11/30/2019
He was my friend. He was known as Ranger and a more fitting name there never has been. Unencumbered he ranged throughout the neighborhood but every night he came to me for shelter, and everyday he came for safety, but most of all I think he came for love.
It was months after he first started showing up at my place before he ever allowed the first tentative touch. He came and observed and found shelter in the barn. Any attempt though to connect other than just by being present and he would bolt.
I began by making a big to do of touching and petting Max, my dog, anytime Ranger was watching. I made sure that he knew that it was pleasing to Max. As the weeks past he began to reduce the physical distance and his personal safety zone began to diminish. He felt safest when he could approach from behind so when he approached, I never turned to face him. I always let him define his safety zone.
Then one day there was contact. The faintest touch of his nose to the back of my calf. It was only momentary but it was, for me, joyous. Over the following days, the touch lingered and investigated a bit more with each encounter but continued to remained tentative.
I began to lower my hand with the back of the hand facing backward. It wasn't long until a little nose touched the back of my hand. Then shortly thereafter, I turned the palm of my hand toward him and eventually my fingers gently scratched under his chin.
From there it was only a matter of a few days before he allowed his head to be scratched and soon his whole body to be petted. Before long a good thorough petting became his expectation. Rather than running when I dared look his way, thereafter, he always ran to me.
His owner bought him as a grown dog. So no one knows his history but we can only guess as to how horrific it must have been. His owner brought him home, put a collar on him, let him lose, and that was the last time that Ranger ever made physical contact with him.
He continued ranging throughout the neighborhood and found numerous places to dine. Everyone in the neighbor came to know Ranger and he made many friends. Nevertheless, there were only a few of us who he ever trusted with physical contact.
He liked to walk with me and Max up the mountain behind my home. No matter what time of day I set out, he'd be there and rarely did he miss a walk. He'd run ahead or linger behind scouting out all the fascinating doggy scents but he always stayed close by and always knew exactly where I was.
One other thing Ranger loved to do was to chase certain vehicles. It wasn't all vehicles, just certain ones. I never knew what his distinctions were but he was very selective. He'd run wildly out into the road and madly chase after them. You could easily imagine him giving them a piece of his mind. I tried my best to convey to him how dangerous this habit was. Nevertheless, he couldn't give it up.
Behavioral scientists have never been able to define love. They dance around the subject. They study attraction, attention, contact, and such things as pro-social relationship. These are aspects of human behavior that can be measured. Neuroscientists can even observe through various imaging techniques brain changes relating to these phenomena. But, few scientists have the courage to define these behaviors as love.
I don't know what Ranger felt and I don't know that I even know what love is but I felt tenderness, happiness, and connectedness. In his presence I experienced companionship. I like to think Ranger felt the same for me.
I had not seen Ranger for a little more than a month. I made up stories in my mind that his owner had given him away and that he had found an even happier place to live. I missed him terrible but hoped against hope that he was happy and well cared for where ever he was.
I happened to run into his owner at the feed store today. He told me that Ranger had run out in front of a vehicle and the driver could do nothing to avoid running over him.
I never fed Ranger. He found physical nourishment elsewhere. I was his shelter from the storm and his zone of safety from his most basic fears.
Mostly, he was my friend, and I his.
