name that would be suitable and hopefully unique.

As the school started again in January I still had not picked out a name for my new puppy. I began to think that his name should be more than just a name, it should reflect the type of dog that I wanted—friendly, loving, loyal and have the heart of gold. One day I was reading the paper or watching TV (I can’t remember which one), and realized that the NHL All Star Game would be played during my first weekend as an official dog owner.

I began to research the origins of the NHL All Star Game and through that research found his name. In 1933 Ace Bailey was hockey player for the Toronto Maple Leafs. During a game in December, Bailey was severely injured by Boston’s Eddie Shore in retaliation for a hit that Shore had received from Toronto’s Red Horner. The injury fractured Bailey’s skull and ended his hockey career. In February 1934 the NHL hosted the first-ever All Star game as a fundraiser to benefit Ace Bailey and his family. Before the game Eddie Shore skated over to the boards where Ace Bailey was seated. To the surprise of many Ace Bailey stood up and shook hands with Shore, forgiving him for what happened just a few months earlier. From that point on, Ace Bailey was a legend—mostly due to the kindness in his heart and his ability to forgive.

Could there ever be a more meaningful name for my new puppy? The concept of forgiveness and love are two of the most important qualities in life. They are not only qualities that I had hoped to have in a dog, they were ideals that I had strived for—and many times had fallen short.

Beyond the name Ace Bailey, I felt his name should include some reference to his lineage. This practice is often followed when naming racehorses, whereby a new foal takes on part of the name of one of its parents. So it was decided. His name would be Belle’s Ace Bailey, named after the great Toronto Maple Leaf and his mother Lady Belle Michelle.

On the night of January 17, 1998 I had to deal with the same insomnia that had plagued me the night before my first trip to Simi Valley, CA. As I said before, I truly had no way of knowing just how much my life would change after adopting Bailey.