A Jamaican Experience: My Lifelong for Dogs

By: Baron Stewart

A Lifelong Love for Dogs

I’ve always been a dog lover—no question about it. My childhood was painful and loveless, and I turned to dogs for solace. Maybe it started because my dog Shane was my protector as a young boy in Jamaica. I named him after the hero in the classic Alan Ladd movie Shane. In the film, a young boy cries out, “Shane! Shane!” as his hero rides off to an epic gunfight. That image stayed with me, and when I had the chance to name my hero, I called him Shane.

Shane was black, skinny, fast, and smart—everything I admired and wished to be. He was brave and strong, the qualities I lacked as a timid, scrawny kid. We were a team, a codependent pair: I needed him, and he needed me.

In the 1950s, Kingston didn’t have many regulations about dogs—or if there were, nobody followed them. Dogs roamed freely, and you might get bitten if you crossed paths with the wrong one. I learned that the hard way when I wandered into someone’s yard and startled their dog. Signs warning “Beware of Bad Dog” were common, meant to deter thieves but often intimidating unsuspecting visitors like me.

One night, as I walked home in the dark, Shane followed me at a distance. I tried to send him back home—I didn’t want him crossing the busy streets—but he was determined to stay with me. Suddenly, a snarling dog charged as I passed a gate with a “Beware of Bad Dog” sign. Before I could react, Shane leaped into action, grabbing the dog by the throat and fending him off. When the fight was over, Shane calmly walked by my side the rest of the way home. He was my hero, my protector—my first love and certainly not my last.

Lucky: The Running Partner

Years later, in Southern California, another dog entered my life. Her name was Lucky. She found me, not the other way around. One morning, I discovered her sleeping in my car. Though she ran off, my wife lured her with food and water. Lucky was a beautiful collie with soulful, loving eyes, and she came into my life when I needed her most. I had just been diagnosed with diabetes and decided to manage it with exercise. Lucky became my running partner, accompanying me on five-mile runs every morning.

Rain or shine, we ran together for a decade. People in Whittier grew accustomed to seeing us, and our bond even made it into the local newspaper after a ten-mile run through Turnbull Canyon with my kids riding bicycles alongside us. I’d sometimes scoop her up on longer runs and carry her for the last stretch. She loved it—and so did I.

One day, we encountered two loose bulldogs while preparing to run at a local high school. They spotted Lucky and charged. Panicked, she slipped her leash and ran, the bulldogs chasing her through traffic. My heart sank as I imagined losing her forever. But ten minutes later, I heard a familiar tap at the door. Lucky had found her way home. That moment of relief and joy is etched in my memory.

Lucky had three litters of puppies, including one we called Little Lucky, her spitting image. Over time, our backyard became home to four dogs, and after an unexpected visit from a stray, we suddenly had 16. Raising 12 puppies was chaos, but it was pure joy to watch them grow. Eventually, we found good homes for all of them, though saying goodbye wasn’t easy.

Little Lucky’s Adventure

Little Lucky, my favorite of the puppies, had an adventurous streak. I sent her to New York to live with my brother’s family when she was old enough. But the sudden change was traumatic. Upon arrival, she was terrified and cried for days. Months later, when I visited, she growled at me, unsure whether to trust me. It broke my heart to see her fear, but I didn’t push her.

A year later, Little Lucky returned to Los Angeles. The moment she saw me, her hesitation vanished. She recognized me instantly, bounding into my arms with unbridled joy. The other dogs welcomed her back as if she’d never left, and it was as though no time had passed.

Spike: The Loyal Protector

Little Lucky’s brother Spike couldn’t have been more different. Skinny and athletic, with sad, thoughtful eyes, Spike was fiercely loyal but wary of strangers. He had a mischievous streak, often chasing the mailman so persistently that we had to get a P.O. box.

Spike bit the mayor’s wife on one unforgettable day when she visited our home. My wife, trying to prove Spike’s harmlessness, put her hand near his mouth—and he snapped. Luckily, the mayor’s wife didn’t file a complaint, sparing Spike from serious consequences.

Despite his antics, Spike adored me. Knowing how much he hated water, I decided to test his loyalty at a dog beach. When I walked into the waves, Spike hesitated, pacing anxiously on the shore. But his loyalty won out, and he paddled out to join me, his sad eyes fixed on mine. That bond had started when he was a puppy, small enough to sleep on my chest as I worked. I think he remembered those moments, even as he grew older.

Saying Goodbye

I’ve loved many dogs, but I miss Spike the most. His thoughtful nature, sad eyes, and unwavering loyalty left an indelible mark on my heart. My dogs—Shane, Lucky, Little Lucky, and Spike—were more than a pet. They were family, each with their quirks, stories, and lessons. Shane taught me courage. Lucky showed me resilience. Little Lucky embodied joy, and Spike reminded me of the depth of loyalty.

Dogs have a way of teaching us about love and companionship in ways few humans can. Their memories stay with us, shaping who we are. Reflecting on my lifelong passion for dogs, I’m grateful for the joy and love they brought. They weren’t just my protectors or companions—my teachers, my family, and my most excellent source of comfort in a turbulent world.