She was a Chesapeake Bay Retriever and as smart and as willful as the breed books warned. When we were looking for a dog to bring into our family of four we consulted books and our vet. We wanted a dog sturdy enough to withstand our 4 year old son and 2 year old daughter. Our narrowed list included Shepherds and Labs of all varieties. Our vet called the Chessie the quarter horse of retrievers. We were intrigued. They are strong and loyal with a tendency to be over protective and stubborn. We loved the strong and loyal part and thought good dog rearing would temper her attitude problems. Chessies are rare in Texas and we searched to find a breeder close to our Dallas home. At a farm, in the green rolling hills leading into East Texas, we found our Big Rude Girl.
Of course, she wasn’t a big rude girl back then. She was the runt of the litter who we mistakenly thought would grow to a medium size. Her mom was 75 pounds and her dad was 125. We were convinced she would take after mom. We were wrong. At her heftiest, her muscled body was 125 pounds with a strong neck, wide shoulders, big square head and long legs. The dog books say “the Chessie is a handsome dog, not beautiful.” True. But to us, she was a beauty. Love is blind never rang truer than when applied to dog ownership.
That day at the farm we watched the momma Chessie walk our two children to a pond and watch over them. The big Texas sky was clear and the small pond sparkled. Momma dog sat patiently as my son threw pebbles into the water. My daughter plopped down beside her and stared happily at our new puppy’s mom. The deal was sealed.
Reality hit on the car ride home. The darling puppy vomited for 60 miles. The children refused to get near her. My husband had lucked out with driving so I was left to deal with the puppy puke. Almost home and my optimism kicked in. Thankfully, I was born with optimism in abundance. I was going to need it.
We named her Jackie. It was short for her very long official name, Jacqueline’s Trumpet of Waldorf. She was so named because my preschool son wanted a dog named Trumpet. I’m not sure why. For the longest time he wanted a green dog with brown legs. He was a creative little guy. Since his number one dog choice was never going to happen we decided to let him have naming rights. I figured Trumpet meant “to herald the arrival” and the name Jacqueline meant “protector” and Waldorf was our street name. It all worked well together. Everyone was satisfied and she was called Jackie for short.
The vomiting subsided and she eventually became a car loving dog. She loved to ride to school to pick up the kids. She even loved rides to the vet. If only the rest of the dog rearing was as easy. She was a chewer and in the first few months she gnawed through power tools and AC wires. She was lucky it was winter and the system was off. My husband said he wished it had been on. Of course he was kidding. At least I think he was. She unplanted and shredded an entire row of Red Tip Photinias. She looked so proud that day.
Of course, all of the dog books say dogs are destructive because they are left alone and bored. Jackie rarely left our side. She happily trotted from room to room and wherever we were, there she was. She had a big back yard and parks to run through. We supplied her with dozens of chew toys but she preferred to make her own fun. At our expense. As a matter of fact, the day she ate the plants, we were outside with her. The plants were on the back side of the garage and I swear she knew she could get away with it because she was out of sight. Did I mention Chessies are smart?
Again, ever the optimist, I knew this destructive behavior would pass. And it only cost us hundreds of dollars at doggie reform school. It really was the best money we ever spent. She came home happy and reformed. She was leash trained and knew her commands. We had loved her before but now we were so proud of her.
Her remaining vice was mouthiness. She loved to talk. I know it was actually barking but she did it with so much personality and conviction, all the while looking right into our eyes, that it seemed very conversational. And when it was her turn to spend time with my husband (she adored him above all others) I was not allowed to speak to him. If I ventured outside on a beautiful summer evening and wanted to spend some leisure time with him, and if she was by his side, I was not permitted to utter a word. Every time I would start to speak she would bark over my words. And I mean every single time. This went on for years. It would get so bad that I would put her inside but she would run from window to window barking her pleas for freedom. Sometimes we would wait for her to fall asleep and sneak into the yard. We felt as if we were having some clandestine affair. Don’t let the dog know.
I’m not sure there is a delicate way to explain the Big Rude Girl nickname so I’ll just come out with it. She burped and passed gas like a trucker who loved bean burritos. She had taken a liking to beer during one of our parties. If we popped a top her ears perked up and she came running. But these digestive problems went way beyond the occasional can of brew. Her gaseous tummy became such an issue, and she was so aware of it, that she no longer waited for us to shoo her from the room after an incident. She farted and left, knowing full well we were going to be shrieking with disgust in mere seconds. Change in diet never helped. She never ate table food except for the trash can tidbits that she stole after learning how to open the lid with her nose. We tried every vet recommended food for sensitive dog tummies but eventually learned to live with her episodes. Not nearly as horrible, but very funny, were her loud, open mouth burps. She could hold her own against frat boys.
As is common with the breed, Jackie was diagnosed with arthritis when she was young. She had come with a guarantee and we could have returned her for another puppy or a refund but who could do that? To give up the dog that you loved, the dog that made you laugh, the dog that sensed sadness in any part of our house and went to sit with whoever was crying would have been an unimaginable and unthinkable act. She was a treasured member of our family who deserved great care. Over the years we would spend a small fortune on vet bills. For a long time she was comfortable and seemed only annoyed by her aches and pains. She was a popular patient with our vet’s team of technicians. Her tail wagged at each and every visit. Even at her last.
She faded fast at the end. She would drag her hind legs behind her when attempting to walk. My husband would have to carry her still large body into the yard to do her business. We knew it wasn’t fair for her to exist like that. On the eve before he took her for her last car trip, my husband popped the top on a beer and her ears perked up. He poured a small amount into her bowl and she slowly lapped it up. She slept through the night and the next day, as my husband lifted her into car, the beer from her bladder drenched his clothes. Gross comic relief. He swears the Big Rude Girl looked at him as if to say “sorry.”
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