ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1997, Roanoke Times
DATE: Monday, March 3, 1997 TAG: 9703030087
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-7 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MAUREEN McCAHAN ANDERSON
YESTERDAY was your last day of life, and I tried to make it special for you. Instead of nutritionally balanced dog food, you had a cheese omelette for breakfast. We went for a pleasant drive in the car, one of your favorite activities. I contemplated taking you for a very short hike in the woods, but was afraid you were already too weak to handle even a little exercise. How you loved hikes on the Appalachian Trail!
I thought of the first time Russ and I took you to McAfee's Knob on a cool October day. We forgot to take water with us and the day grew warm as we climbed to the top. You became hot and thirsty. Some Boy Scouts at the knob came to your rescue with their canteens. You were so grateful to them. So were we. It was the last time we forgot to take water on a hike.
This morning, finding one of your Milkbones in the pocket on the inside of my car door brought tears to my eyes. It reminded me of the way you liked to hide your biscuits in unusual places. I had to chuckle as I recalled the many times you buried them in the mulch in our yard, then watched out the window to make sure no one discovered them. If a person walked past the house or a bird landed in the yard, you asked to be let outside so you could move your snacks to another, more secure spot.
I laughed thinking about the way you moved your mouth toward the feet of strangers who entered our home, using your border collie instincts to try to "herd" them back out the door away from your beloved people. You were too obedient to nip, but just couldn't resist doing something to express your displeasure at their arrival.
Oh, your obedience! You were the best dog. You rarely left the yard without permission. Trespassing squirrels and cats would get chased but safely fled away as you stopped at the edge of the yard and watched them run into the distance. Raisin, a tabby cat that lives across the street, finally realized that your pursuits were limited and began a daily routine of coming into the yard to taunt you. After fleeing into her own yard, she would sit down and smugly glare at you. One evening, you had had enough and chased her all the way home. I heard you yelp and saw a scratch on your nose when you returned moments later. It wasn't necessary to scold you for leaving the yard, because you were riddled with guilt. But you must have felt a great deal of satisfaction when Raisin discontinued her visits.
You also regularly crossed the street to visit the family of your best friend, a cocker spaniel named Lady. Most of the time you waited for Sueanne to call you so you could cross when no traffic was on the road. It was important to you to check on your "other" family.
When Piper, our daughter's Maltese, had three puppies at our house, you wanted so much to take care of them. Piper wouldn't let you near her precious little ones, so you took three toys out of your toy box and carried them around for weeks. You once held a toy in your mouth for an entire hour-long walk! How thrilled you were when Piper began to share her puppies with you! You washed them and gently played with them for hours. You were a marvelous nanny!
I pictured you streaking through fields, your black coat glistening in sunshine as you energetically zigged and zagged across the grass. You were tireless and loved to run. I thought of the first time you helped me give a children's sermon at Grace Covenant Church. You were supposed to run from the back of the church to the front where I was standing. But since you couldn't see me and I had used a microphone when I called you, you raced from speaker to speaker all over the room hunting for me! When you finally spotted me, you leaped over a group of children seated on the floor near me. It was certainly a dramatic entrance! Because of your great intelligence, this scene could not be repeated. You knew that I would be at the front of each succeeding church and always made a bee-line to me.
Today, I shoveled snow from the driveway and shed tears remembering how you always chased each shovelful of snow as I pitched it onto the yard. You loved snow. You would race through it with such delight and roll in it with sweet abandon. You encouraged me to toss snowballs high into the air so you could leap up and catch them in your mouth.
The snow reminded me of Christmas. Each year you snooped through the presents under the tree to find your gift. You always knew which package was yours and enthusiastically ripped off the wrapping paper and would begin playing with your new toy. One year, you received a big rubber pencil that squeaked. You absolutely loved it and spent hours carrying it around the house making it squeak. The noise became very irritating to our family, so I put the toy in a closet for a while to give our ears a break. You sat in front of the closet door and whined until we gave it back! This past Christmas, you received a fuzzy toy hedgehog which you loved so much that you slept with it and took it with you whenever we rode in the car.
Eleven years ago, I saw you for the first time, in a cage with six other puppies at the SPCA. Although my children and I were instantly drawn to you, we looked at every puppy. There were a lot of them that day. But we kept coming back to you, a beautiful, sweet, 10-week-old border collie. I've always believed that God fully intended for us to be together. A wonderful match.
You were a perfect dog from the beginning, eager to please and always looking into my eyes trying to anticipate what I wanted. When I tossed rocks from my garden into the woods, you carefully retrieved each one for me! It once took you hours to bring me a very large rock which you couldn't lift. You slid it up the hill with your nose!
You took upon yourself the duty of constantly watching over me, relentlessly following me from room to room. When I went to bed at night, you contentedly sighed with relief that your daily duty had ended and you could, at last, rest.
When we took our daily three-mile walks, you thought you held me on the leash. If I dropped it, you would immediately pick up the looped end and place it back in my hand. You wanted to make sure that I wouldn't get away! Many times, we walked without the leash. You always obediently walked near me along the edge of the road, waiting at each intersection for permission to cross. You liked to stop to visit the small children we passed so they could pet you.
Last week, we took our last walk together. You started out with your normal, perky, joyous attitude. After the first mile, you seemed to be tired or in pain. We slowed down and returned home. After a long rest, you seemed fine again. A couple of days later, your tail drooped and all of your movements seemed to take effort. Thinking you were having arthritis pain, I took you to the vet.
Dr. Edwards' news that you had a large mass on your spleen and internal bleeding was an unexpected shock. She said you were not likely to be in pain, would become increasingly weaker, and had only a couple of weeks left. I hugged you and cried for the next couple of hours.
On the following day, as usual, you accompanied me in the car as I made my rounds. You always sat behind the steering wheel while you waited. When you tried to move to the passenger seat to make room for me, you stopped halfway and began to whine with pain. I then knew that I had to be fair to you and not let you suffer. In the morning, I went to the vet clinic, tearfully did all the paperwork, and paid for your euthanasia. It would have been nearly impossible for me to emotionally handle these matters once you were there with me. I took home with me two tranquilizers to give you before your last trip to see Dr. Edwards. You hated going to the vet so much. I wanted to be sure that you wouldn't be upset during the last moments of your life.
Later in the day, you had a double cheeseburger in which the tranquilizers were embedded. You were really surprised and pleased to get such a great treat. I held you on my lap and told you what a good girl you have always been. You happily looked into my eyes and became very drowsy. When I went into the kitchen to answer the phone, you used all your strength to crawl to a place where you could keep an eye on me, still on duty. A short time later, I carried you to the car and a couple of neighbors came over to say goodbye. All of us were crying.
At the vet's, you were relaxed and contentedly leaned against me, resting your head on my hand. With compassion, Dr. Edwards gently gave you an injection. For the last time you turned your head to lovingly look into my eyes making sure I hadn't wandered off. You were devoted and on duty to your very last breath. I miss you, my beloved Sneakers.
Maureen McCahan Anderson is a special-education teacher at Cave Spring High School.
LENGTH: Long : 143 lines ILLUSTRATION: PHOTO: Sneakers.by CNB