An Outdoorsman’s Journal: Ruby,the definition of a tough dog

Hello friends, Some of you may remember: When my 8-year-old golden retriever Ruby was only 12 weeks old, her mother took her for a long run and came home without her. For two weeks, I used every format possible to try and find her, and figured she was in the belly of a wolf. On the 14th day, I gave an all-out effort to find her and printed up 24 more signs to give to people and to post on empty cabins.

The last cabin I went to was remote and empty. I put a sign on the door, looked around, yelled out her name, and headed to my truck. I felt something; it was Ruby. She was sitting in the woods and staring at me, 40 yards away. She had lost about as much weight as she could, but she was still alive.

Two years later, I was camping and turkey hunting in The Meadow Valley Wildlife Area with Michelle Chiaro, Fire (Ruby’s mother), and Ruby. Michelle and I went on an afternoon hunt. I chained Ruby to a tree and left Fire loose. When we returned after dark, both were gone. For 12 days I searched for the pair of goldens, pretty sure that with Ruby dragging a chain and both of them in about as dense of wolf country as you will find, that their fate was sealed.

On the 12th night, Michelle and I built a camp where the dogs had vanished. We had a classic night like we always did, and stayed up extremely late with me yelling out for the pair every 20 minutes. Just before daylight on that early May morning, Michelle woke and said, “Listen.” I did, and it was animals running through the woods towards our camp.

The chainless yahoos had made it and Ruby’s face was covered with porcupine quills. We held her firmly and, one by one, yanked the quills with pliers. What an insane experience!

Ruby loved anything to do with water, especially being in a canoe, and if there was duck hunting involved, that was the best. Many times over her eight hunting seasons, Ruby spotted the ducks before I did. On Thursday, Jan. 3, I arrived home from the state of Mississippi with Ruby and Red in the back seat of my truck. My windshield was shattered, had a hole clear through it, and was covered with plexiglass and duct taped together. A tree had fallen on my 2017 GMC and the damage would be $17,000. As I write this, I have not had a truck for 16 days and will not have one for two more weeks. When I went to shut the lights off in my living room after a challenging 952-mile drive, Ruby was licking her stomach. I took a look and it was not good. She had a sore about the size of a half dollar on her belly and I knew it was trouble. I took Ruby to the vet and was told two things: It was a fast-growing type of cancer but the vet thought there was a solid chance Ruby could be saved, which would take place entirely at my home with medication and love.

Ruby never lost her appetite, will to drink, or her desire to lay outside during the day and watch the world. When she lost the use of her legs, I moved her around with a bed sheet underneath of her and she would try to walk.

In reality, the first 12 days were the worst, but then she started perking up, sitting up, wagging her tail, and, simply put, was much more at peace.

On the 16th day, I sent texts to several people in my life that she maybe was getting better and she had a great day outside. On the 16th night, I had a KAMO fishery the next morning and at 12:30 a.m. I took her out with her bed sheet under her legs and she was happy as a lark. The old girl was wagging her tail, bolted in front of me, and went exploring the front yard and pond.

I went to bed confident that just maybe she was going to make it. I got up at 5 a.m. and one of my very best friends was lying on the floor, with a beautiful look on her face, and she had gone to heaven.

I love that dog, and my guess is that Michelle greeted her and the two of them are now together. Life can be brutal but you have to plow forward! Sunset

Mark Walters