YOU CAN CALL ME AL
If you needed someone to hug, Alphonse was your dog
We said goodbye to a dear family member at the end of April, our 12½-year-old chocolate Labrador retriever, Alphonse. It’s not really goodbye because with a personality as big as Al’s, he will never really be gone.
He joined our family almost seven years ago after my “heart dog,” Hurricane, also a chocolate Lab, passed away at the age of 13. Hurricane was 4 when he came to us after his owners divorced.
Hurricanewasn’t snuggly, but he had a knack for finding the one person in the room who really needed someone to quietly sit by their side. He was my first therapy dog teammate and spent many late nights in the emergency room with my mother and me when my grandmotherwas having medical issues.
He was also a huge comfort when my mother died unexpectedly a few days after Christmas. Hurricane joined us at the funeral home, quietly comforting not just our family but other grieving friends. He and I had a bond that only anyone who has had a heart dog could understand.
When we told the breeder that Hurricane had died, she mentioned that she was retiring one of her breeders, another chocolate Lab. Alphonse was almost 6 years old and he looked a lot like Hurricane. We were afraid we would always compare him to Hurricane, and those were big shoes to fill.
I asked if he was good with other dogs and the breeder said, “Oh yes, but he REALLY loves people.”
Although we always adopt adults, 6 was a little older than most. How long would we have him? We finally decided to drive to West Virginia to meet him.
Al ran right to me and melted into my arms. We knew he was coming home with us.
He was just what I needed to heal my heart. Al had a solid, calming presence, just like Hurricane, but he also had a goofy personality and a way of endearing himself to everyone he met: He flopped on his back and waited for belly rubs.
Even people who didn’t like dogs were amused by Al. If we were out walking and stopped to talk to a neighbor, he would poke them with his paw, flop at their feet or do anything to get their attention. Even kids who were a little afraid of dogs couldn’t help but smile, and they usually ended up petting him.
Unlike many dogs, Al truly loved being hugged. In fact, he started every day lying at the top of the stairs, waiting his turn as I took the other dogs outside. Then, I’d put his collar on him and give him a hug as he rested his head on my shoulder.
I’d say, “Good morning, Al. Are you ready?” He would follow me down the stairs and out the door to start the day.
At home, Alphonse’s gentle, affirming nature seemed to calm not only our dogs but the foster dogs that we sometimes took in.
The only animal he was truly afraid of was our small black cat, Puck, who happened to be Hurricane’s best friend. Puck never touched Al, but the 85-pound dog always gave the 9-pound cat a wide berth.
While my husband and sons called Al a mama’s boy, he truly was EVERYONE’s dog. He especially bonded with our younger son, Reid, who was in college when we adopted Al. He enjoyed visiting Reid at college and hanging out with him and his friends while they watched Steelers games. When Reid was home from college, Al slept in his bed.
Of course he was not perfect. No dog is. Al was known to eat the cover of a book or take a bite out of a Christmas card if we weren’t home by his usual dinner time. And we quickly learned that no sock was safe around Alphonse. He would eat them and throw them up a few hours later. Fortunately, we never needed to visit the ER.
There wasn’t a gate or fence that could keep Al out from a place he wanted to be. Not long after we adopted him, we had some friends over in our fenced-in backyard. Suddenly we noticed that Al was gone. The gate was closed and there were no gaps in the fence.
Just as we were getting ready to go look for him, the phone rang. “Do you have a chocolate Lab?” the caller asked. “I looked out my kitchen window and saw him sitting in my backyard, looking at the window and smiling at me.”
Al had flattened his 85-pound body like a sausage, pushed against the bottom of the fence and rolled under. Then he wandered a few housesaway into a neighbor’s yard.
He did it again a few weeks later, right in front of my husband, who spent the next few weekends anchoring the bottom of the chainlink fence to the ground to keep him from wandering.
Al pulled one of his best tricks one summer evening while we were in the backyard with friends. Determined to join the party, he pushed his head against the screen door to get to the deck, which overlooks the backyard. When I went up to the house, I couldn’t find Al — until I looked on the deck. He was standing on a picnic table watching the party!
I quickly realized that he would be the perfect therapy dog, so I enrolled him in training classes to get certified. I’ve always said that therapy dogs are shaped, not trained. Al was born to it.
He particularly loved children, and specifically children with special needs who could sometimes be louder and a little less predictable than others. Al’s calm temperament and love of hugs were a perfect match for those who needed a little extra TLC.
As the years went on and Al grew older, he slowed down, but his desire to visit with people never waned. He had arthritis, but supplements and medication allowed him to continue what he enjoyed doing most — visiting with people. We had two therapy visits scheduled in May.
Sadly, last month, just a week after a checkup and good report from his vet, I noticed that Al was restless. I took him outside and his back legs suddenly gave out. He was able to get back into the house and we got him settled, but as the night wore on it became clear that his legs weren’t working and his breathing was becoming uneven. Even when Reid came over, he barely picked his head up.
He was telling us that as much as he loved us, he was tired.
We all headed to an emergency veterinary clinic and after an examination the vet confirmed it was time for us to say goodbye. Shortly before midnight, with the three of us by his side, Al crossed the Rainbow Bridge.
The last thing I said to him was “Go find Hurricane.” I have no doubt that the two are now becoming fast friends.
Our family has always adopted adult dogs like Al. Some people can’t understand why.
“I couldn’t do that,” they say. “I wouldn’t have them very long.”
I tell them that whether you have them for 10 months or 10 years, it is never easy to say goodbye. And there are so many “Als” out there — dogs who need a family willing to help them reach their potential, and to accept and love them, quirks and all
I promised Al’s breeder when he came home with us that he would become the very best dog that he could be — no matter how long we had him. And when I think of all that Al packed into not seven short years with us, I am comforted that I kept my promise.
“Grief is the price we pay for love,” Colin Murray Parkes wrote. While it is a big price, it is worth every bit of the joy that we experienced having Al as part of our family.
Not only did we get to enjoy him, but he became an amazing ambassador for his breed and touched the lives of so many people.
Well done, my dear friend. See you on the other side.