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Everybody has a story: The pipes call Danny Boy home too soon

The Columbian
Published: May 26, 2010, 12:00am

Oh Danny Boy!

He was waiting by the fence, looking at each car that drove up, as if to say, “Is that my mom?”

His “mom” had rescued him from a shelter just a few months before. She had taken him in, gone to a vet, started him in doggie day care, given him a nice bed inside (no more 6-by-6 concrete pad) and, most of all, had shown him love. Then she died.

So there he was, at the day care gate, just waiting. I was dropping off our dog, Chloe, and asked about the new guy. I was told his name was Danny, he was 9 years old, his owner had died and he needed a new home. Since I am of the opinion that everyone should have a dog, and since my granddaughters did not have one, I thought perhaps it would be the perfect solution: Danny would get a home and they’d get a great dog.

I called my husband, Dave, and asked him if he would take a look at Danny when he came to get Chloe, and see what he thought of my idea of that dog for the girls. Eight hours later, he came to collect Chloe. He opened the door to his pickup as usual, Chloe came running out as usual and jumped in the truck as usual — but, right behind her came Danny.

He jumped into the back seat of the truck next to Chloe and settled down like he belonged there. Danny locked eyes with my husband, and that was it. Hubby was hooked. Danny had found a home. That great big golden head cocked to one side as Dave started singing “Danny Boy.” The granddaughters would just have to get a different dog (which eventually they did).

Danny was with us for five years. He changed our lives with his antics — hiding in the bushes when the lawn mower was running, clearing off a coffee table with his tail, bouncing up and down when the word “treat” was spoken, being a retriever yet hating the water. While Danny was loving and sweet with most people, he had a particular soft spot for my husband. He would look at Dave with so much love that I used to tease my husband: “Danny looks at you the way Nancy Reagan looked at Ronnie.”

We often talked about how nice it would have been if we’d adopted Danny as a puppy, so we could have given him a better start in life. And we talked about how, because we’d gotten him as an “older” dog, it would be hard to have to say goodbye to him sooner rather than later.

That goodbye came last month. Danny stopped eating and nothing Dave did would convince him otherwise. A trip to the vet uncovered the problem: at age 14 he’d developed lymphoma and his kidneys and liver were shutting down. The end came two days later. He laid down in his favorite spot outside and wouldn’t come in the house; it was clear he was preparing himself for death. We recognized what was happening and made the decision to help him on his journey.

The vet was tender, the process was fast, and Danny was gone. Our sweet, gentle Danny was at peace. While we know we did the right thing, it’s hard to come home and not have that golden boy greet us with enthusiasm and love. He’ll be missed by all who were lucky enough to know him. And I’ll not ever hear “Danny Boy” without a little tug at my heart.

“Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.”

Everybody has a story welcomes nonfiction contributions of 1,000 words maximum and relevant photographs. E-mail is the best way to send materials so we don’t have to retype your words or borrow original photos. Send to neighbors@columbian.com or P.O. Box 180, Vancouver WA 98666. Call Scott Hewitt, 360-735-4525, with questions.

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