PERCY PROVES THEY PICK YOU
They say that they pick you. And Percy proved it.
We wandered into the Toronto Humane Society on a late January afternoon, “just to look”. A couple had been trying to coax a noble German Short Haired Pointer out of a corner, without success. When I stopped to look, he turned, walked to the edge of the enclosure and offered his paw through the narrow opening. I was smitten, but as often happens with a sudden attraction, I tried to ignore it. I had only the day before convinced myself that living in a forever clean house without a feeding, walking, poo-ing schedule was the path to satisfaction. I found my husband and said,”I think you’d better come and look”. The couple, who watched as the “homeless one” went crazy with happiness when he spotted my husband, now started to reminisce about the thousands of walks they’d never take with “Otto”, who had already stolen their hearts. “You have no choice”, they said. You have to take him, he’s chosen you.
And so we did.
Sometimes it’s a little disconcerting living with a creature that is driven purely by love – from the moment he opened his eyes, to spending as much time as possible each weekend in the car with us, to enjoying an occasional glass of Madeira, to making mischief at the homes and cottages of friends whom, I’m sure, often wished that Percy (from Wagner’s Parsifal) didn’t enjoy life at such a high frequency, to relishing every morsel of food he could eat, whether in a bowl or curb side, to his limitless quest to be touched, to his goal to never being out of sight of at least one of us to the majestic way he left us for the Great Biscuit Field in the Sky, two months short of turning sixteen …
A chance encounter. Our best dog. Still way missed.