I was reading the Scottish Terrier News blog the other day and caught a few of the funniest dog videos I'd seen in a long time. I don't think you have to be a dog owner to appreciate them, but being a Scottie owner certainly gives you a keen appreciation for how much time and effort must have gone into training these two gorgeous and well-traveled Scotties.
And if you would like really zone out, check out the folding dollar bill Scottish Terrier at the video bar.
I promise you, there really is an end to it. And a dog at the end of it. In the meantime, sit back, catch the show, wonder why the guy's nails are so dirty . . . zone out and feel the bliss.
All in the town were still asleep,
When the sun came up with a shout and a leap.
In the lonely streets unseen by man,
A little dog danced. And the day began.
All his life he’d been good, as far as he could,
And the poor little beast had done all that he should.
But this morning he swore, by Odin and Thor
And the Canine Valhalla–he’d stand it no more!
So his prayer he got granted–to do just what he wanted,
Prevented by none, for the space of one day.
"Jam incipiedo, sedere facebo,"
In dog-Latin he quoth, "Euge! sophos! hurray!"
He fought with the he-dogs, and winked at the she-dogs,
A thing that had neve been heard of before,
"For the stigma of gluttony, I care not a button!" he
Cried, and ate all he could swallow–and more.
He took away sinewy lumps from the shins of old frumps,
And mangled the errand-boys–when he could get’em.
He shammed furious rabies, and bit all the babies, And followed the cats up the trees, and then ate ‘em!
They thought t’was the devil was holding a revel,
And sent for the parson to drive him away;
For the town never knew such a hullabaloo
As that little dog raised–till the end of the day.
When the blood-red sun had gone burning down,
And the lights were lit in the little town,
Outside, in the gloom of the twilight grey,
The little dog died when he’d had his day.
July 1907, Rupert Brooke
*Jam incipiebo = Now we're on our way
*sedere facebo = I'll make them sit up
*Euge = roughly, applause
*sophos = wisdom (higher or lower, worldly or spiritual)
View of St. Kitts--Atlantic Ocean on the left, Caribbean Sea on the right
The unfailing love of the LORD never ends!
By his mercies we have been kept from complete destruction.
Great is his faithfulness;
his mercies begin afresh each day. I say to myself, "The LORD is my inheritance;
therefore, I will hope in him!" Lamentations 3: 22-24
Ecc. 3:11
He has made everything beautiful in its time.
He has also set eternity in the hearts of men;
yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.
The title of this blog comes from one of my favorite poems. It has an energy and a rhythm that appeals to me and because it reminds me of Kyle, my now gone, but dearest Scottish Terrier boy, and his joyful spirit. It more importantly reminds me that in approaching the day like my dogs do, I am on a path of enlightenment. Maybe not the one most people experience, but a true one all the same.
So often my day starts with a little dog dragging me out of bed to a new day. Sometimes I go willingly, other times, I must be forced. They nudge and prod and "talk" to me until we rise together. So I wake up as best I can, pull my hair back, and get on doggy time.
In the dim light, we walk through the house and slip out the door to inspect the backyard. We try to determine how the day is shaping up. Sometimes I don't feel so great or haven't slept well, but I am always surprised that going outdoors flips a switch for me. Becoming aware of nature, I also seem to clear my head.I look at the stars that haven't quite left the sky and sometimes the slip of a moon still hanging there. When I see a few faint stars, I say "Hi, Dad."
My father loved studying space and everything in it and he passed that curiosity to me, but unfortunately I received none of the innate intelligence which allowed him to understand the things he studied. I got his raw curiosity and that's about it.
Even though working hard, long hours as a finish carpenter, my Dad went to school in the evenings over sixty miles away from our home to get his pilot's license. It was a bit late in life, but flying had been his life-long dream since he was a boy, and I will always think it says a lot about the man who was my Dad that he went after that dream and wasn't content to let it die, the way so many of our young dreams do.
I still have a school composition he wrote for an English class as a very young lad. It had kind of a noir feel to it and there was much intrigue to the piece, but the hero of the day was undoubtedly the pilot. It was easy to see even at that early age that my Dad loved the thought of flying and had a deep jones to become a flyboy himself.
