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It's been four years since I posted here. I've just lost another friend.
It's now 3:40 a.m. Tuesday, October 17th. About four hours ago I led both dogs outside for a nocturnal pee, brought them back in, fed them some Alpo Mini Snaps. Mimi gobbled up several but left two, which was not typical, and ambled off into the bedroom. Okay, I thought, then I'll give her a wiener for a night treat. She lay on her side on her cushion in the semidark. I approached with the juicy offering. Her mouth was partly open, which was unusual. Her upturned eye did not fix on me, but stared blankly into space. Her ribcage was still. Uh-oh, I said out loud several times. I briefly tried CPR on her but she was already gone. Just like that. Literally one minute after drinking from her water bowl and eating dog biscuits, and without a whimper or a groan.
She came to us seven years ago, to the month. Karie's parents had three dogs in their home, two more than they needed. Piddly and Mimi had been foisted on them by family members who decided they couldn't take care of the dogs. We took Piddly, half-Pomeranian, half-Red Heeler, off their hands in July, 2010. Mimi was going to be dropped off at a shelter, we were told later. A probable death sentence. So we went and fetched her.
She was a pure bred Red Heeler, or Australian Cattle Dog as designated by the AKC. For a domestic canine, she came across a little aloof, but the trait isn't uncommon in the breed. She was rusty-colored with a few light speckles and had the characteristic forehead star that seemed to glow in dusky light (for which I would later be grateful). She was a large, long-limbed specimen for her type, elegantly formed and impressively athletic, especially when fetching balls and rubber chickens. I always thought of her as the Amazon of dogs. She was the most beautiful animal I've ever seen.
The problem was that we already had two dogs in Beanie and Piddly, the maximum number allowed by city code. A neighborhood friend had expressed that he wanted a furry friend for his snorting little pug. When we introduced the pug to Mimi, three times his size, she commenced bullying him with the single-mindedness she was bred for. This works well for cows but not for pint-sized companion dogs. So we took some glamor shots (like the pic attached here) and posted her bio on Craigslist and KSL classifieds. A few potential owners called but they lost interest after I grilled them for suitability. She had to have a yard large enough to romp in. She had to be fed something other than budget kibbles. She had to be brought in at night. She had to have a bed to sleep on, or at least her own large comfy cushion. She had to be loved and cherished.
A guy in Spanish Fork seemed like a good candidate. He had a rural property and had kept many animals. I left her with him but felt awful about it, like I'd abandoned her. Hours later I got a phone call. Come pick up this damn dog, the guy said. Evidently, when he went out to bring her inside she had barked at him, and he didn't like it.
An old farmer from Podunk Utah called. He needed a farm dog. We took Mimi eighty miles up US-189 to Morgan. The farmer was the grizzled, competent type, an experienced hand. I still worried, though. I called him that night to check. Oh, she slipped the leash and run off, he told me. She'll show up in a couple days so I'm not too concerned, he said. But I was. I didn't sleep. Next day I called to see if she'd showed. She hadn't. I went back to Morgan. It was hilly and bushy, with a river running by the old road. My head on a swivel I looked about everywhere as I drove. I noticed an animal carcass in an alfalfa meadow. I felt sick. I stopped and jumped the fence to confirm. It was a dead sheep.
For hours I combed the area on foot. I asked picnickers if they'd seen a wandering dog matching her description. They hadn't. I crossed more fences and looked in fields, getting ever more frustrated. Finally I climbed a steep hill for a better view. It was getting dark as I looked down and around. A shadowy four-legged figure loped across an open space and disappeared among trees. I couldn't believe it because I knew who it was. I recognized the pale star on her head. It glowed. I scampered down, coaxed her to me (she was scared and confused), and we headed home. Her home. She slept all the way as I petted her.
She was the dog no one wanted. We decided we did, though, city regulations be damned.
It took her a month or two to adjust to the culture, to the house rules which were established for everyone to know their place and fit in peaceably. She already knew Piddly, so that wasn't a problem. She was duly admitted and was loved and cherished from then on.
A few weeks ago she started limping, which got worse day by day until she couldn't even stand on her own. She was less interested in food, too. We took her to the vet in Payson who diagnosed a neuromuscular condition. It was degenerative, he said, but let's have her try these corticosteroids and see how she does.
It was almost miraculous. Within a day she was walking unaided, scarcely hobbling, and eating enthusiastically. We so hoped she would maintain it.
And she did, until a few hours ago. It was such a shock to find her like that, apparently asleep, but not. It was so sudden. Cardiac arrest from the prednisone, I think. Drugs like this can have catastrophic side effects. You roll the dice with them.
At midnight I started digging a Mimi-sized grave in the backyard while Karie sewed her a beautiful shroud of soft purple cloth. A regal color, perfect for our dog. Karie stitched "BIG GIRL" on it in foot-high letters. Except for the vet, no one ever called her Mimi.
We kissed her and laid her on her favorite cushion and then inside her purple shroud, wanting her to be comfortable. We placed her facing east, wishing for the rising sun to warm the earth around her when it tops the mountains in a few hours.
