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.