R.I.P. Heather 1992-2006

Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing...
Strong and content I travel the open road.
--Walt Whitman

I've had many dogs in my life. But you're looking at what might be the smartest, most lovable dog I've ever known.
Heather was my dad's dog. The love between my dad and his "Heather McFeather" was a palpable thing, a thing of great beauty. This wasn't what elevated Heather above most dogs, or even most Collies. No, what made Heather unique among all dogs in my experience was her unconditional love of all humans. For Heather, we all of us were part of her pack.
I knew Heather from puppyhood. At one time she was a rambunctious blur on four legs, but it wasn't long at all before she adopted the stately elegant posture common to her breed.
Her restraint was extraordinary. There are no fences marking my father's property line, but Heather always knew where her yard ended and never once strayed from it. I usually saw her two or three times a year, and she would heel for me without a leash.
Heather was the loyal guardian of Rose Point. Boaters were always granted passage...unless they were towing waterskiers, in which case Heather would bark fit to split. She intuitively grasped that humans do not naturally scoot along on water; I think she believed they were in danger.

"Not the least hard thing to bear when they go from us, these quiet friends, is that they carry away with them so many years of our lives. Yet, if they find warmth therein, who would begrudge them those years that they have so guarded? And whatever they take, be sure they have deserved."
--- John Galsworthy

Heather served as my dad's ring-bearer when he married his wife (who, ironically enough, is also named Heather) in 2000. She sat at one end of the deck and brought the ring up on command. The scores of people in attendance didn't faze her in the slightest.

Living as my father does in the Canadian Shield, his dog made her acquaintance with all sorts of neighbours: rattlesnakes, foxes, and at least two bears. She treed one of the latter; its cousin took its revenge one morning while Eva and I happened to be up there.
My wife was outside having a smoke early in the morning and noticed some deep scuff marks in the gravel driveway. Then she saw Heather, laying down, licking her paw. One eye was bleeding, she had a cut on her face, and a loose tooth. Eva went to the dog, and Heather licked her hand.
"Something's wrong with Heather", Eva said to my dad. "I think she's been attacked by a bear."
Heather was giving little indication she was in pain, but she must have been...it turned out her jaw was broken. Somehow I don't think the bear escaped unscathed.
Dad rushed her to the vet, who fixed her up; she was soon out patrolling the yard again. It was Heather's finest hour. In hindsight, it was also the beginning of the long slide into old age.

We who choose to surround ourselves with lives even more temporary than our own, live within a fragile circle; easily and often breached. Unable to accept its awful gaps, we would still live no other way. We cherish memory as the only certain immortality, never fully understanding the necessary plan.... --- Irving Townsend,"The Once Again Prince"

She'd been declining over the last year or so: her vision and hearing were going; her bark, once so authoritative (YOU! YOU ON THE WATERSKI! HEAD TO SHORE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!) , had faded into a breathy raspy wheeze; and she was having increasing trouble moving around. It was clear her quality of life had deteriorated. Dad saw her into the next world yesterday. And there, renewed, she romps and plays her days away. Occasionally she takes some time out to sit on a cloud and look down on us, her loving Pack.

Heather, we love you.