He was one of the larger puppies born to a Brittany mother in a horse stable south of Canada’s capital city. His poor mom was trying to cope with eight rambunctious puppies squirming on hay in a large wood box in a corner of the cold cement barn.
My sister, who kept a horse at this stable, knew the owner wanted the pups gone – and fast. This man’s drinking obsession clouded his judgement. So, instead of having his bitch spayed, he spent money on other things. One day a horse owner brought her unneutered Dalmatian to the stable. And that is how Alexander the Great came into being.
I knew that Alexander was too long a name to use daily, so I shortened it to Sandy. For all of the twelve years we shared together, I was quite certain that Sandy knew he was really an “Alexander”.
When he was only two, I developed seizures. Sandy seemed to sense or smell these brain sneezes before I did. He would jump on me – something he never did normally - and try to get me to lie down.
Sandy always let me brush his teeth without any fuss. The groomers said he was one of the easiest dogs they worked with. Even our Veterinarian fell in love with him.
Sandy seemed to know how much I loved him and needed him. The night before he passed away, we cuddled on the sofa with his head on my breast. While I rubbed his tummy, Sandy let me kiss his soft ears. Those ears were such a comfort to me.
The Vet gave me a piece of Sandy’s glorious tail...right after he went to sleep forever. It now shares my bed, just as Sandy did for so many years.
I am getting old myself now. I long for the day when I will cross the Bridge to be reunited with Sandy, his sister, and all the dogs who adopted me over 32 years. We will run in green fields and walk the conifer wood trails of our youth. Most importantly, we will all be together again. Forever.
Alexander the Great
b. October 3, 2003
d. July 30, 2015