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Illustration by Alex Siklos
I first saw her online. She was a rough collie and looked just like Lassie from the TV show. Her name was Kallie, and at 14 years old she was beautiful, like an aging film star. Kallie needed a new home since her owner had died.
What better place for an elderly collie than in a house with four young adults in their 20s and their two parents?
Lindon, our last dog, had died just two years earlier. It felt too soon for us to get a puppy but adopting an older dog seemed more like a charitable project than a replacement. Our mother couldn’t say no, since she had a collie as a child. After a few messages back and forth in our family group chat, we were all in.
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Between the six of us, someone would always be around to look after her, since Kallie didn’t like being alone. I noted our more calming hobbies in my application form, like my mother’s sewing, and the quiet boardgames I sometimes played with my siblings. A few Zoom calls and one home inspection later, Kallie was ours.
I told my friends about the adoption. Some thought I was crazy for choosing a dog that was already older than its average lifespan. We laughed that she would be with my family for a good time, not a long time. But Kallie was in perfect health.
My family greeted Kallie with some apprehension when she arrived. We knew that she was grieving her owner, but we weren’t told much else about her former life. It was clear that she had been loved; her fur was clean, and she enjoyed being the centre of attention. And she trusted us, even when we brushed and bathed her, which she certainly didn’t enjoy but tolerated gracefully. Kallie must have grown up in the countryside, since her paws weren’t used to walking on concrete, and she sought out grassy yards on our walks.
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We wondered how we would train her to adapt to our home and our ways, but in the end, it was Kallie who trained us. She preferred the soft carpeted areas of the house, so we added more rugs. Kallie ignored her kibble from the start and stared at our plates when we ate food that she wanted. We learned she liked Dubliner cheddar, barbequed salmon, lemon cake and lentil soup.
Her weak hind legs couldn’t manage the stairs, so we carried her up and down. She would push her face into our hands until we learned to stroke up and down her long snout, her favourite way to relax. Slowly, she moulded us into her respectable owners. As Kallie became more comfortable she even threw the occasional tantrum, paw-planting at the front steps when she wanted a longer walk, or refusing to eat a dinner that failed to please.
A few months in, Kallie’s previous owner’s daughter found my mother online. She was heartbroken that she couldn’t keep her mother’s dog, but we reassured her that her loss was our gain. Through her we learned even more about Kallie’s favourite hobbies (eating snow in the winter and sitting in front of fans in the summer). When we met for a visit, Kallie spent the afternoon in her arms.
Kallie joined my brothers and I for car rides to McDonald’s (insisting on her own cheeseburger, including the pickle), sharing vanilla ice cream cones, sitting on summer patios for beers, and watching as we played badminton in the backyard.
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Our very slow walks with Kallie were an exercise for us in patience but we saw our neighbourhood through new eyes. Our family has lived here for decades, but Kallie introduced us to neighbours we had never known before, while she sniffed their dogs, or they stopped to admire her colourful fur.
My mother became part of a de-facto club of women with elderly dogs, sharing advice and medications, while their dogs walked at a snail’s pace around the block. Kallie’s friend, a Bernese mountain dog named Sally, dropped off a gift for her 15th birthday. Slowly, the elder dogs began to die but we still meet their owners for tea, proving the bonds formed during canine playdates.
During Kallie’s last few months, I learned about the kindness of others. She was frail but still insisted on going for walks and often lay down for breaks. People driving past would slow down their cars, offering to take us home. Even my three brothers never complained about waking up each night to take Kallie outside when she needed, and cleaning up after her accidents.
We said a heartbreaking goodbye to Kallie last spring, just before her 16th birthday. We were told over and over that we did a selfless thing by adopting an old dog. But really we know that Kallie adopted us and loving her brought us together.
Maggie Ross lives in Toronto.