Right from the beginning, Farley was a dog who knew what he wanted and how to go about getting it. The warning signs were there the first time we met him, but as his prospective owners-turned-victims, my wife Lise and I failed to pick up the signals.
We were still recovering from the death of our dog Cooper, the cocker spaniel who had been a fixture in our home for over twelve years. The house seemed empty and much too quiet, and we had started to think about taking the plunge into dog ownership for a second time.
I was adamant that we go about it in a well-planned, systematic way. That meant researching the characteristics of different breeds, exploring various options, and eventually selecting the dog that would be the best fit for our lifestyle. Lise agreed with this approach, even though I knew it went against her natural instincts, which tend to be more emotional than mine.
Against my better judgment, we agreed to look at some bichon frisé puppies advertised for sale in our local paper. The understanding was that we would be window-shopping only, to explore one of the many options to be considered before making a fully informed decision at some point down the road (spoken like a true bureaucrat, which I was at the time).
The owner of the puppies explained that there were only two remaining from the litter, a male and a female. When he brought them out to meet us, the male immediately asserted himself by pushing his sister aside and making every effort to be the main focus of our attention. It seemed like he was determined that even though he had missed out on being the pick of the litter, he was going to make damn sure he wasn’t the last one selected either. The dog later to be known as Farley was not to be denied.
It was at about this point when I realized that my best-laid plans for logical decision-making were doomed to failure. Within about ten minutes of our arrival at the farm, I was heading off in search of the nearest bank machine to get the cash to cover the purchase price. So much for exploring all options.
On the way home, our new family member was as happy as a clam. He curled up on Lise’s lap and immediately fell asleep. It was almost like he knew he had just won the lottery.
His assertive behaviour didn’t end once he had beaten out his sister in the competition for our affections. That was just the beginning. In his first few weeks at home, we quickly came to realize that Farley was going to be a needy and high-maintenance pet. He commanded attention at all times other than when he was sleeping. He demanded to have access to any and all pieces of furniture. No couch, chair, or bed was to be considered out of bounds for him.
He couldn’t stand to be by himself anywhere in the house and had to always be seated next to one of us. Leaving him alone while the two of us went out was totally out of the question as far as he was concerned. The slightest sound of car keys being removed from their hook was enough to put him into panic mode. He eventually seemed to accept that I would be leaving home five mornings a week to go to work, but this didn’t stop him from barking at me for a few minutes every night when I came in the door, as if to say: ‘Where have you been? I was worried sick!’ Once the barking subsided, he would follow me like a shadow for the rest of the evening to make sure I didn’t try to escape again.
As needy as he was, Farley was also very loyal to his humans. He wasn’t all that interested in seeking the affections of other people, except for our eldest son, who has always been a dog lover, and he generally treated other dogs with disdain or indifference (aside from a few obligatory sniffs of their ‘private areas’ upon first meeting them).
On one occasion when he was still a pup, he was walking with Lise when a large Doberman ran up and tried to jump on her. Farley, who weighed all of about ten pounds at the time, leapt to her defence and was able to keep the bigger dog occupied until its owner could get it under control. This encounter may have had a lasting impact on him, as from that point onwards, he was always wary whenever he came across large black dogs.
On another occasion, Farley came to my defence. We had just moved into our new home and were having a hard time getting our builder to fix some of the problems we’d identified. He finally agreed to come to our place for a meeting one evening and we started going through our list of issues while sitting at the kitchen table.
It wasn’t long before the discussion turned into an argument and voices got raised on both sides. It was getting really heated when Farley made his entrance. In his mouth, he had the insole from the builder’s shoe, which he had chewed up and mangled beyond repair. He came in and proudly dropped it on the floor between the two of us. He probably wasn’t planning to send a message to the builder (his thinking wasn’t usually that strategic), but I like to think he was trying to show his support for my side of the argument. He certainly succeeded in irritating the builder anyway. Way to go Farley!
