My love of dogs began in childhood. For as long as I can remember, we had dogs at home. Usually it was a Stabyhoun, and invariably he answered to the name Bijke.
That was rather practical, because there were often several different Bijkes over the years. My father occasionally bred a litter and also traded dogs. I learned early not to become too attached. Before you knew it, Bijke had been sold and another Bijke was walking around the garden. That was simply how things were.
After the Stabyhouns came the long-haired Dachshunds. Freddy was one of them.
Officially Freddy was the stud dog, but to me he was much more. He had a beautiful long, walnut-red coat and the kind of character that simply made you happy. Very sweet, calm and remarkably obedient. That last quality is quite unusual for a Dachshund. When I took Freddy out, I hardly ever used a lead. He simply walked beside me. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to.
Looking back, I think Freddy influenced me far more than I realised at the time.
After the Dachshunds came the Golden Retrievers. From that period I mainly remember Donna, an independent lady who cared little for what anyone else thought. And Chico.
Chico eventually became my dog and came with me when I moved into a place of my own. Later, he also lived with Cynthia and me. He was a beautiful male Golden Retriever. Not golden-blond like most Goldens, but almost white and larger than average. An impressive sight, until something startled him. Chico was afraid of almost everything. He would not even walk past a parked car. Behind that imposing appearance was the gentlest dog imaginable. Incredibly sweet, loyal and always looking for a little reassurance.
When Cynthia and I were together later, I already knew which dog I wanted one day. An Irish Setter. Not only because of its appearance, but mainly because I hoped to find something of Freddy again in such a dog.
And that Setter came.
His name was Sheriff.
If I had to describe Sheriff in one sentence, I would say he was a giant Freddy. The same gentle eyes, the same friendliness and the same joy in setting off together. Only bigger, more elegant and with that magnificent red-brown Setter coat.
How remarkable that in Cynthia I may have found an even greater dog lover than myself. She sees in a dog not only a companion, but also a bridge to people.
Perhaps that became most beautiful with Sheriff and Donna. To us they were simply beloved members of the family, yet Cynthia also worked with them as therapy dogs while supporting children in her work as a child coach.
It happened almost naturally. They did not have to do anything. They were simply there. Sometimes a child would carefully sit beside them, sometimes a dog would rest its head on a lap or quietly walk along. When words were difficult, their presence brought calm, safety and trust.
That was typical of them. Sheriff and Donna needed no tricks to be special. They did what the best dogs do: sit beside someone without judgement.
When I look back at all those dogs now, I see that each of them left something behind. Chico taught me that courage and fear can exist perfectly well together. Freddy showed me that trust is stronger than a lead. And Sheriff proved that some dreams can wait quietly for years and still become real in the end.
Perhaps that is why I still love dogs so much. Not simply because they are dogs, but because every dog tells a story of its own. And if you look carefully, you carry a small part of each one with you, unnoticed, for the rest of your life.