I'll never forget the complete joy getting licensed in a glider was for him. He never tired of talking about the freedom of just the wings and air. It gave him an even keener appreciation for good weather and he always seemed to be commenting on whether a day would be good "flying weather." Alternately, he had a kind of philosophical outlook on poor conditions. If it happened to be raining or cloudy and overcast, he would always remind me that "the sun was shining somewhere." He always liked to remind me when we saw hawks circling on sunny days that they were "riding the thermals," just as he himself had been privileged to do.
I often think that if we are given any kind of duties in heaven, it would be very appropriate that my Dad is at this very moment in charge of a star or a planet or sweeping clouds away. Sometimes I can't help but wonder exactly what it is that he might be doing. So when I look up, I make sure to speak to him and ask how he is.
I think of Dad sometimes if the sky is very blue and the pine trees in the yard show up clearly against it. The last time Dad and I walked in the woods behind our house, we went to Wild Cat Knob, a place that no longer exists except in my memories. But that day, there were rows and rows of bright green pines shooting up against a brilliant and sunny blue fall sky. My Dad was sick, our time was short, but we both felt keenly that this small space in time held so much beauty. There were a lot of special moments in my life that my Dad missed out on, so I knew I needed to hide that moment away in my heart as something special. And now, pine trees and bright blue skies also remind me of Dad and a special time that passed between us, one we didn't let slip by.
Sometimes there in the early morning with the dogs, looking at the sky, I think about simple things, like the weather. I wonder if it will rain or snow or if sunshine and a nice breeze might come a little later in the day. The dogs sniff the air and come to their own conclusions, but keep it to themselves. They obviously know a lot more than they are able to share. The song of the birds plays in and out over everything I view--so sweet that I wonder how I ever tune it out, that it ever could be the elevator music of my outdoor life. Sweet birdsong to punctuate my thoughts, songs so changeable yet utterly perfect for each new day and season.
The dogs and I inspect the grass to see if it is wet or dry and decide if we'd like to get our feet in it. Less of a decision for the dogs than it is for me, as I always seem to end up barefoot when I'm with them. Because of that, I have realized anew that I do enjoy the feeling of grass or even mud under my feet. I usually experience that pleasure because I have followed the dogs somewhere, not because I planned it that way. Once out there, I think: "I need to do this more often. This feels good."
Doing something so natural, so pleasing, reminds me of the wild child I used to be growing up in the country, tearing through the hills and scouring wide swaths of green grass around our house to mere dusty patches, sitting in my favorite Mulberry tree, wading cold creeks to find "crawdabbers," catching lizards in the creek's backwater, and suffering through frog eggs thrown by my cousins in the Great Frog Egg Battle of '68.
My cousins were the dogs of my life back then . . . following their lead brought me to things I would never have discovered otherwise. They made me feel loved (most of the time) and invented fun games I'd never heard of and proved just how willing they were to teach me to experience life fully. I had been a lonely kid in the city, but moving to the country and near my extended family brought a lot of joy with it. They were sort of a compass for me back then, and most of the time they pointed toward fun.
Life is a bit on the quiet side compared to those days. I like to think that my dogs give me a small window back to that time, because they would be happy to do a lot of crazy things at a moment's notice. Still, they sit patiently at my side through the endless days of their short lives. They suffer through my ignorance, my stagnant thoughts and actions, and still show me affection and devotion. So, sometimes in the morning, I will sit in the porch swing and think about all these things. Sometimes the dogs sit with me, most often Bender, the baby Scottie boy, who is a lot like Kyle, and likes to be close. He lets me stick my nose in his coat and give him a good sniff. I like how he smells and he knows it. On other days, they poke about in the yard, seeing if anything new has turned up that might need smelling or peed on. There is always something. If they do discover some special kind of wonderful, they aren't content to take just a sniff, they dive in shoulder first, with their bodies to follow. They are nothing if not committed to that which they find delicious.
My dogs seem to carry with them the secret of life, the knowledge of the truer pathways. They greet the day with an expectation that something good will happen. Bad stuff might have happened in the past, but that doesn't seem to shade them with fear for the future. They wait expectantly for the next great thing to happen, and are ready and waiting to pounce on and savor that moment. They seem fully aware of their special place in God's creation and completely devoted to enjoying it in a real way--a very physical way. It appears to me that they almost dance under God's great light of love shining over them, and revel in every molecule. They experience life in a way I wish I could all the time.
