Filling in the Gap, Part 2: Saying Hello...

Before we ever bring a dog or a cat into our lives, we know that we will only have them for a short time--perhaps ten or twelve years or, if we're extremely lucky, perhaps twenty or more. Knowing we will lose them, we adopt them anyway, believing that the rewards of sharing life with a companion animal are worth the emotional pain when they die. Whether from illness, accident, or old age, it is never easy to say goodbye. They are family, and just as we grieve the loss of human family and friends, so we grieve the loss of our furry friends who are also a part of our family.

Everyone handles grief differently. For some, the thought of bringing another animal into their lives is too much. They don't want to endure the pain of loss again, or they feel disloyal to their deceased pet if they bring another animal home. When our cat, Dickens died, we waited five months before getting another cat. But when Mindy died, we felt like our hearts had been run through a shredder. I couldn't sleep, food had no appeal, and the house felt empty. As my husband said, her absence was "loud." The only comfort was knowing that we had given her a good home and lots of love, and now her death opened the door for us to offer a "forever home" to another dog in need.

Paige enjoying her new bone, toys, and bed.

After two weeks, the pain of Mindy's loss seemed only to intensify. Not only did I miss my beautiful friend, but my health began to suffer because she was no longer there to meet those needs. I found brief moments of comfort by looking at dogs on the internet, but none of them "clicked." Then I saw a picture of a black, white, and brindle dog on the Humane Society of Chittenden County's  website, and felt drawn to her, so I called and asked about her.

On December 27, two weeks to the day of losing Mindy, we visited HSCC, and spent time with Paige, a Border Collie-Pit Bull mix, or "fuzzy Pit" as they called her. She was about three years old and had been rescued from a horrendous overcrowding/breeding situation. We were warned that she seemed skittish around men, yet she seemed to take to both of us right away.

Sometimes you're just too tired to make
 it all the way onto the bed! 

Her appearance and background were as different from Mindy's as night from day. Paige was half Mindy's size, totally different color, and different breed. Mindy's first family had taken excellent care of her, including having her spayed, keeping her up-to-date on vaccinations, and providing a clean environment. Paige had had several litters of pups, had no vet care, and had been kept in a small pen with seven other dogs plus her puppies, up to their elbows in their own waste. Yet, in spite of her rough beginning in life, Paige was affectionate, intelligent, and eager to learn. The HSCC staff had taught her to sit, and when I gave the command, she quickly obeyed. Then I tried her out on a few other basic commands. After two or three times, she understood what I wanted and did it. We knew she was meant for us when we found out later that someone else had already begun the adoption process for her, but never followed through. We filled out the paperwork on the spot, and Paige became a member of our family. She continues to shower us with affection and puppy kisses, enjoys her training, and is doing well with socialization. Her biggest challenge is to remember that the cats are family, too. When she licks them, I'm still not sure if she's giving them kisses or conducting a taste test.

       Paige in her new fleece-lined, waterproof coat.

During those two weeks between Mindy and Paige, I learned that I need a dog in my life. Maybe it's because when I was two years old, I woke up Christmas morning with a puppy licking my face. Perhaps it's because, over the years, I've had the privilege of knowing and sharing my life with many wonderful dogs, each with its own personality, and each of whom taught me something about myself and about what dogs are capable of. Maybe it's because dogs were my confidantes and best friends when I was growing up, or maybe it's because of their unconditional love. Whatever it is, I do know that when I don't have a dog in my life I feel an overwhelming loneliness that nothing else can fill. And now, at this stage of my life, I need a dog to assist me with the stresses and tasks of daily living.

Maybe the reason God put dogs on earth was to teach us how to love, how to enjoy the simple things in life, how to be in the moment, and to mirror His love. Whatever the reason, I am grateful every day for this little "fuzzy Pit" that has helped to heal the pain in my heart, makes me laugh every day in spite of chronic pain, and fills each day with joy.

Filling in the Gap, Part 1: Saying Goodbye...

When I posted pictures of Mindy on National Dog Biscuit Day in February 2011, I had no idea we would lose her to cancer just eight months later. She would have been thirteen years old in January 2012, though we used her adoption date, July 13, as her birthday.

Mindy's first family had moved from Tennessee to New England, but their new housing didn't allow dogs, so six-year-old Mendon (her former name) found herself at the Humane Society of Chittenden County in South Burlington, Vermont.

About the same time, my doctor said I needed a dog to help with some of my health issues. One look at Mindy's photo on the HSCC website and it was love at first sight, so we made an appointment to see her in person. David, whose previous experiences with dogs had been negative ones, knew I had grown up with dogs and trusted my judgment. But when he first saw her, his only thought was, "Oh, my gosh, she's HUGE!" At 100 pounds, this gorgeous Australian Shepherd-Collie mix was certainly no lap dog! But she was gentle, sweet, and very intelligent. As we filled out the adoption papers, another family came in to see her. Had we been just five minutes later, we might have missed out.

Mindy was a dream to train. She quickly learned both the obedience commands and service behaviors I needed her to perform, occasionally modifying one or two to  make the easier for both of us. And, if she saw a need, she filled it without being trained or told to do so. She loved people, bonded with our cats and with us, and feared nothing but thunder. She even picked up after herself!

Because she was an older dog, it wasn't surprising that she had some health issues. She had been shot in the foot as a puppy, the paw had healed crooked, and she still had several pellets in her forearm which predisposed her to arthritis. By the time she turned twelve, it impossible for her to go up and down the stairs, or hop into the car. So, I began sleeping downstairs so she wouldn't be lonely, we bought her an orthopedic dog bed, and a dog ramp for the car. 

Shortly before Christmas 2011, Mindy had a brief stomach illness, but appeared to quickly recover. Then, when David took her out one morning, she collapsed on the deck and couldn't get up. With both of us helping and coaxing, we got her into the house. After a brief rest, she stood up and walked into the living room, but we decided the vet should check her over. Our regular vet wasn't in, but the one who examined her thought she might have a urinary tract infection, and that perhaps the collapse was due to increased arthritis pain. She said if Mindy threw up overnight, to bring her back the next day. Not only was Mindy sick, but the next morning she collapsed again. We took her in and our vet ran tests and took x-rays. Mindy was dehydrated, so we had to leave her there to receive IV fluids.

We returned home to await the test results. Two hours later the phone rang, and the vet said, "Mindy's in serious trouble." An abdominal fluid aspiration showed cells from an aggressive cancer in her abdomen, and her kidneys were shutting down. She said they could do an ultrasound, but it would only tell us the specific kind of cancer that was killing her, and wouldn't change the prognosis. We rushed back to the vet's office, and they brought Mindy in on a gurney. As David, our daughter Sarah, and I gathered around her, it was obvious that Mindy was suffering. It was time to let her go. We spent time with her, assuring her of our love; and when the end came, it was very peaceful-- for her; but for us, the shock and pain of her sudden loss was devastating.

[see Filling in the Gap, part 2: Saying Hello...]