Quigley came into my life on July 1, 1998. He was 20 months old at the time. Our family dog had died, and I begged my parents to let me bring another dog into the home. I was going away to University, so I promised to find a place where I could have a dog. My parents finally relented, although my dad said he would NOT love this dog (he was heartbroken when our family dog died). He wanted nothing to do with it. I researched breeds, looking for a dog that would be active outside, but mellow while I was inside studying. Cockers seemed to fit the bill, so I combed the newspaper ads, looking for the right dog at the right price. I found Quigley - $100 for a neutered dog with UTD vaccinations. What a steal! So my mom and I drove 4 hours to pick him up, and then 4 hours home, all in one day. We had no idea what we were getting into.
This "breeder" kept ALL of the dogs in the garage, even during the winter (which gets very, very cold here). They had no toys, no real luxuries. A few blankets on the garage floor (cement) and some kibble thrown into a communal bowl. The dogs were not very well socialized, and not housetrained. The woman barely knew what a particolour was. But at that point, I was taking this dog home. He was CKC registered, neutered and had his shots.
This poor dog was terrified of everything and anyone. If anybody stopped to pet him or talk to him, he would urinate submissively. He had major separation anxiety, and would scream and trash areas that he was enclosed in. He was stuck to me like glue, and would panic if I went into an area of the house without him. He housetrained EXTREMELY easily, and was very gentle. Just afraid. My father loved this dog . . . they would lay in bed together, snacking on treats or whatever. It was heartbreaking to take this dog away from my dad, but he was my dog. I offered to leave him with my dad, but he said no.
It took an entire year to convince Quigley that people weren't going to hurt him anymore. I was never able to convince him that the next meal was ALWAYS going to be there. This dog was a miraculous food thief, he could get food from anywhere. We took some CGC classes at Petsmart, and he earned his CGC. We took agility classes for about 3 years, and he loved that too. He would never agree to do a run without food, so we never competed. It didn't matter, he loved each obstacle, even the teeter.
Quigley turned into the most dignified, loving, dedicated dog that ever existed. He was THE most reliable dog with babies, seniors and everybody in between. He was a true ambassador for the breed, and converted hundreds of people to our breed. He went grey many years ahead of his time, so his nickname at dog shows was "grandpa." Everybody slipped him a goody at dog shows.
He wasn't terribly happy when I brought Farley home, and he spent almost a whole year simply ignoring the new dog. After that, he welcomed every new addition to the household, whether temporary or permanent. He would just accept them with gracious reserve. In fact, with the younger ones, he would steal their food if I didn't watch closely!
Quigley worked as a therapy dog for about 18 months, when I was a physiotherapist. Every Thursday he would accompany me to a senior care center, and he'd entertain the patients all day long. He would let them push him in their wheelchairs, or on their wheeled walkers. He would do all kinds of tricks for them, and he was so loving and gentle. He lived for that therapy work . . . and he was incredible at it.
On July 3rd 2006 I discovered a huge tumor in his mouth, about the size of a golfball. I knew it was less than 2 weeks old, so I knew it was bad news. I took him to the vet, and they took it out as soon as possible, but we both were almost positive it was cancer. It had spread to his tongue and several of his organs, so I knew his time was limited. But somehow, I thought we'd have more than a month together. I cried every night that month, thinking of losing my precious boy. I quit eating, and spent as much time with him as I could. It wasn't enough, but it never is. On July 31, 2006 I helped him to the Rainbow Bridge. His body couldn't handle the pain anymore, and I couldn't stand to see him suffer. His last weekend was a feast for him - he got lobster, chocolate and almost anything else he wanted. My parents, Farley and I took him to the vet clinic that Monday morning and said goodbye.
When Quigley died, he took a large chunk of my heart with him. Although he wasn't an official rescue dog, I truly feel I rescued him. And so, his legacy to me (and to the breed) is my dedication to rescue.