Their joy at beginning a new day carries me along with them, and I find my spirits refreshed simply by sharing the world with them. I am reminded that I should wake every day with gratitude and expectant joy in my heart, just as my dogs seem to. But some days, I wake feeling off-kilter or filled with old fears. I lose focus and forget to be grateful or kind. My sick and old dogs have taught me that there is a certain nobility to continuing to do your best and to show love when things are not so good, instead of dwelling on your aches and pains or circumstances. We all wake to a day of possibility for greatness. The rest is up to us.
I am glad God uses my dogs to speak to me, to point out the things I need to change or remind me that His love is reflected to some small degree in my own relationship with them. I oversee the smallest detail of their lives, their health, their happiness, forgive them when they've done something wrong and I would swim through a flood or walk through fire to save them. It causes me to remember that I am cared for in the deepest sense of the word, that I'm forgiven, that I've been rescued, too. I’m sure that sounds like quite a leap of logic to some, but as a friend pointed out to me recently, God uses the things we love to speak to us. It's true. He created this love I have for them, and I think He uses my dogs to show me that as deep as my devotion is to them, He is an even truer, closer friend to me. I can mess things up pretty well, but he still sees me with kind and loving eyes. He lets me start over again and helps me to do better the next time.
The dog in the poem, like so many of my own little dogs, had been good all his life, had served humbly and patiently. I wonder if that gets harder or easier for dogs as the years pass. It is still hard for me, but I don't have the innocent spirit of my dogs, and I don't serve well without praise. I need a little pat on the head when I get it right. This little dog got rewarded for his fine service, too. In the poem, God grants the little dog's prayer to seize his personal doggy day, to do all he ever wanted to do in his lifetime, to indulge his selfish nature without interference from anyone. And, goodness, does he ever!
I think sometimes the real reason dogs live such short lives is because they live them so fully, unlike many of of us who waste what we are given. They are more in tune with the rhythm of nature and so make good use of exactly what they are given. I don't think dogs fear death--at least it never seemed so to me. The end of the journeys I witnessed proved to me that they know that life is here to be loved, enjoyed, and when it is over, there is nothing to fear, only better things to come. Maybe if I lived one good "dog year," I'd have done all anyone needs to do in a lifetime.
I keep in my heart the image of the little dog in the poem, dancing to greet the sun, sort of flexing his doggy muscles to get at the day, to devour it, to leave nothing undone. It is the way I like to think of all my dogs--in the here and now and in the beyond. Happy and eager and able, but most of all, blessed. It inspires me to get up and say hello to my day with new and appreciative eyes and to count my blessings all day long.
And to throw myself headlong into this life that I love.
The little dog in the poem also reminds me that even after a long life of service, just one day of doing as I please, instead of as I ought, can have less than desirable results.
The Little Dog's Day
All in the town were still asleep,
When the sun came up with a shout and a leap.
In the lonely streets unseen by man,
A little dog danced. And the day began.
All his life he’d been good, as far as he could,
And the poor little beast had done all that he should.
But this morning he swore, by Odin and Thor
And the Canine Valhalla–he’d stand it no more!
So his prayer he got granted–to do just what he wanted,
Prevented by none, for the space of one day.
“Jam incipiedo, sedere facebo,”
In dog-Latin he quoth, “Euge ! sophos ! hurray !”
He fought with the he-dogs, and winked at the she-dogs,
A thing that had neve been heard of before,
“For the stigma of gluttony, I care not a button!” he
Cried, and ate all he could swallow–and more.
He took away sinewy lumps from the shins of old frumps,
And mangled the errand-boys–when he could get’em.
He shammed furious rabies, and bit all the babies, And followed the cats up the trees, and then ate ‘em!
They thought t’was the devil was holding a revel,
And sent for the parson to drive him away;
For the town never knew such a hullabaloo
As that little dog raised–till the end of the day.
When the blood-red sun had gone burning down,
And the lights were lit in the little town,
Outside, in the gloom of the twilight grey,
The little dog died when he’d had his day.
July 1907, Rupert Brooke
*Jam incipiebo = Now we're on our way
*sedere facebo = I'll make them sit up
*Euge = roughly, applause
*sophos = wisdom (higher or lower, worldly or spiritual)
Kyle and Kerry playing with a Kong. This was taken shortly after she came to live with us. (She is the one that is shaved a bit unattractively.)
