Angel Sent from Heaven to live with me here on Earth

Two years ago today I had the worst day of my life. The funny thing about it is that I’m not scared, worried or afraid to die. In fact I really do feel that if today was my last day on earth that I would be ready to go. But, obviously I did not die, my dog did. And she didn’t just go gently into the night either. As much as I prayed and prayed, she suffered and in the end I had to suck it up and make the awful choice to euthanize her.

That day was a day full of denial. She had been diagnosed with cancer, lymphoma, a few months earlier and her tumors kept getting bigger and bigger. The vets put her on steroids, but I refused chemo and radiation. She ballooned up into a sausage from the drugs and stopped being excited by food, in fact I had to beg her to eat. I went to McDonalds, got cans of tuna and even cooked meat on my stove for that girl. In the end the tumors were obstructing her breathing and each night I would pray that she would pass away in her sleep. That she would be with me in my room and her energy would leave her broken body and I would wake up and know she died peacefully. She got an ear infection, a plight of floppy eared dogs, and at our vet visit they told me that I shouldn’t be taking her home. That her suffering had progressed and my denial was preventing me from seeing how much pain she was in. Noooooo. I layed on the floor of a private room at the vet’s and sobbed. I was there at that very moment she took her last breath, a moment that will both comfort and haunt me for the rest of my life.

You see I rescued her from a shelter. The story was told that she was picked up from a farm in Northern Colorado with 56 other dogs. Apparently people kept dumping their unwanted dogs on a farmer’s property and he did not and could not care for them all. The farmer called the shelter and they picked up all the dogs. On the first night the pups were so flea ridden and mite ridden that they weren’t allowed in the shelter and had to sleep in cages outside.

Then comes me. I had settled down with a guy in Colorado. We were closing on a house and ready to add a pup to the family. I knew that my pup would come from the shelter, so I headed over and started up and down the aisles - cage after cage of pups looking out at me. I knew what I wanted. I wanted a dog. You know, dog. Not lab or collie or bulldog, but dog. And there she was - standing next to an empty cage, waiting in the concrete walkway between the cages – dog.

I took “Smitty” home (that was the name the shelter had assigned her), well after they had a chance to spay her, and I never looked back. Even when she ate some leather shoes, or became super aggressive and tried to bite other dogs’ faces off, I never looked back. Even when I found out that instead of a year old, she was more like 3-5 years old - she had been so malnourished that her teeth never fully developed. Even after all that she was my angel sent from heaven to live with me here on earth.

I was lucky enough to spend 10 ½ love filled years with Winnie. Through thick and thin she was there. I am attached to dogs. All animals really. I know that I got that gene from both sides of my family. My dad’s father was an animal lover as was both my mom’s parents. Even when my mom’s dad was being a stubborn jerk to his kids, he gave their cat unconditional love. I got Christmas presents from my grandparents’ cat. My parents are even worse. My dad likes to talk a big talk, but he has the hugest heart for animals. My mom is the world’s best animal grandmother there is.

I miss Winnie. I miss coming home from a long day at work and there she is – wagging her tail and ready for a walk. I miss those days when I was tired but got off my butt and took her for a walk anyway, only to feel energized. I miss when she would run twice a day and still want more. She’s taken a few of us for a loop! My best friend and roommate at the time, Amy, was dragged across the icy golf course trying to run with Winnie. My mom was dragged and subsequently broke a rib and now has a scar on her knee because Winnie was in attack mode. She would fight and loose. She did have a few best dog friends. She grew up with a Weimeriner and then a Border Collie. She tolerated cats and ferrets. She was a damaged dog. Her early years of neglect left her afraid of brooms, men with hats, balloons, lightening, any loud noise what-so-ever. She was so skittish that when she decided to show you a bit of love you felt honored. Early on when she was still very cautious of men I took her to visit my family in North Carolina. The minute she met my dad she fell in love. My mom and I would go shopping and come home to find my dad and Winnie curled up on the floor sleeping in front of the TV. She knew he was a dog person, she always knew.

It feels good to write about Winnie. Since she died I’ve lived in two third world countries where I see many starving street dogs each day. A bit of my heart is broken each time I see one, but I send out Winnie’s love. Of course if she were here she’d try to bite their face off, but Winnie knows that she is with me and we are looking out for those lost pups and sending them comfort and love in this harsh, harsh world.