Connor and The Love Left Behind: The Leaning Dog Who Changed our Life

By Kristine Zeigler

Connor - a therapy dog dropout impossible to control with voice commands, lacking in loyalty and manners, and yet so charismatic and loving, he left behind true fans and friends everywhere he went. These short vignettes mark a dog's impact on his people and community and offer reflections on the priceless bond between companion animals and human

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kristine Zeigler
• Release date: Aug 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781732904439

Kristine Zeigler

KRISTINE ZEIGLER is a third-generation California writer who grew up in the rural communities of Bishop and Mammoth Lakes in the Eastern Sierra Nevada Mountains. Zeigler’s previous publication credits include Forge Journal, The Bark, The Peregrine, Charles River Review, Menda City Review, Ignatian Literary Magazine, Barely South Review, and The Saint Ann’s Review. Zeigler previously reported on energy and toxic waste laws and regulations in Washington, D.C. For the past twenty years, Zeigler has been an environmental non-profit leader focused on preserving nature with, and for, people. Zeigler was awarded a writer residency at the H.J. Andrews Experimental Forest as part of an Oregon State University and U.S. Forest Service program to promote understanding of humanity’s role in nature. She serves as a member of the board of directors of the Mono Lake Committee and blogs about natural and cultural history. A graduate of Lafayette College, Zeigler lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband Joe and rescue dog Connor. She holds a private pilot’s license and flies a Cessna 182.

Book preview

i have your dog

I have your dog, Holly texted me. The dog behavior team, she reported, all agreed that a young, friendly, affectionate, and whip smart dog available at the shelter would be the perfect dog. As director of the San Francisco SPCA’s Maddie’s Center, she would know. I made an appointment for us to see him with a tacit agreement that she wouldn’t adopt him out to anyone else, if she could help it, while we drove over.

His name was Dexter, a one-year-old black dog from Mendocino County with pointy ears. Nothing was known about who owned him previously or what kind of life he may have had. And no one agreed on what mix of breeds he was, though I at first believed he was a border collie with the long and wavy coat of a retriever. His bright eyes, enthusiasm, and quick response to sit and stay commands seemed to confirm the ancestry guesses of the staff. I imagined him roaming a ranch in northern California where he might have had a little herd of sheep to watch over.

When we entered the adopter greeting room at Maddie’s Center, he came right to our sides. We sat in the plastic chairs and he placed his head in Joe’s lap. He had the sad dog eye routine down. He knew how to shake paws and smiled freely. How is he with cats? we asked. We tested him and he is very gentle and deferential, Holly reported. We had a middle-aged black and brown tabby cat named Patsy after country singer Patsy Cline so our top priority was ensuring her acceptance and comfort. As it turned out, we needn’t have worried. He was considerate and shared his fur with her when she wanted to curl up with him. Which wasn’t often, but we did catch them spooning a few times.

Driving home with the dog known as Dexter, I reveled in my own triumph – I was finally an adult, able to do this thing that I had wanted for so long, ever since I was in college – have my own dog, my own apartment, my true love Joe by my side. Joe and I had been living together for 11 years, but he had not been convinced about adopting a dog until now. As I navigated the stop signs and traffic, Dexter came up to the front seat and decided to sit on my lap. I had to push him to the passenger seat so that I could see out the windshield. I was laughing and encouraging him to obey so we made it home without crashing. All while driving a stick shift in San Francisco. Dangerous but memorable.

lover of hounds

Baker Beach

Photo by author

Because we believed him to be a border collie mix, we elected to name him for his ancestral homeland – Celtic Scotland, where the breed originated. We searched for Celtic names on the internet and ran across Conor. What does it mean? I asked Joe. "It’s the name of a king who was a lover of hounds," he answered. Dexter became Connor (an extra n thrown in for distinction and ease of spelling) then and there.

if he dies, i’ll never forgive him

When we lived in the city, we frequently took Connor to Fort Funston, just south of San Francisco on the windswept coast. Off-leash walking is permitted so long as your dog responds to voice commands and does not disturb protected species like the Snowy Plover when they are nesting on the bare sand. One weekend, we took him for a long walk and though he was still immature and new to us, we felt he was good enough off leash to keep under control. Wishing is not the same as knowing. Connor loved all the dogs there to chase, but when he noticed that the beach was below us down a cliff, he took off like a greyhound, intent on reaching the squealing people below. I thought to myself, he is going to break his legs. Joe, on a mission to protect his dog no matter the consequences, went after him. I begged him not to follow the dog, stories of erosion and collapsing cliffs playing like a montage in my mind. Joe slid down the slim, slippery, unstable path of sand and rocks, calling for Connor at the top of his lungs. I stood at the top, watching my dog and now my husband spilling, rolling, and catapulting their way down the face of the cliff, saying to myself Joe is going to break his neck.

I knew that Connor would be fine, as I could see him racing south, the waves lapping at his legs. He was making a beeline for a group of children that I was certain he would terrify and terrorize with his exuberant, large body full of non-stop movement. But Joe? Would he be okay? I decided to find the real trail and staircase down to the beach and meet him there, ready to call 911. I had never been as angry at Joe as I was when left the precipice of that cliff and wound my way down. If he has died going after the dog, I thought, I’ll never forgive him.

When we were all reunited, I asked Joe if he had any cuts, bruises, sprains, breaks. He was upset with the dog. I’m upset with you, I said. Dogs can take care of themselves. You didn’t need to follow him – he was too fast for you to catch anyway. I added, Don’t ever, ever do that again! I’d rather lose the dog than lose you. Not that I wanted to lose the dog. I could see that Joe thought he was doing the right