Kerry: Her silly names were:
Kerry Berry Bushy
aka Kate Bush
aka Katie Girl
aka CarrisBerris Bush (Carris is a family name)
aka The Amazing Kerry Bush
Charlie
Bonnie Sue
Charlie, Bonnie,
& Kerry
at the Outer Banks . . . taking refuge
from the sun.
We have a new Scottie, Dee-Dee. She came on the heels of the loss of Kerry, another of our Scotties. I marvel at how God works these things out so perfectly, how he makes room in our lives and our hearts for new things or ideas--often in ways we could never predict.
We met Dee-Dee originally when we were tracking down the puppies of Bonnie and Charlie, former breeding mates that we got from another breeder locally. Bonnie was seven years of age when we got her and Charlie was ten, and they were immediately spayed and neutered. Then we fell completely in love with them. We lost Charlie only two years after he came to live with us, but they were wonderful, happy years and left an indelible mark on our memories.
Eventually we learned that daughters Sadie Michelle and Roxann Lynn, offspring of Bonnie and Charlie, had ended up in a local breeding facility through the same channels as Dee-Dee (who was not related to Bonnie and Charlie, at least as far as I know). As I understood it, these three dogs came through the same person to end up at this breeding operation.
When I was able to contact the breeding operator, he was ready to stop breeding Scotties anyway, and indicated that if we wanted any of them, we had to buy them all. There were six Scotties in all, but we were only able to buy five of them: Roxie and Sadie, Smokie Braveheart, Jessie and Miles (puppies out of a Dee-Dee and Smokie breeding). It ended up being the Christmas gift my husband and I gave one another--buying all these Scotties. My brother gave us money to buy two of the puppies, Miles and Jesse, for his daughter, my niece. As it turned out, we were not able to keep Sadie and Roxie and the male Scottie, Smokie, but these dogs ended up going to wonderful homes.
My husband, very patient and kind-hearted, has enjoyed the pets we've had over the years. At one time, we had seven dogs and four cats. Within two years, we had lost six pets to cancer or disease. While we were heartbroken, the trend toward less pets, not more, was one we both wholeheartedly embraced. With Bonnie, Kerry, Bender and Joe the hound, plus one cat, Chester, we had quite enough. So, we contacted Wee Beasties of Newport News, Virginia, a great Scottie rescue group, who placed Smokie and Sadie and eventually Jessie (two male Scottie pups ended up being too hard on one another and that was too much for my niece). Jessie went to the rescue group's veterinarian, who had just lost his Scottie, and Roxie ended up going to a veterinarian in our area, one who had done her spay surgery. She is a very happy girl these days, and my reports on the others are equally positive.
Good and sympathetic friends Debbie Hill of K-9 Klippers (a grooming facility) and Kim Moore (who runs a nice boarding facility) helped with the dogs until they could be placed. I will always be grateful to them for their help.
Dee-Dee was the only Scottie we couldn't buy because she was still co-owned by the person who had sold Sadie and Roxie, and this person wanted her back.
I'll never forget the image of her left alone in the dark outbuilding as we took the other Scotties out. She certainly was a sad sight sitting on that muddy straw. To make her little face even more compelling, she had one ear that was damaged in a fight with another Scottie while she was nursing puppies. The ear was bent and scarred due to what must have been a massive hematoma and little medical treatment. She tilted her head sideways and looked sad as we removed the other Scotties. It looked to me as if her Scottie spirit was still intact, because as I was leaving, she sweetly came up to the fence for some attention. I loved her up and told her if I could, I'd bring her home someday. I hated leaving her, but there was nothing to do but pray about it.
The owner of the breeding operation was a nice person in many respects and we had a lot in common. We talked for hours. My husband and I were very grateful to be allowed to buy the daughters of Charlie and Bonnie, but I couldn't help but notice that the Scotties and the other dogs this person was breeding were not being kept in nice conditions. It never fails to surprise me how intelligent people have a disconnect when it comes to the conditions in which they keep their pets or even their breeding stock. It happens more than most of us would like to think. I try to keep an open mind and an open heart, believing that we are all on a journey of discovery and obviously, everyone is on a different place on the trail. We need to be encouraging to one another, remembering that we have all started from somewhere. So, while it wasn't the way that I would have kept my animals, I know that there are many people all over the world who feel and act differently.
