Shops We Like: An Ode to Our Shop Dog
Almost all of the enjoyable local bike shops I’ve worked at or visited have a shop dog. There have been dogs of all types at these shops: small dogs, large dogs, dogs that bark at every customer, dogs that sleep in the sun’s rays, puppies, and old dogs so gray, they are appreciated a little more than normal. In our service course, it’s the steady rhythm of grabbing a tool, petting the dog, then sipping the beverage on the work bench. Repeat. I’ve seen dogs with their own comfortable bed, dogs who have claimed ownership of a camp chair, or dogs who patrol from open to close, shunning comforts in order to remain alert. Shop dogs are great. That’s why when one crosses the rainbow bridge, we struggle.
We’ve been working on the creakybottombracket.com project for more than ten years. That means our oldest service course resident canine was there well before the beginning. This year he turned a youthful fourteen, though he didn’t look his age. His midnight black puppy fur had faded to silver, but his coat shined in the sun beams as he sizzled. That’s what we called it: sizzling. He would lay in the sun rays until he cooked himself. Eventually - reluctantly - he would ever-so-slowly amble into the shade, panting heavily. His bony body would get petted by someone looking to give him love.
His presence captivated everyone. Though he was barely thirty pounds, he investigated every person who stopped by. His bark sounded more like glee when there were visitors. His dunebuggy flag-like tail whipped back and forth lazily, making sure everyone knew he was the least threatening personality for miles. His nails would clack on the floor as he pranced around, hoping for anyone to play a quick game of pursuit and give chase. Whichever room we were in, there he was. All one had to do was look at him for the world to instantly feel better. His captivation was so effortless, anyone who encountered him felt at ease.
To have a dog for such a long time, two things certainly happen: we take them for granted, and we don’t imagine our lives without them. The difficult time came for our dog to cross over; we felt like our time was never enough. Fourteen years of play boiled down to ‘just a few more months’ then ‘just a few more weeks’ and so on. Eventually after Time came to collect, nearly a decade and a half of habits persisted after his passing. His bowl has been accidentally filled several times. Calling his name to go for a walk has occurred. Looking for him to dole out belly rubs happens several times per day. We kind of thought he would be around forever, and we never bothered to prepare for those silent mornings or those dog-free bike maintenance sessions. Even right now, he would lay in the bed next to me as I typed out articles. That bed still has his imprint from the last time I posted an article. Even that is fading. Loss is crushing.
Cyclists tend to share attributes such as dealing with things quietly. Initially I questioned whether I was mourning too hard. After all it wasn’t a person. Shortly after the passing of our dog, Formula One driver Lewis Hamilton announced the loss of his dog, Roscoe. Hamilton pulled out of an F1 tire testing event to mourn the loss of his dog. This sad loss of another canine demonstrated that dogs alter perceptions of ourselves. To put it in another way - dogs corral us to take ourselves a little less seriously. They also teach us a heavy lesson in dealing with loss. All these things crossed my mind on the small amount of bike rides I’ve gone on since our dog’s passing.
When our dog was a puppy, he had numerous dog friends in the community. Over time each one passed on. All of his friends were greeted with tail wags when they walked by. It was the new batch of dogs, ones he was unfamiliar with, that he barked at. He treated dogs like the cycling community treats each other - waving to the fellow cyclists and being excited to see familiar faces. I’d like to think he enjoyed himself for fourteen years, that he never lost his, ‘Let’s go!’ spirit. A shop with a dog is a sanctuary. A place who recently lost a dog is a searching place. We can only control small things, and to search for answers as to why we only got a short window of time with our dog might be found on those quiet setting-sun roads atop a bike he watched us work on. As we continue to heal, we will keep looking for hints of our dog in each bike shop floof, the resident canine greeting us, judging us, be it through barking, licking, sleeping, or any of the other responses a shop dog gives us.
For us, our rhythm has been altered. Grab a tool, miss petting the dog, and forgetting whatever comes next. “He was in my dream the other day,” said the Missus recently. “Lucky,” was all I could muster while teetering on tears yet again. We were all lucky to have fourteen years with such a wonderful dog.
