|Princess Sadie in her prime|
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Saying Goodbye to Sadie
“Dogs are not our whole life
but they make our life whole.”
It is hard to believe that our beloved Sadie is gone. It seems like just yesterday that my husband and I adopted a little red-haired, four-footed bundle of joy and brought her home to live with our mixed pack of cats, dogs, wildlife and people.
Sadie was one of only two pups in her litter and her owners were very protective of her future. First, we had to pass a telephone questionnaire: Where did we live? How many people were in the home? Were there other animals? Would someone be home during the day to keep her company? Would she be an inside or outside dog? Was our property fenced? It was quite an interrogation!
After the telephone test we were given the family’s address in Portland and allowed to visit the puppies in person. We were on our best behavior. After all, we were being judged for parental suitability. We met the canine birth parents, played with the puppies and were instructed in the care and feeding of Mini-Dachshunds by the family’s two teenage sons.
We promised to love, honor and cherish her. More instructions were given. Finally, we were accepted. The big question was whether or not this little girl would accept us. Fortunately, as we started the long drive home she quickly settled down. I covered her with a blanket as she nestled in my arms and immediately climbed into our hearts.
At home our tiny bundle was checked out and accepted by our resident German Shepherd. Lady would become her BFF (Best Friend Forever). Thus the bonding of the pack began and an indescribably wonderful 14-year relationship of love, joy and companionship was established.
It was one of mutual co-dependence. We loved her. She loved us. We took care of her. She took care of us. She was our buddy. Our best friend. Our comforter. Our joy. Just watching her happily bound out into the meadow, barking and wagging her tail made us happy.
Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. About 18-months ago Sadie slowed down dramatically after a back injury. Sammy, her 5-year old buddy, would come bounding into the house and bark for her to come outside and play. She wasn’t interested. Instead, she was content to settle down indoors and watch him from a fluffy cushion overlooking the deck and meadow.
As the year progressed I realized she was showing her age. Her once shiny red coat was now a dusty brown and her muzzle was gray. Her vision was cloudy and hearing diminished. In a few short weeks she was completely deaf. To get her attention we had to touch her on the back and then use sign language to communicate commands.
With her loss of hearing came some behavioral changes-especially a separation anxiety. She developed a particularly annoying habit of whining or shrilly barking when she wanted attention. She would sharply (and constantly) yip to come in or go out of the house. Most days she would tremble with frustration as she peered outside.
This summer her hindquarters quit cooperating with her forepaws. Going up and down stairs was trial and error. If the stairs were narrow and steep she would not attempt them. Even outside, where the steps were wide and broad she hesitated. Casual, carefree running and jumping stopped and her breathing became labored.
She was being treated for a mysterious allergy that caused violent sneezing. Then there was a diagnosis of bronchitis. Finally, late one Sunday evening after she had been coughing and sneezing uncontrollably all day, we took her to the Veterinary ER in Springfield. At midnight we had a new diagnosis of sinus infection caused by a possible nasal blockage. We went home with new medications, heavy hearts and a very sick dog.
Days went by and she didn’t get better. A specialist was consulted and it was decided that our precious pup had an inoperable nasal tumor. A specially compounded medication had a fifty-percent chance of buying her some time. Question: Time for what? It seemed that it would only delay her inevitable death. What were we to do?
The next morning Sadie was clearly suffering. She and I snuggled on her favorite chair but she didn’t want to be touched or petted. She couldn’t breath but she could talk. And talk she did. She looked me in the eyes and yipped and yelped and gasped. It seemed to me that she was repeatedly saying, “Help me!”
I gave her a sedative to calm her down and prayed. We have had to have other dogs euthanized and it’s never easy to “play God.” So I asked, “Would it be in her best interest to extend her life or end it?
One by one, the answers to that question fell into place. Sadie was 14 years old. She had a terminal illness. This illness (tumor, unable to breathe, constant coughing spasms) could not be significantly alleviated by medication. She wasn’t getting enough oxygen. Treatment would only maintain a poor quality of life. She had lost all joy in being a dog. There was no gain in medication. Only pain.
On Friday, Oct. 11 at 5:30 p.m. Sadie crossed over to that place where Lady, her BFF, and the rest of our pack were waiting. As she left this world and our tears fell, I thought my heart would break. We had promised to love, honor and cherish her. She did all that and more for us. Now she was gone from our lives but lives forever in our hearts—along all the other pets that have made us better people.
Betty Kaiser’s Chatterbox is about people, places, family, and other matters of the heart.