All we had been able to do when we left was to give our number to the breeder and ask that if Dee-Dee was ever up for adoption or for sale to give us a call.
Last month, when I heard from the fellow who had ended up with Dee-Dee, I was delighted. He said the breeder have given him our contact information and told him if she was ever going to be sold, we'd be interested. He said she'd just had a litter of pups, but they were weaned and she could be picked up anytime if we wanted her. I was just so surprised and tickled to be getting the chance to purchase her, I barely knew how to respond. It was a busy week and I wasn't able to pick her up right away, but she was constantly in my thoughts. I wasn't sure if I could keep her, but knew that Wee Beasties would once again help us if needed.
I was finally able to make arrangements to meet Dee-Dee and her owner at a local truck stop near my vet's office, and I'll never forget the image of that little smudge of black and gray trotting across the parking lot to my car. Kerry was with me at the time, as she was going to the vet, too. She went back to Dee-Dee's cage and they sniffed one another through the bars in a very friendly manner. It pleased me to see that Kerry accepted Dee-Dee so well. She really got to say "yes" to Dee-Dee before anyone else got a vote.
After exchanging information and money with the owner, Dee-Dee and Kerry went straight to the vet's office. The wonderful vet techs bathed Dee-Dee for me and gave her a quick shave before her exam. Once clean, she writhed around the floor, trying to scratch her itchy back. She had a few fleas and raw spots, so the itchiness was probably from flea allergies. She had given birth to puppies only months before but was surprisingly energetic. She romped all over the vet's exam room.
She got a very thorough exam and our vet gave her a shot of steroid to soothe the itchiness. He also gave us antibiotics to help heal her raw spots. He also discovered during the exam that she had three large inguinal hernias that could prove life-threatening. She could have died because of complications from the hernia if she had gone through another pregnancy. It looked as if Dee-Dee came to us at just the right time. The vet indicated that repair of the hernias could be done at the same time as her spay surgery.
My niece agreed to keep Dee-Dee with her until the surgery could take place. Our Scottie, Bonnie suffers from adrenal exhaustion and it is important that we keep her on an even keel, with little to stress her. An unspayed female in the house would certainly qualify. My niece was anxious to see how much Miles looked like his mother, so that was another reason she was happy to help out with Dee-Dee. She thought they had very similar looks as well as great personalities. Miles is a cutie and a sweetie with a wonderful disposition, so that was a good report to get.
Dee-Dee's surgery repaired the inguinal hernias but also revealed that her left ovary was very enlarged. It was not biopsied, as the doctor felt it did not look unusual otherwise. She sailed through her spay and hernia surgery and came home to our house. No, that wasn't what we had planned, but my niece and her family were concerned that they were becoming very attached to Dee-Dee and didn't feel they could keep her, as they had recently added May, another older Scottie to their family. So they asked that Dee-Dee be brought back to our house after the surgery.
The night before she came to our home, we suffered something shocking, unexpected, but long-dreaded: we lost our oldest Scottie, Kerry. She had been basically a healthy dog, had just had a vet check five days before at the same time as Dee-Dee. All indications were that she was a healthy, old girl. We'd even had blood work to check her for adrenal exhaustion, having seen the results of the same with Bonnie. Just a few months shy of 14 years old, we were congratulating ourselves on having an old and healthy Scottie.
Her last day had actually been a pretty good one. We had spent a lot of the day together, outside exploring the yard for awhile, inside snuggling (I had a bad headache most of the day) and she ate two home-cooked meals with gusto. She even played with our younger Scottie, Bender (the last puppy Bonnie and Charlie produced). I remember now that she had tried to slip away through the trees while we were all in the yard. That was normal for her, and in retrospect, I recall other ill Scotties we've owned who also tried to get off by themselves in unusual spots. Maybe it should have given me cause for concern, but since she had just been declared healthy, I didn't really think much about it. There was probably something I couldn't quite put my finger on . . . like I found myself staring at her and holding her little face in my hands and talking to her more than I ever had before (and I talk a lot to the dogs). But it was not the normal kind of way I dealt with Kerry because she didn't really need or completely enjoy that. Still, in the month before she died, I spent a lot of time telling her I loved her, that she was an amazing dog, that she was the Queen of the house, that she had seen them come and go and she was still standing! When I think of that now, I guess I was feeling some kind of tug, but just didn't really know what it was.
