THE STORY OF CHRYSOS, THE GOLDEN DOG

He was on death row with only hours to live before he would be euthanized in the Baltimore County Pound. As I walked down the narrow cement walkway between the stark gray steel cages containing all breeds and mixes of canines, many were barking and howling and crying hysterically, perhaps knowing their fate. Peering out with so many sadden eyes, some just lying in the corners totally withdrawn. One could not help to feel their sadness and the tragedy of it all. I could only hope to save one that day from the executioner, and that came about as my eyes caught the eyes of this unusual Golden Retriever mix that came right down to the door of his cage to make sure I would see him. It was that forlorn look on his face that touched something deep inside of me, as we gazed at each other, and made me pause to read his rap sheet hanging above the cage door. It stated that he had been very destructive and couldn’t be house broken with his previous owner. The owner had paid the necessary 15 dollar fee to have him put down. It was so incredulous to me to throw away such a beautiful creature, not yet a year old, for such a small crime. Instinctively, I had no fear of him, and placed my hand in his cage and he lit up and began licking and wagging that tail of golden fur. We had become instant friends, and, I thought I would name him Chrysos , which is Greek for golden as I paid the necessary 40 dollar fee to free him. It felt so good inside driving him home that day that I could play a part in his timely salvation. Little did I know he would be a worthy companion of my family for the next 14 years.

There was still the problem of how he would get along with the other canine of our family, Lobo, the Great Pyrenees. I knew that the most important thing was to introduce the two of them on neutral ground, before taking him to the house, and that’s what we did. My wife brought Lobo over to the park while I waited with Chrysos, and they smelled each other in the usual doggy fashion, as we watched for any sign of aggressiveness, but both were fine. In a week we had him house broken, but there was no curing him of his propensity to chew wood and this usually meant the furniture, when we weren’t looking. Needless to say, this didn’t endear him to my wife. So he had to be put in the garage with Lobo. Occasionally, there could be a flare up, over a disputed bone or a place where Lobo didn’t want him to go. Right off the start, I noticed Chrysos wasn’t going to be dominated by Lobo, who was twice his size. H e was a fearless scrapper, quick and agile, and instinctively knew how to use these to take advantage of the larger dog by going for his ears. Most of these combats were not bloody, because both dogs had heavy coats, and they usually settled down when I yelled at them. Lobo began to give Chrysos more respect over time and there were less fights.

In many ways, the two of them were personality opposites of each other, Lobo tended to be independent, never craving affection whereas Chrysos would lie next to your feet for hours begging for pet on the head or a scratching of his dangly ears. His body type was Golden Retriever all the way, except the head. His nose and mouth was more sharp like a collies with flappy ears like an Afghan. Chrysos loved the water while Lobo did everything he could to avoid it. Lobo had one strange behavior that always amused me, when you gave him a bowl of water he would always dip his paw into it before taking a drink. Chrysos always loved to play, Lobo was never much for playing, he was the watchdog, always on duty. Fetching was sticks was Chrysos favorite fun, and he could wear your arm out throwing them. He never tired, and when you did, he gave you that forlorn look, that made you feel guilty. I remember when I first took him to a lake, and I was picking up sticks and throwing them in the shallow water. He was retrieving them as fast as he could, so I threw one way out and he charged for it then suddenly sank in the deeper water. He disappeared. What, I thought, he can’t swim? It took few seconds but then he popped up and appeared choking and surprised. It was his first swimming experience, thank God for instinct.

I never worried about Chrysos being around strangers, he was always friendly. Lobo, on the other hand, could not be trusted, for he was a guard dog always wary of anyone that wasn’t family. Six years later, we made the move to Maine. I t was the winter of ’86. We moved to a 50-acre wooded farmstead in Central Maine. On the second day that we arrived, it had been snowing. I let them out of the house for a break, hoping the two of them would return in a few minutes. Instead of heading into the woods, they headed up the driveway. I waited for them for a short while and then headed out to call them back. In a just what seemed like a short time, I hear Chrysos barking and see a strange man trekking down the long driveway. Chrysos was stalking this man, barking, growling and threatening to attack him at any moment. I had to restrain him by grabbing his collar as the man told me he hit a large white dog at the end of the driveway with his plow truck. I was floored when the man told me he was pretty sure the dog was dead. It was ironic to me that we had come from the bustling big city, where Lobo lived for six years, sometimes breaking the chain and somehow surviving in traffic until I caught up with him many times, only to be killed suddenly on the second day of living in the woods of Maine, on a road that seldom had more than dozen vehicles on it all day long. I was saddened by the loss of my Great Pyrennees, but I think Chrysos felt something too, as we was never quite the same dog after that. His behavior changed almost over night to being a dog we could not trust with strangers any more. He took on the role of the departed Lobo as a fierce watchdog. He was never friendly with anyone except the family, no matter what we tried. He had to be chained whenever we had visitors, and he would bark furiously until they were gone. This was a dog that loved to obey me. Lobo seldom listened, he was pretty much a free spirit, very stubborn in many ways, whereas Chrysos would respond immediately to my calling his name. In fact, in order for the two dogs to be free to run on the school grounds, I would connect their collars with a three foot chain, knowing that if Lobo wanted to go too far, I could call Chrysos and he would pull the bigger dog and get him to return to me.

Chrysos never liked cats very much and we always seemed to have a stray hanging around the place. We kept Chrysos in a fenced in area near the wood shop surrounded by large pine trees with over hanging branches. One day one of the stray cats walked out on one of the thinner branches that was hanging over Chrysos about five or six feet from the ground. As the foolish cat continued out to the end of the branch which was now bending, he slipped off, but managed to hang on with his two front paws, clinging with all his might, because right below him Chrysos was aroused and waiting to grab him with his open mouth. As the cat struggled in his utter predicament, the branch began vibrating, moving up and down, all along with Chrysos’ timely leaps, trying to grasp the cats hanging tail. He was missing by only a fraction of an inch from grabbing that tail which would miraculously curl up at the crucial time, avoiding the flying snapping jaws. It was quite a comical scene but I knew it was only a matter of time before the dog could time his jumps in synchrony with the vibrating branch that the cat would surely be a goner. So I raced to the rescue. I began to climb over the fence, and, by the time, I looked up again I notice the cat had somehow righted itself on the branch and was racing to get back to the tree. I will never know how it accomplished this feat, but I’m sure that cat had used up one of his nine lives the day. Poor Chrysos was quite frustrated to say the least.

Chrysos was active all his life except for his final days. He suffered from arthritis in his hind legs and had cataracts which were making him blind. His sense of smell and hearing seemed to compensate as he always would come over for his pet whenever I neared the fence. He died one day and it was really a sad day fro the family that loved him. As I walk the paths through the woods where we roamed I still find sticks with his chewing imprints on them. So many times he fetched these sticks for me. These remain reminders of him and I think back to the day we saved him from the executioner, and gave him another 14 years of the gift of life.