We It was a small ad, but one that made me leave my office and sneak down the hall to use another phone to call: “Free 2 good home, 4 yr. Golden Retriever, loving, good with kids.” It was a quarter to five when the phone rang at a local law office and I was put in touch with the dog’s current owner. Yes, I could come see the dog after work. Directions were given, and I left work with a glimmer of hope in my heart.
     We had decided to try to find a companion for our wild and crazy year-old Tanagran Shepherd, Jackson the Wonder Dog. It was either that or rent a 12-year-old kid for a buddy. Having always wanted a Golden Retriever, I thought that perhaps an older one might just calm (or at least slow!) down the Wonder Dog.
     When I arrived, the Golden was wandering around the kitchen of his home with two Labrador Retrievers. Once he was let out into the covered garage area, “Hunter” immediately came over to me, looked up, and gently arose from his hind legs to place his front paws on my shoulders. After I greeted him, he quietly sat down beside me and just leaned on me. All that was left for Hunter to do was reel in the line he had so cleverly baited for me. I was hooked.
     Hunter had an interesting, yet tragic story. In early October, he had been abandoned in Government Camp, Oregon, near the top of Mt. Hood, an 11,000 foot peak in the Oregon Cascades about 75 miles from Portland. He had wandered around that area for a month, picking up scraps from storeowners and sleeping who knew where. He was even spotted in Welches, a small town about nine miles downhill from Government Camp, when someone believing to be a Good Samaritan brought him back up to Government Camp. Was Hunter heading home? One can only guess. The young lawyer, Steve, had seen Hunter in a rest area at the foot of a small ski area and had checked around for an owner when he learned the dog had been abandoned. He loaded Hunter into the car for a 2½ hour drive to Bend to live with him, his roommate, and the two Labs. But after a couple of months, it became evident that three large dogs were too much. Hunter needed a permanent home where he could roam to his heart’s content and be loved by a special family.
     The local vet told Steve that, judging by Hunter’s teeth, the dog was about four years old; however, there was so much white on Hunter’s face that he appeared years older. His ears were severely infected, but he was otherwise in good shape. He had already been neutered. Steve had brought his shots and licensing up to date. I explained our family to Steve, told him about our five fenced acres that bordered on the Little Deschutes River where Hunter could run, and our other animals. Steve seemed especially pleased to hear that Hunter would be able to run freely, as after having been on his own for a month he was used to taking off by himself.
     But would Jackson like him? And would my husband, Hank? I told Steve I’d like to bring them over the next day to meet Hunter. But I was worried that someone else would call on the ad and take him away that evening. No, as it turned out, the local paper printed Steve’s office number instead of his home number and no one would be able to reach Steve until the morning. Being a firm believer in there not being any coincidences in life, I knew I had been given an opportunity to have Hunter come be a part of our lives.
     So, the next afternoon Hunter jumped into my car for our journey homeward (having met Hank and Jackson earlier). I drove a block away from Steve’s house, stopped my car, and turned to Hunter and told him I’d been waiting for him for a long time, that I needed him very much and was so very glad he was coming to live with us. My mother had died the previous year, and I was missing her and wanting a nice furry body to hug and hold.
     Hunter adjusted into our family so easily. He made friends with the three cats (as best as he could), and our four goats. He and Jackson became fast buddies, although Hunter loved to lead Jackson on “unauthorized adventures” across the road into large wooded areas for whatever mischief-making activities they could create.
     But sometimes Hunter would wake us in the night with howling nightmares—sounds we’d never heard from a dog before. Was he reliving his month on the mountain? His previous life with an owner? Routinely, about 7 or 8 pm, Hunter would restlessly pace to the front or back door begging to go out as if there were some desperate mission he needed to attend to (other than the one he could do easily outside his dog door). His whining reminded Hank of fingernails on a blackboard. Who did he miss? What did he want?
     Such a gentle dog he was! I learned early on what other Golden owners mean when they refer to their dogs as “love sponges.” Taking your hand off Hunter immediately brought a quick head butt under the arm so that the hand returned to his head again. He simply could not get enough loving—just the kind of dog I had needed. He would be a good therapy dog for our local Humane Society “Paws With a Purpose” program, I thought. Bringing his Hunter love to the sick and elderly would be such a gift to them, and he would like the attention, I knew. So, about five weeks after he came to live with us, I took him on his first pet therapy visit to a local retirement community and then to an Alzheimer’s therapy group at the local hospital.     

Hunter on first visit to retirement   center, Stone Lodge,in Bend, OR.   with resident, Liz Dugan, who had   to give up her Golden, Gracie,   when she moved.