It is hard at this point to really tell the story of Kerry and about she came to be in our lives, because it reminds me of all we've lost. She was another wonderful thing that came from my relationship with my cousins. One of my cousins who was also a co-worker with me at that time was in a line of traffic that was stopped. She got out to talk to a friend and they ended up talking about his Scottie, Kerry, that he was going to have to put to sleep for allergies. Knowing I am the original Scottie nut, she somehow talked him into letting me take her to try and help her as a last resort. Thankfully, he was happy to give her a second chance at life and they made arrangements to have her picked up later that week.
I was off from work at that time, recuperating from a wrist surgery, my Dad was really sick, only weeks from death. So, I more than needed a distraction. I will never forget my cuz Milisa driving up to our home in her pick-up with Kerry in the front seat beside her. She was full of fleas (thus the allergic reaction) and in the end, my cousin helped me hold her while I shaved her completely. It was hard to do with a bad wrist, but we managed and did a lot of laughing all the while. We got the fleas off using a flea comb and hot, soapy water, and after we finally let her go--oh, my goodness, she rolled and romped all over the top floor of our house. It made a person happy just to witness that kind of joy and to think you had any part in it.
My husband had no idea we were getting a new Scottie that day, and when he got home a few hours later, he tried to look stern with me and was just about to lecture me about how we didn't need more dogs when suddenly and unexpectedly Kerry made an energetic leap up onto our coffee table and pretty much boinged off it straight into his lap. I'll never forget the play of emotions on his face-- a twinge of anger, surprise, then how he broke into laughter at her happy-go-lucky thrill at being with us. It was so contagious, you couldn't help but be carried along by her joy. He ended up talking to her in that "daddy" kind of way within minutes. I knew she was home free after that. I escaped a lecture, but only through Kerry's innate charm.
Later that week I took her to meet my Dad and he liked her immediatel and she responded to him pretty much the way she had with Pat, shyly shimmying up to the couch where he lay to get any attention he might bestow. As he talked to her ("Hi, Girl! How you doin'?"), he looked up at my Mom to ask if she thought maybe they could keep her. She of course had no complaints, but then some kind of look of recognition came across his face, and I guess he was realizing that it would be my Mom left alone to deal with her, and they already had two dogs to care for at that time. So, he let the matter drop, but the rest of the visit he spent a lot of time talking and playing with Kerry. I made it a point when I visited my Dad to try to bring Kerry with me. Something about the sight of her cheered my Dad in some small way. We needed all of that we could get.
We found out later that for the first four years of her life Kerry had been kept in an unfinished basement with a dirt floor. What was up with that, I ask you? I talked to the wife of the man who had told my cousin about Kerry in the traffic line. I told her how great Kerry was doing and sent her pictures of her. I was completely shocked when she told me in a fit of honesty that she had "never really liked that dog." So, it was no surprise that she cared less how she was doing with us. Her husband, however, showed more interest and was glad she was doing well, so I kept them informed about her if just for his sake. I always wonder how anyone could not love that dear little thing. She didn't have a single bad habit and didn't bother anyone, but some people are so miserable they couldn't be happy if they were a taste-tester at a pie factory. (Come on: you folks know who you are.)confined to an unfinished, dirt-floor basement, so when she came to be with us she made it clear that she preferred being outside on the back porch most of the time; it had to be pretty hot or very cold to drive her indoors. As she grew older, that began to change and she spent more time indoors with our herd. Still, I always called her my "Wildie Throwback Scottie." She looked like a romp through the heather and bramles would suit her fine and she had that air of old knowledge about her and she looked like a picture of the earlier type Scotties, not so much like the modern Scotties of today with big heads and squared-off bodies.
She was scared of thunderstorms, loved home cooking and had bladder stones (one huge one removed). In later life, she developed what we thought was Cushings which slid into Addison's due to treatment with Lysodren. She then recovered somewhat, but was diagnosed as having an underactive thyroid, and so took Soloxine every day for that. She had a bad back that required Adequan shots and occasional administration of Tramadol. In the last year of her life she had to have a few large biopsies taken in her mouth (oral cancer is prevalent in Scotties). She had a bit of a rough time recovering, but afterward, seemed to eat even better, which made me wonder if some of the areas had been painful.