A few years later, we were selling that house, and I had a meeting with a real estate agent after we put it up for sale. When he was getting ready to leave, we realized that Farley had chewed the tassels on the loafers he had left by the front door. Again, I wasn’t too upset with him because I knew that the agent was making a nice commission on the sale of our house for very little work, as it was on the market for only two days before it sold. He could easily afford new shoes.
As a young pup, Farley had a habit of jumping up on furniture if no one was there to lift him. On one occasion, he tried to jump on our bed and didn’t quite make it. He fell backwards and snapped his spine in five places. An emergency visit to the vet resulted in major back surgery and a lengthy recovery period, not to mention a large bill for his owners.
When we visited him at the animal hospital after his surgery, we found him in the corner of the room, staring at the wall and obviously in pain. He refused to turn and acknowledge our presence, almost as if he were blaming us for his misfortune. I guess he thought we had failed him by not picking him up before he was forced to jump. He gradually came back to his old self and eventually figured out that it’s best to wait for help rather than leaping onto furniture.
But for the rest of his life, he suffered from a weak back and walked with his hind end at a strange angle from his front. It didn’t stop him from walking, though. He loved his outings (two to three times daily) and was well known throughout the neighbourhood, even though he tended to ignore most people who took the time to pet him. A trip to the park by the river was a special treat, as were the occasional visits to Conroy Pit, where dogs are allowed to run free off-leash. Farley was really in his element there, but unfortunately, his worsening back injury eventually brought his off-leash days to an end.
The other treat Farley really enjoyed was a visit to Tim Hortons. He became a fanatic for Timbits and would go into high alert whenever we pulled into a Tim Hortons parking lot. We would have to hold him back to keep him from jumping straight through the drive-through window. Later in life, he developed a taste for other delicacies such as McDonald’s hamburgers, but Timbits were probably his all-time favourite.
Like most dogs, Farley was a creature of habit, and had a hard time adapting to change. Our move to a new house was a traumatic experience for him. We moved over the course of two weeks, and he watched in dismay as the various pieces of furniture were removed from the old house, until eventually there was nothing left. You could tell that he was highly stressed by this.
Once we got settled in the new place, he kept wanting to lead us back to the old house whenever our walks took us into that part of the neighbourhood. It took some time for him to understand that the new house wasn’t so bad and that he could still be the king of this castle as he had been in the old one.
He had to make another major adjustment when our grandchildren started to arrive on the scene. Up until then he had little, if any, competition for our attention (his sister was a distant memory by this point). Suddenly, these new kids were arriving at our house for visits and sometimes extended stays. Farley tried his best to ignore them, but it wasn’t always easy. For some reason that he couldn’t figure out, his humans insisted on paying a lot of attention to the kids while ignoring him. Farley wasn’t impressed by this new development but, to his credit, he made an effort to keep a low profile. He probably figured that if he waited them out, they’d eventually go back to their own houses, and he’d be able to reclaim his territory. It usually worked out pretty much that way.
Farley was 16 when his health started to deteriorate. This had to be expected, but knowing it was coming didn’t make it any easier to deal with. We noticed that he was losing his appetite, and his strength and energy were declining as well. He wasn’t able to go on his regular walks, and his only interest seemed to be sleeping.
It was getting harder and harder to find something that he would eat. When he turned his head away from Timbits one day, we knew his condition was serious. The vet diagnosed it as kidney failure and confirmed our fears that his days were numbered. Eventually, we realized he was probably hanging on more for our benefit than his own and that it would be cruel to prolong his life any further. In the end, I knew he was ready to go. Definitely more ready than Lise and I were to say goodbye.
Since his passing, several people have commented to us that Farley ‘had a good run.’ That is true, and we had a good run too with him in our lives.
If there’s one lesson I can take from our time with Farley, it’s that the decisions we make in life should not always be based on facts, research, and logical analysis. Sometimes, instinct and emotions are our best guides in making important choices. Our decision to choose Farley is proof of that.
Paul Steele and Lise Cloutier-Steele live in Ottawa along with their latest dog Murphy, a high-maintenance but very affectionate cockapoo. Like his predecessor, Murphy is a huge fan of Timbits.
