Moose's Story
 

   My love for Goldens began when I was in seventh grade. My parents came home one night with a wiggly Golden fuzz ball that they plopped in my lap after making me promise to close my eyes. Misty was my best friend through troubled teen years. When I left home to go to college, I missed her more than I missed anyone else. She died when I was a college junior, and it was many years before I had another Golden in my life.
    My husband gave me the pick of two litters from a reputable breeder for my Ph.D. graduation present. We would finally be living in a place where we could have a dog, instead of in a student apartment building! After we arrived in our new home, we went to view the litters, then five weeks old. As everyone who has a Golden knows, the dog picks YOU, not the other way around. A beautiful red male pup decided we were his. We named him Sundust of Willow Run (the kennel name) and took him home when he was nine weeks old.
    Dusty grew like a weed. He had the gorgeous, svelte lines of his Field Trial Champion sire and was full of energy. Every day I would take him into the farmer's fields behind our house and let him run and run. When Dusty was four months old, we attended a local Golden Retriever Club meeting where a dog show judge was going to go over any pups that were there. He told us Dusty was a really fine dog, but his bones were growing faster than his muscles, and that if we did not give him more exercise to help his muscles develop properly, he was going to have some problems later in life.
    I did not sleep much that night. By morning, I had decided to get Dusty a companion to help him exercise, because I was already giving him as much as I, myself, could tolerate. I told my husband I was going to the pound to get another dog. He said, "Why don't you look in the newspaper and see if anyone is advertising Goldens?" Having had only one dog in his life and not getting real close to it, my husband had turned into a Golden lover already! I told him I didn't care whether we got another Golden as long as the dog would play and run with Dusty. I got "the look" and went to find the newspaper.
    There were four ads for Goldens. I called the first one and asked what was available. The man told me he had four 4-month-old males. I said, "How much for one?" He replied, "Fifty bucks." "OK, I'm coming over," I said.
    Three of the pups looked very ordinary — if a Golden can ever look ordinary! They were not interested in anyone except each other and did not impress me. Then I saw the fourth one standing off by himself. I looked through the chain link fence into the backyard breeder's kennel yard and saw a huge pair of ears, two huge sad brown eyes, and four huge feet on an emaciated 4-month-old Golden body. His whole self started wagging furiously as soon as he spotted me. I said, "That one." "Oh, that's MOOSE. He's a great dog!" That was the beginning of a love affair with my "heart dog" that lasted for 9 1/2 years.
    MOOSE — indeed he was one. He was a humongous Golden. Although both were four month of age, Moose towered over Dusty and, even though very malnourished, outweighed him by at least 15 pounds. When he was full grown, Moose weighed over 100 pounds, and not an ounce of that was fat! He was just a BIG boy, a gentle giant.
    We always called him Moose but dignified his AKC name by spelling it MOUSSE: McTaffy's Butterscotch Mousse. He added a CD title to his name when he was just one year old. He also qualified to represent Therapy Dogs International.
    During our months of obedience training, we were fortunate to work with a trainer who encouraged us to take our dogs to convalescent homes and mental health institutions. We often went in groups of 8 or more, did a little obedience routine, then invited the patients to pet the dogs or, if they were able, to walk the dogs on leash.
    Moose was always a favorite everywhere we went. Although he could FRAP with Dusty for long periods of time, somehow he knew that when he went to a hospital, he had to behave. On several occasions, we visited one particular care facility for emotionally disturbed children. It was here where Moose's Golden star shone the brightest.
    One evening when we visited this care facility, we noticed a little girl about 8 years old huddled into herself over against one wall of the big common room. She was the only black child there among about 50 children. We found out from the nursing staff that the girl had come 8 months before when both her parents were killed in an automobile accident, and there were no known relatives to take her. She had not spoken one word to anyone during those 8 months.
    We did our little obedience routine and then invited the children to pet the dogs. I put Moose on a down-stay and went over to ask the little girl to come pet him. She took my hand and started to walk towards him but stopped
about 10 feet away when he started whapping his tail against the floor. I kept reassuring her that Moose was a nice dog and wouldn't hurt her, that she could tell he liked her because he was wagging his tail and smiling at her. But her eyes were as big as saucers, and she wouldn't budge.
    When we came back the next week, the nurses told us that the little girl had spent the entire week drawing picture after picture of a big yellow dog named Moose. So, I was more determined than ever to get the two of them together that night. After doing "the show," I went to the little girl and told her Moose wanted her to come give him a hug because she had drawn such nice pictures of him. She started to come with me, but, again, stopped about 10 feet from him when he started to wag his tail.
    I went over to Moose and said, "Moose, when you wag your tail, you scare the little girl. If you want her to come over here, you have to be still." He stopped wagging his tail and just looked at me with those huge brown eyes as if to say, "OK, Mom. Try me." He put his head down between his paws. I told the little girl she could come over then. She inched closer and closer. Moose didn't move a whisker. When she was only about a foot away, I suggested that she give him a pat. She gingerly reached over and briefly touched his tail. He didn't move a whisker, so she did it again and again, leaving her hand on him just a little longer each time.
    Finally, after about 10 minutes, I managed to persuade her to give him a hug. The little girl put her arms around Moose's neck and laid her cheek on top of his head, then looked sideways at me and broke into the most beautiful smile — it was like the sun came out on her face. Moose didn't move a whisker. I couldn't believe it!
    The following day, our trainer got a call from the head nurse at the care facility. She was just beside herself with joy. "The little girl started talking this morning when she woke up! 'Moose, Moose, Moose! I love Moose!!'" These were the first words she had said in eight months! What a breakthrough!
    Over the next few years, Moose occasionally did pet therapy at care facilities, but his forte became entertaining children at the local library and elementary schools. We would go and either read a story about dogs or do a little obedience routine and talk about dog behavior and training. On Halloween, he wore a clown costume I made for him and led the children's parade through the Town Hall offices. During the holidays, he would wear his Santa hat and deliver candy canes to the children who attended the library story hours. Everyone loved Moose.
    Then, during the winter when he was 6 1/2, I noticed that he was limping. The veterinarian took X-rays of his leg and shoulder and found a lump, which he said looked like a calcified blood clot. I remembered that Moose had been hit on the shoulder by a large branch that had fallen off a tree in our yard. We had the lump removed and biopsied, just in case. Ten days later, the biopsy results came back: "chondrosarcoma — cancer in the cartilage of the shoulder blade — extremely aggressive locally, prognosis poor." My grief was so intense I thought I would die.
    Our only option was to have his front left leg removed at the shoulder, so, of course, we went ahead with the operation. Moose recovered relatively quickly from this horrible surgery and went on to sire two litters of pups with a beautiful champion bitch that belonged to a friend of mine. One of his pups, Topsy, who is now 14 1/3 years old still lives with us; we lost her littermate, Summer, today.
    After Moose had his leg surgery, I made him a new Halloween costume to reflect his true nature: Superdog! With his quirky rocky gait, he still led the children's parade in Town Hall. At Christmastime, he wore his Santa hat and jingle bells, carried the handle of a plastic bucket in his mouth and did a collection at Town Hall. We took the money ($110!) to a local radio station, which was hosting the Holiday Fund for Children, and we were interviewed on the air. Moose also got his picture on the front page of the newspaper and became even more of a celebrity than he already was.
    Moose lived until lung cancer took him to The Bridge when he was 9 1/2. He touched the lives of so many people and left behind a true Golden legacy of loving and caring. Moose has been gone for 11 years now, and though I have been owned by 6 other Goldens and have fostered another 5 for Rescue A Golden of Arizona, I still miss him every single day.