Sad news

I came home from work tonight and found a message on my phone from my mother.

The beloved family dog, Goldy, had passed away earlier in the day.  She was 17 years old.  While I grieve for the loss, I hug my dog, Mancha.

Goldy was a Australian Kelpie mix we adopted as an 8 week old pup four days after Christmas in 1995.  One of a four pup litter, she was the only golden one in the group.  The other three were black and white.  She was also the calmest, or more like the most frightened, in the litter.  The other three leapt at the sides of the cage, eager for our attention but she huddled in the corner away from her lively siblings.  Her difference and color and behavior caused my sisters and I to choose her over the other three.  I reached into the cage, which was waist height to me, in order to pull into my arms as our dog of choice.

The moment my fingers touched her sides she sat down.  I was forced to bend further over with the edge of her cage digging into my stomach to try to get my hands under her belly.  As fingers inched downward along her side, she laid down.  This should have been are first clue that this little pup was too smart for own good.  Determined and bend over further until finally I was able to slip both sets of fingers beneath her belly and lift.  She didn't squirm once even as I held her in my arms.

Happily, we took her home, discovering that she was not a car sick dog to our great joy and stayed quiet the whole ride.  We the usual plusses and minuses of having a young pup to house break and get through teething, we loved our dog.  Then our wonderful dog began to display the traits of her breed and began escaping the backyard.  Now I must confess we had been told by the people at the place we got her that her litter was a Labador/German Shepherd cross.  We were not expecting a kangaroo hybrid.

Our five to six foot fence she scaled with ease and thus ended her being left outside when no one was home.  She would spend much of her life since on the end of a leash as that was the only thing that proved impossible for her to escape.  Before Tucson short-sightedly band tie-outs, it was used to keep her in the yard, granting her some freedom on the back without allowing her access to the fence.  All other restraints failed miserably.

When she wanted in she had the most amusing and annoying habit of jumping against the sliding glass door.  At our old home, there were nose prints six feet off the ground from her jumping up to get our attention that she wanted in.  This endless bouncing finally came to an end when old age settled into her bones and the years of jumping came back to rob her of mobility in her hips.  While she never lost the abilty to walk, her steps became more uncertain and sometimes she would tumble over from lack of feeling in her hindquarters.  Steps became a bother to negotiate.  The dog that once trotted along fence tops could barely handle the step up from the porch into the house.  

Her hearing faded, releasing her from the terror of thunder and fireworks.  Her eyes lost sight as time summoned cataracts formed but she never lost her spunk.  With age came freedom form the leash and she was allowed to wander the confines of the house.  To which her new favorite game was revealed: kleenex theivery.  She would steal not new kleenexes but used ones, snatching it and dashing,(walking very quickly), off while hurriedly wolfing down the fiberous goo as sisters and parents gave persuit.  If one wasn't careful she would do the same with food.

Her favorite place to linger was the kitchen in this final years where she drank the aromas of dinner and lapped up any crumbs that found their way to the floor.  On good days she would have a spring to her step.  On not so good days she lay in her memory foam dog bed and get shuffled from room to room by my helpful siblings.  Last year she and Mancha met over Christmas and proved the old girl still had fight in her spirit as she protested Mancha's invasion of her household with great barks and growls.

In these last few months all signs pointed to the end.  A dog who had been fed dry dog food everyday of her life suddenly turned her nose up to it.  My parents struggled to find something she would eat and turned to wet dog food and even meaty people food to tempt her appetite as she grew thinner.  Still seemed to hang on and cuddled with the family more than ever before.

This last week when my family came up to visit me, they brought her along, afraid a week at the kennel would be her downfall.  I feared the stress of the trip and exposure to Mancha, even brief as we knew to keep the dogs in separate rooms, would be equally damning.  However, I rationalized that even if it was, at least she would be us and not alone in a kennel.

She seemed to handle the whole then well and made the trip back safely this passed Sunday.  However, that would be the end of her good health.  With her in obvious pain and suffering, my parents made the choice to have the vet put her to sleep earlier today, Tuesday.  She passed away in my father's lap and I heard my mother's tears as she struggled to break the news to my message machine, knowing I would not receive it until I returned home hours later.  I know my sisters must be devestated.



My sisters: