by Allyson Finley

Created on: May 31, 2007   Last Updated: December 14, 2011

Schooner, my two and a half year old Golden Retriever, is a hero. Not the kind of hero that dove into the ocean to save a drowning person, but the kind that dove into a hearts to save a drowning soul. He was the kind of dog that refused to let people give up, and for that he became a hero. Schooner had come from a breeder who informed us that he was extremely laid back. Boy was she wrong! Instead we received a puppy that loved to bite, chew and demand attention. I know that sounds like your typical puppy, but being a family that has had many experiences with puppies, he was not typical. Schooner would attach onto our pant legs and pull until he either ripped them or we turned around to scold him. Either way he was delighted. Schooner was a dog that you could only pet for fifteen seconds before he would then chomp down on your arm. There was no snuggling involved with this dog. His worse trait however, was that he devoured socks. Any type of sock was instantly gone down his throat and luckily was brought out the other end a few days later. My family was constantly worried that a sock would get stuck in his stomach, so we had to sock proof the house. However, he soon learned how to angle himself just the right way to open the laundry closet door and grab a sock. It was all too much for my parents who debated sending him back to the breeder.

Then the unthinkable happened which made my parents forget about their decision. My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and all thoughts were placed upon making her healthy. We rallied around her and supported her the best we could, but the news hit her hard for someone who was so healthy. She took a year off from work in order to obtain chemotherapy and radiation treatments and also to relax and recover. I could tell that at times she wanted to give up, and I was worried when I left for my school in the morning and my father went to work. I wanted to be there to give her support. Little did I know that the best support stayed home with her in the form of a shedding dog. My mother used to walk five kilometers everyday, but had stopped when she got the news. Schooner, however would not let her give up. When she would lay down on the couch, holding back tears, he would run back and forth from the living room to the kitchen door. My mother would let him out to go the bathroom, but he would only stand on the deck and look at her with his brown eyes as if to say, "Well get the leash!" Finally she would put her shoes on and

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