On Christmas Day at 2:52 p.m., our beloved little Beanie crossed over to the other side where dogs are angels.
We never did know how old this small Red Heeler was, adopting her from a shelter in July of 2000 when she was already fully grown. We figure she about made it to her nineties, though, in person years.
When she was a pup, her first owner had her tail cut off, since this is what some people do for vanity. With nothing to wag, it wasn’t always easy to tell when Beanie was happy. But with a best friend like Larry (our yellow lab who himself turned angel a while back) for ten years, and the kind of food she likes (she was darn fussy), and a warm nightly place on someone’s bed, she had nothing to really complain about.
When she was younger, she came along on road trips to southern and central California (one time wading in a trout-filled stream high on Mount Whitney, another time peeing by a sequoia), St. Ignatius in western Montana (where, surprise, there’s an Amish community), Moab, Utah, and many other neat places that dogs don’t seem overwhelmingly impressed by. They’re just happy to be riding anywhere in cars and Beanie was no different.
About four or five years ago, her back legs started stiffening up. Canine osteoarthritis, probably from jumping in and out of the SUV too many times. So she wasn’t much of a playmate to Piddly and MeeMee, the two new additions to the family after Larry’s departure. They’re red heelers too (well, Piddly is half Pomeranian, meaning he’s a needy little twerp), and are most contented when roughhousing and submission fighting. So little old Beanie was the odd gal out.
But she was always the queen of Karie’s Castle, the matriarch, the exalted one. Her nickname was The Boss. Heelers are bred to be dictatorial around cattle. We have no cows so Larry got bossed around for a decade. Being a lab, he went with the flow.
Just over a year ago Beanie lost some of her mojo when her legs seized up completely, and found it hard to exert her authority over the younger dogs from a puppy pillow.
Pet meds eased any soreness but she was done with walking for good. Her personality and appetite remained firmly in place, though, and she ruled benignly from her cushion for thirteen more months. Until, with a vengeance, a sapping weakness and pain caught up with her rather suddenly and wouldn’t let go.
We pulled the on-call vet from his Christmas dinner and convened at Payson Family Pet Hospital. While we held her, baby-faced Dr. Caron sent little Beanie into slumber for the last time.
As I prepared a plot, Karie sewed a beautiful soft flannel shroud printed with tiny flowers. Beanie was gently placed inside it upon a custom foam pillow (as she always insisted on comfort). We laced it shut with a ribbon with hearts on it, but not before kissing her goodbye.
She was laid to rest in the backyard next to Larry, under the shady watchfulness of a stout red cedar at 5:27 p.m., just as daylight faded.
We love and miss her dearly and will forever.
We never did know how old this small Red Heeler was, adopting her from a shelter in July of 2000 when she was already fully grown. We figure she about made it to her nineties, though, in person years.
When she was a pup, her first owner had her tail cut off, since this is what some people do for vanity. With nothing to wag, it wasn’t always easy to tell when Beanie was happy. But with a best friend like Larry (our yellow lab who himself turned angel a while back) for ten years, and the kind of food she likes (she was darn fussy), and a warm nightly place on someone’s bed, she had nothing to really complain about.
When she was younger, she came along on road trips to southern and central California (one time wading in a trout-filled stream high on Mount Whitney, another time peeing by a sequoia), St. Ignatius in western Montana (where, surprise, there’s an Amish community), Moab, Utah, and many other neat places that dogs don’t seem overwhelmingly impressed by. They’re just happy to be riding anywhere in cars and Beanie was no different.
About four or five years ago, her back legs started stiffening up. Canine osteoarthritis, probably from jumping in and out of the SUV too many times. So she wasn’t much of a playmate to Piddly and MeeMee, the two new additions to the family after Larry’s departure. They’re red heelers too (well, Piddly is half Pomeranian, meaning he’s a needy little twerp), and are most contented when roughhousing and submission fighting. So little old Beanie was the odd gal out.
But she was always the queen of Karie’s Castle, the matriarch, the exalted one. Her nickname was The Boss. Heelers are bred to be dictatorial around cattle. We have no cows so Larry got bossed around for a decade. Being a lab, he went with the flow.
Just over a year ago Beanie lost some of her mojo when her legs seized up completely, and found it hard to exert her authority over the younger dogs from a puppy pillow.
Pet meds eased any soreness but she was done with walking for good. Her personality and appetite remained firmly in place, though, and she ruled benignly from her cushion for thirteen more months. Until, with a vengeance, a sapping weakness and pain caught up with her rather suddenly and wouldn’t let go.
We pulled the on-call vet from his Christmas dinner and convened at Payson Family Pet Hospital. While we held her, baby-faced Dr. Caron sent little Beanie into slumber for the last time.
As I prepared a plot, Karie sewed a beautiful soft flannel shroud printed with tiny flowers. Beanie was gently placed inside it upon a custom foam pillow (as she always insisted on comfort). We laced it shut with a ribbon with hearts on it, but not before kissing her goodbye.
She was laid to rest in the backyard next to Larry, under the shady watchfulness of a stout red cedar at 5:27 p.m., just as daylight faded.
We love and miss her dearly and will forever.