I thought we were doing really well by her and staying on top of everything, regular blood work and yearly ultrasounds, home-cooked meals, no vaccines, no chemicals except very occasional flea control. She got the best care we could give her, but like a car that has had really good maintenance, there still comes a day on which it will break down for good. And so she did.
There are still thousands of words left to be said about her, but the final truth is that she was a blessing. And a good girl. And we loved her. And I miss her so much. She brightened our home in ways I am still realizing.
The first sign of trouble for Kerry was about six in the evening, after our respective dinners, when she started coughing just a little. A few minutes passed and the cough started to sound wet. I immediately located some Lasix we had given another dog, our hound Brownie, now gone, and halved it and gave it to Kerry. I then dispatched my husband with her to the Emergency Animal Clinic. I didn't go because my head was still killing me and I didn't think this was going to be a big deal. She just had a little cough. She'd once had pneumonia and I think somehow in my headachey state, I thought maybe this cough could be due to a weakness in the lungs and that with vet care, she would certainly recover. Usually, I am pretty in tune with my dogs , but I certainly had no insight that we would lose her that night, else I would have been in that car to the Emergency Clinic, headache or not.
My husband called me later to tell me that he almost lost her in the car on the way to the clinic. She was having great difficulty breathing and was cyanotic (lips and gums blue) by the time she arrived at the Emergency Clinic, about fifteen minutes from our home. I had taken some of my heavy duty stuff for my headache and so I wasn't in any shape to drive to the Emergency Clinic to be with them. I just said a simple prayer that God would be merciful to our girl and spare her pain and fear. I just didn't think she would die that night.
My husband stayed with her until about 1:00 in the morning, and because he had to work the next morning, came home when he thought she had stabilized. No sooner was he home and in bed than the vet at the Emergency Clinic called to ask if they could have permission to euthanize Kerry. She had taken a distinct turn for the worst, and in their words, she looked really scared because she could not breathe. (A haunting image that will stay with me forever, I promise you.) We were shocked and sorry we were not with her, but of course gave the go-ahead to do whatever was needed. She actually died while I was still on the phone with the vet, before the shot could even be given. I will always regret that I was not with her, that I didn't realize the true gravity of the situation.
After I hung up the phone, my husband and I both just sat up in bed and looked at one another, like we couldn't believe she was gone. I cried a lot and for a long time. I kept saying "I can't believe this!"
When my husband and I woke up the next morning, it seemed like it had all been a bad dream. But it became real when we realized we had to pick up Kerry's body early that morning before the Emergency Clinic closed. My husband volunteered to do that, and then came straight home to bury her. He is always good at working through sadness and loss. I honestly could not go out and be any help to him. I was just so bummed out. I needed to get my head straight because in a few hours, Dee-Dee was due to be picked up at the vet's office to be brought home after the spay surgery.
It was a very confusing day for everyone concerned, not to mention for our other dogs. We laid Kerry's body out for them to inspect and they had a variety of reactions. Bender, who had loved and played with Kerry right up until that last day, ran past the doorway to the room where was and didn't seem to want to go near it once he realized it was her. Bonnie sniffed her and then went on her way. She is old enough to have seen death before. I was depending on our hound, Joe, to have a normal reaction, so I left him alone with her while I went upstairs to take a shower. Next thing I knew, he had torn the plastic she was lying on and strewn it all over the place. He was barking at Kerry's body and trying to move her. I was surprised that he was so upset, but Kerry and Joe normally slept together. For some reason, as she got older, she would not sleep near the other Scotties, but chose to be near Joe. Perhaps losing his only dog friend in the house weighed heavily on him. We let him bark and carry on as long as we could, but in the end had to lead him away and put him in another room until he could calm down.
We buried our Kerry in the yard beside Kyle, another beloved Scottie. They had been good friends having been the same age (she was four when she came to us with a birthday in November, same as Kyle), and it seemed right to put her there beside him. I put a large cast iron boot scraper in the shape of a Scottie on her grave and planted some shrubs and flowers to decorate the spot. However, let it be said that the cemetery for the furry ones is getting far too large. We've lost so many that were so dear to us. I sometimes think my heart is getting worn out from all the good-byes we've said in the last few year, like the sadness never abates, just continues to pile up like a snow drift. I know in my heart that if you really love anything, you make yourself vulnerable to exquisite hurt. And yet, we wouldn't opt to have it any other way. The love kind of makes up for the way it always ends.
