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| Princess Sadie in her prime |
“Dogs are not our whole life
but they make our life whole.”
Roger Caras
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.
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