Bailey in Las Vegas, April 2001Bailey, the schipperke who was the constant companion of Country Mouse since her 16th birthday, went to sleep for the last time today at about noon. He was 12 years old.
Born on a schipperke farm in Saratoga Springs, New York, Bailey came to the Davis family as a birthday present for a boat-obsessed teenager in July 1993. Schipperkes, being originally bred as barge dogs, are considered ideal sidekicks for yachties as they are alleged to have no desire to get in the water and thus will stay safely on the vessel. Bailey proved this canard wrong on multiple occasions, both by making the deliberate choice to go for a swim and also by displaying more confidence than sure-footedness while traversing the decks and gunwhales of numerous small craft. These vessels were all pleasure craft rather than working boats as the dream of the open seas proved to be a transitory stage of adolecence. No matter, as Bailey adjusted to life as dry-docked sailor with admirable ease and self-confidence.
From early on in his life Bailey heeded the call of the open road. Between joining Country Mouse's father for a sabbatical in California while CM was traveling with the Audubon Expedition Institute and accompanying CM and Weasel on their 2001 grand tour, Bailey clocked up over 25,000 miles of long distance travel. He crossed east to west, west to east, and went around much of the outside edge of the United States. A fan of the classic sites of America, Bailey visited the south rim of the Grand Canyon, Niagra Falls, New Orleans, Cape Cod National Seashore, Savannah, Charleston, Las Vegas, Sedona, and the giant trees of Northern California, along with other smaller and less famous towns and hamlets. He always traveled well, although he gave the impression that he didn't much care for Nebraska.
Bailey, being underwhelmed by Nebraska.Famously adaptable after making a big production of initial disgruntlement, Bailey moved house fairly often, if only for a temporary secondment to CM's mother or father while she completed her college education. Wherever Bailey lived, with or without CM and with or without other fauna, he was a master of imposing his personality on the household. After only a short while dogs and cats (and from 1999 onwards the boyfriend/fiance) with a greater claim to tenure would yield to his intrinsic unreasonableness and his Napoleon complex and in the interests of a quiet life would allow him to rule the roost. Since 2002 Bailey called mid-coast Maine home. He took particular pleasure in the proximity the fire station to his last home in Rockland as all the exciting sirens echoing out of the vehicle bays easily met his criteria for joy. While lacking the length of throat to generate a full-on howl, Bailey passed many a happy minute crooning along with the emergency services as they rushed to the aid of others.
Many dogs display a sincere earnestness that has rightly earned the animal the title of "man's best friend". Bailey was more suspicious of this canine attitude than many dogs, and prefered to adopt a gallic approach to life more in line with his Belgian ancestry. Notoriously disinclined to respond to requests that he stick around, come, sit, get off the bed, quit begging, not roll in dead things, or not eat mud, Bailey excelled at living his own life on his own terms. Attempts by anyone upon a first meeting to get Bailey to fetch something, shake, or perform any actions other than showing his teeth or briefly dancing like a bear would be met with a glance of withering contempt. Bailey was a brass tacks kind of dog; that biscuit in your hand was going to end up in his belly regardless and so he prefered that any tomfoolery be kept to a minimum and that the snack should be swiftly delivered. He disliked fastidious cooks who kept all the dinner ingredients off the floor, and felt that human beings who opened cupboard doors but failed to produce a can of tuna for him were charlatans and teases. Occasionally he would take matters of gastronomy into his own paws, such as during a 2003 dinner party during which he stealthily ascended the dining room table and polished off a scallop casserole before being spotted by a horrified guest. As Country Mouse remarked at the time, it is an arresting sight to see a dog gorging himself while standing in your dinner.
Much like those among us who enjoy an occasional fine cigar but find that modern mores frown upon us conducting our habit indoors, Bailey could occasionally be found in the garden enjoying a special "cat stogie". Although he probably understood that these treats bore nothing but ill-will for his digestion he became adept at rapid consumption of these illicit treasures even as those around him tired to intervene.
Whil he may have been an unpleasant eater (generating sounds unheard outside the 10th circle of hell while crouched over a bowl of kibble) Bailey redeemed himself in many other areas. A kitchen floor was never dirty in his presence, nor a seat ever cold. No ill-willed stranger could have ever approached his family, nor any threat be allowed to go unchallenged. While short of stature and slight of frame Bailey had the heart of a lion stuffed under his tiny ribcage. His most famous display of conspicous bravery came when he ran off a bear in California but he also showed a quiet tenacity when faced with life's troubles. Run over by a utility truck early in his life, Bailey rallied through seemingly endless surgeries and vet's visits. After his recovery there was nothing to indicate that he had come within a whisker of death and that he was held together internally by staples and pins. For many years after his final operation his only speed off the leash was a full gallop; albeit with a peculiar centrifugal shimmy that was more a result of his short legs and cylindrical body than of any medical intervention. After his near-miss Bailey appeared to embody Dylan Thomas's most famous stanza,
Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Despite his innate courage, Bailey did indulge himself with some existential fears. Thunder would freeze him to the spot, even if the spot happened to be under the only tree on the tallest mountain for miles, and the buzzing of a fly would cause him to flee a room. Pehaps flies presented a special and real challenge for him, as he was born without a tail.
As Bailey's muzzle grew greyer he began to slow down a little but prior to the late spring of 2005 there was little to indicate that he would not enjoy a long pleasantly grumpy dotage. Around this time however Bailey began to show discomfort whenever his collar was slipped on in preparation for a walk. A visit to the vet last June revealed that Bailey was in the mid-stages of lymphoma, a form of cancer that attacks the lymph nodes. Apart from a little tenderness in his neck and some swelling of his nodes, Bailey did not appear to be in any discomfort and after an in-depth discussion with his vet it was decided that surgical or chemical intervention would cause more suffering than good. For the best part of a year after his diagnosis Bailey continued to live his life as always without displaying any signs of pain or disability.
In February of this year the usually sure-footed Bailey fell while trying to climb the stairs; a few days later he fell off the bed and landed on his neck. By this time his nodes had become noticably enlarged and his rear feet had begun to bother him badly. A trip to the vet resulted in a prescription to ease the swelling and also a realization that the end would be sooner rather than later. Bailey's body continued to fight but slowly his systems began to fail him. Old age and disease had finally caught up with him and the crisis arrived. After a trying two weeks of accelerating decline and much soul searching, Bailey took his final drive to Camden and the vet this morning. He died in the arms of Country Mouse, gently drifting off to sleep as she stoked his ears. He was a good boy even when he was being bad, and his storied bravery was on display right through the end.
Bailey sits proudly, having discovered the Grand Canyon. Or at least that's what he thought- we never had the heart to tell him otherwise
In the park of random marine objects.
Rockland harbor.
Another one of the harbor.
The lovely Country Mouse in the process of realizing that she is over-dressed for the weather. In Maine in the spring it often pays to leave the house understanding that sometimes the sun writes checks it cannot cash. Not today, though.
Conte's: one of the best and certainly the oddest restaurant in the area. The building looks like set dressing from 
The municipal lobster cookers. Every year at the Lobster Festival something like 47 quazillion bugs meet their end here.
Warm weather or no, the town floats don't go in until Memorial Day. Always have, always will.
Weasel and Dinah enjoy MBNA's gift to the community.
I couldn't figure out where all the lobster boats were. I guess there is Sunday fishing after all.
Rockland from the South End. Schooner masts and seaweed processing plants ahoy!
Our municipal Indiana.
"Dinah! Do the big tongue! Big tongue Dinah! Good girl Dinah!"