It's now 3:40 a.m. Tuesday, October 17th. About four hours ago I led both dogs outside for a nocturnal pee, brought them back in, fed them some Alpo Mini Snaps. Mimi gobbled up several but left two, which was not typical, and ambled off into the bedroom. Okay, I thought, then I'll give her a wiener for a night treat. She lay on her side on her cushion in the semidark. I approached with the juicy offering. Her mouth was partly open, which was unusual. Her upturned eye did not fix on me, but stared blankly into space. Her ribcage was still. Uh-oh, I said out loud several times. I briefly tried CPR on her but she was already gone. Just like that. Literally one minute after drinking from her water bowl and eating dog biscuits, and without a whimper or a groan.
She came to us seven years ago, to the month. Karie's parents had three dogs in their home, two more than they needed. Piddly and Mimi had been foisted on them by family members who decided they couldn't take care of the dogs. We took Piddly, half-Pomeranian, half-Red Heeler, off their hands in July, 2010. Mimi was going to be dropped off at a shelter, we were told later. A probable death sentence. So we went and fetched her.
She was a pure bred Red Heeler, or Australian Cattle Dog as designated by the AKC. For a domestic canine, she came across a little aloof, but the trait isn't uncommon in the breed. She was rusty-colored with a few light speckles and had the characteristic forehead star that seemed to glow in dusky light (for which I would later be grateful). She was a large, long-limbed specimen for her type, elegantly formed and impressively athletic, especially when fetching balls and rubber chickens. I always thought of her as the Amazon of dogs. She was the most beautiful animal I've ever seen.
The problem was that we already had two dogs in Beanie and Piddly, the maximum number allowed by city code. A neighborhood friend had expressed that he wanted a furry friend for his snorting little pug. When we introduced the pug to Mimi, three times his size, she commenced bullying him with the single-mindedness she was bred for. This works well for cows but not for pint-sized companion dogs. So we took some glamor shots (like the pic attached here) and posted her bio on Craigslist and KSL classifieds. A few potential owners called but they lost interest after I grilled them for suitability. She had to have a yard large enough to romp in. She had to be fed something other than budget kibbles. She had to be brought in at night. She had to have a bed to sleep on, or at least her own large comfy cushion. She had to be loved and cherished.
A guy in Spanish Fork seemed like a good candidate. He had a rural property and had kept many animals. I left her with him but felt awful about it, like I'd abandoned her. Hours later I got a phone call. Come pick up this damn dog, the guy said. Evidently, when he went out to bring her inside she had barked at him, and he didn't like it.
An old farmer from Podunk Utah called. He needed a farm dog. We took Mimi eighty miles up US-189 to Morgan. The farmer was the grizzled, competent type, an experienced hand. I still worried, though. I called him that night to check. Oh, she slipped the leash and run off, he told me. She'll show up in a couple days so I'm not too concerned, he said. But I was. I didn't sleep. Next day I called to see if she'd showed. She hadn't. I went back to Morgan. It was hilly and bushy, with a river running by the old road. My head on a swivel I looked about everywhere as I drove. I noticed an animal carcass in an alfalfa meadow. I felt sick. I stopped and jumped the fence to confirm. It was a dead sheep.
For hours I combed the area on foot. I asked picnickers if they'd seen a wandering dog matching her description. They hadn't. I crossed more fences and looked in fields, getting ever more frustrated. Finally I climbed a steep hill for a better view. It was getting dark as I looked down and around. A shadowy four-legged figure loped across an open space and disappeared among trees. I couldn't believe it because I knew who it was. I recognized the pale star on her head. It glowed. I scampered down, coaxed her to me (she was scared and confused), and we headed home. Her home. She slept all the way as I petted her.
She was the dog no one wanted. We decided we did, though, city regulations be damned.
It took her a month or two to adjust to the culture, to the house rules which were established for everyone to know their place and fit in peaceably. She already knew Piddly, so that wasn't a problem. She was duly admitted and was loved and cherished from then on.
A few weeks ago she started limping, which got worse day by day until she couldn't even stand on her own. She was less interested in food, too. We took her to the vet in Payson who diagnosed a neuromuscular condition. It was degenerative, he said, but let's have her try these corticosteroids and see how she does.
It was almost miraculous. Within a day she was walking unaided, scarcely hobbling, and eating enthusiastically. We so hoped she would maintain it.
And she did, until a few hours ago. It was such a shock to find her like that, apparently asleep, but not. It was so sudden. Cardiac arrest from the prednisone, I think. Drugs like this can have catastrophic side effects. You roll the dice with them.
At midnight I started digging a Mimi-sized grave in the backyard while Karie sewed her a beautiful shroud of soft purple cloth. A regal color, perfect for our dog. Karie stitched "BIG GIRL" on it in foot-high letters. Except for the vet, no one ever called her Mimi.
We kissed her and laid her on her favorite cushion and then inside her purple shroud, wanting her to be comfortable. We placed her facing east, wishing for the rising sun to warm the earth around her when it tops the mountains in a few hours.