Kerry had witnessed so many changes in our house, had also said good-bye to all of her friends one by one. Sometimes I looked at her and felt we alone shared the complete sorrow of those losses, but as she grew older she became the kind of Scottie that played it close to the furry chest. She was very private and she didn't allow me to comfort her nor did she let me hold her and cry on her neck. She really pretty much only seemed to need me for reassurance when there were thunderstorms, and then she would come barreling up to the couch or the bed and settle herself right near me. I guess she knew deep down that I was going to keep her safe. And there were those moments when she would just look at me with these beautiful, brown soulful eyes and hold my gaze for a moment or two. If you've ever known someone who kept walls around them but let down their defenses just for you, then you can understand the thrill that Kerry's small gestures created in my heart. She liked her home and family and showed us that, but she was always a girl who kept the call of the wild in her heart. She was her own dog, through and through.
On that day of final good-bye, we all felt a little off-balance and wished that Dee-Dee could have come on another day instead of the one that Kerry had passed away. It seemed disloyal in some way to be distracted by this new dog; I felt like I wasn't giving Kerry's passing the proper respect. The way it worked out, after burying Kerry, my husband had to immediately shower and go get Dee-Dee. I don't think either of us knew what we should be feeling and how to act, but he carried the burden for both of us that day.
Then something great happened: Dee-Dee walked in the door and began to interact with us, and I felt my sadness ease a bit and my heart really soften toward her. I saw so many of Kerry's traits in her--some I can't even put into word except to say it was some kind of deep thing, a spiritual thing. She was fun-loving and happy, always eager for attention, with her little tail whipping back and forth. If she had jumped up and straight into Pat's lap, channeling Kerry's grand entrance, I don't think I would have been on bit surprised The whole thing had that "Hi, I'm home" kind of vibe to it.
There have been many times in the last month when I've looked at Dee and mistaken her for Kerry and that's because they are similar in a lot of ways. Kerry had once lived in a dark place, mostly unloved and uncared for. Parts of Dee-Dee's life were eerily similar. Kerry and Dee-Dee shared what looked to us like a sense of joy in meeting us and the rest of our herd. Like Kerry before her, Dee-Dee interacted very well with the other dogs in our household and seemed to know what she should and shouldn't do to upset the others. She had that rare thing in a dog: super social skills.
But I was left with the decision of what to do. Would I always connect Dee-Dee to Kerry's death? I had to sleep on it for several days before I realized that if Kerry could say anything to me, she would vote yes to keep Dee-Dee with us, to love her and care for her as we once had for Kerry. After all, hadn't she given her the doggy "tails up" when she first met her at the truck stop? I had to admit, yes, she did indeed.
You already know how this story ends . . .Dee-Dee ended up becoming one of our permanent herd and there's been no looking back. Bonnie seems to have accepted her very well--one of my biggest concerns--and everyone else acts as if she has been here for her whole life. She already has a host of silly names (as do all our pets), which proves she is really and truly one of the family. Names we find ourselves calling out are: Foxy Loxy, Lucy, Deeder, Dee-Deeburg, and early on, Sandra Dee. She answers to them all.
She loves the home-cooking the other dogs now take for granted and dances all around the kitchen at mealtimes, which I find quite inspiring as Head Dog Chef. She eats really well and is always on the hunt to see if anyone has left a morsel of food she might snag. The first night here, she plopped herself on the bed beside me and snuggled into the curve of my legs and fell asleep. The only time she moved was to get up on my pillow and go back to sleep with her head near mine. She seems relaxed and content with both of us and doesn't seem (yet) to have established a preference for my husband or for me. She grows dearer every day and I keep finding new things about her to adore. Bender thinks she is his personal plaything, and they keep all the area rugs scattered blazing a trail through the house at all hours of the day. She is good for him and vice-versa.
The sound of those little scrambling Scottie feet tearing through the house makes me smile. I am sure that our "Kerry Berry Bush" has a sort of Scottie smile, too, as she looks down on all of this. Until I see her again, that is how I am going to think of her: Happy and waiting to see us all again.
WE'LL GO NO MORE A-ROVING
So, we'll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving, And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a-roving By the light of the moon.
