Sally not long after she came home
Our old girl
Goodbye Sally
Today was Sally’s last day on earth. The cancer that had been growing in her had made Sally the rocket dog too tired and wasted to even take a step towards a squirrel flipping her the tail from 10 feet away. Even the formerly siren attraction of canned cat food was no longer of interest.
Sometime in February we had noticed she was losing weight and took her into the vet. He told us he could feel a mass growing inside and it could be diagnosed, but it wouldn’t really matter. She got painkillers and steroids to make her feel better and we went home to wait for the end. We had hoped she would chose her own time, but it was not fair to keep her with us failing and in pain. So we all went to the vet’s. Barbara, our minister, met us there and prayed for Sally and us. Then Sally was given a shot and slid away gently as we held her and cried. Now her body is sleeping in the back yard sprinkled with daffodils, tucked into a clean sheet with her teddy bear and a note from Lela (Sally we love you very much) and her spirit is running free again in dog heaven, young and whole.
Sally’s decline has been hard for the girls. It is not their first loss, but it is the first death they have directly experienced. Lela has been arguing for the defense, “Why does Sally have to die? Why can’t she choose her own time? Why do you get to choose?” Both of them have had bouts of grief as the reality sank in, Lian screaming and kicking for a half hour, Lela weeping in wrenching sobs. But they both decided they needed to be with Sally at the end.
Sally came to us by a strange path. We had rescued a dog that was lost and running blindly down a busy street. In the process of finding her owners we contacted a group called Friends for Animals. They had a lot of rescued dogs that needed homes. We had lost our oldest dog, Ginger, a few months before. The rescued dogs were housed at a veterinarian’s clinic. We went one day to look. We saw a several dogs, but not one that seemed right. The woman showing us said she had one more, but she was in a different area because she had puppies. The puppies had all found homes but she had not. She told us that the dog they called Sally had been rescued with a pack of dogs that was living in an abandoned lot. She had been so fierce despite her small size that they were not sure they could catch her, but she was so hungry that she went into a crate to get food. Then they found what she was guarding, four plump healthy pups, nestled into a bed she had made in a discarded car seat. She was a good mother and had given everything to the pups and weighed only 25 pounds, and had thin, coarse hair. She had also probably been hit by a car, because one back leg was atrophied with a huge lump of bone and a white scar, and she ran on three legs. The good back leg was muscled like Arnie Schwarzenegger. She had clearly once been a pet, because she was friendly once she realized she was safe. The vet estimated she was about one or perhaps a bit older.
In a crate was a skinny dog with enormous alert ears and markings like a German Sheppard. She was eager to see us, so we took her for a walk. Our Scotty, Duffy, was there to give his approval and she frisked up to him. We said yes and she jumped into the car, and then at home hopped right up on the couch like she had always been there. That was December 1997.
What we found out latter was that Sally did not like strangers, even though she immediately took to us. She loved us with fierce devotion, but her protective zeal made it hard to even walk her when other people were around. We wondered what she had been through as she also hated bikes and even baby carriages. Older men were her least favorite. Our next door neighbor did manage to win her over with dog biscuits to the extent that if she got out of the yard, she would race over to his door.
Sally was not a name we would have ever chosen, but she knew it and responded to it, so we kept it. So she was Sally my Gally, Sally Girl, Sally the Rocket Dog, and Silly Sally. I spent a year massaging and stretching that bad leg and when I saw the scar turn pink I knew I was going to win. By the time she was home a year, she was once again a four legged dog, though that leg would never be entirely good. Even still she was amazingly fast. We were even told she should train for agility competition. She never touched the steps on the porch, but would take a flying leap out and a flying skid to the door on her way back in. She shed her sparse “lost” fur and grew a thick, soft, shiny coat. The fur on her ears was like velvet. She put on 10 pounds and was still trim. But she never lost something of her time on the street. She could snatch and devour a bit of errantly dropped food, or edible (to her) bits on the sidewalk in lightening fashion, knew how to remove a trash bag from a can, and hold down a tin can to clean it out.
She bossed Duffy and tried to boss Disa the cat. But Disa had learned long ago that if you don’t run, they can’t chase you. So there were ultra slo-mo “chases”, with Sally nudging Disa’s rear and Disa eventually getting annoyed at this usurping brat and giving her a good whack on the nose. So Sally learned to live with cats and eat apple cores, because, they might be weird, but Duffy liked them so she wanted her fair share. Eventually Disa passed on and we got The Boys, BigEyes and Sneezer. BigEyes and Sally competed for most attention, but Sneezer loved Sally like Pepe Le Pew loved that black cat. He would rub himself against her purring, and she would look at him, as if thinking “You are a CAT, weird boy.”
Sally came camping with us on trips to Wisconsin and upstate. One night something – a skunk, a coyote? sniffed around outside the tent. Maybe even a bear, as Sally and I both sat silently (not her usual mode) and alert as we following the progress of the sniffing. I can see Sally sitting intent, bat ears trained alertly, as a pack of coyotes howled in the distance and plopping her belly into a stream to cool off on a long hike. Once Sally managed to meet a skunk and spent the rest of the vacation tied to a tree and being doused with tomato juice. Sally loved the sun and would sit with her nose pointed to the rays, eyes closed, until her black fur was too hot to touch. I could almost see a reflector, Jackie O shades and smell the coconut oil.
Then Lela arrived home and Sally wasn’t sure what to make of this creature that crept on the floor and was smaller than her, but clearly a person. When Lian came home, she was terrified of Sally, who only wanted to be friends. But in a few months latter, Lian was bossing Sally. Sally took her demotion from number three to five in the pack pretty well, eventually deciding, “Hey, if they have hands they can pat and give me food.”
The Sally that I want to remember is cavorting with springy bounds. Shoving her muzzle into fresh snow and tossing it up. Rolling to make snow dog angels. Stealthily stalking a squirrel, and leaping high up the tree trunk in her effort to bag one. Sneaking up onto the end of the bed in the early morning, and hogging all my leg room. Slinking up on the couch and plopping her head on my lap with a sigh. Waiting at the door when ever we came home, tail wagging furiously.
Goodbye dear Sally. We love you and miss you.
Today was Sally’s last day on earth. The cancer that had been growing in her had made Sally the rocket dog too tired and wasted to even take a step towards a squirrel flipping her the tail from 10 feet away. Even the formerly siren attraction of canned cat food was no longer of interest.
Sometime in February we had noticed she was losing weight and took her into the vet. He told us he could feel a mass growing inside and it could be diagnosed, but it wouldn’t really matter. She got painkillers and steroids to make her feel better and we went home to wait for the end. We had hoped she would chose her own time, but it was not fair to keep her with us failing and in pain. So we all went to the vet’s. Barbara, our minister, met us there and prayed for Sally and us. Then Sally was given a shot and slid away gently as we held her and cried. Now her body is sleeping in the back yard sprinkled with daffodils, tucked into a clean sheet with her teddy bear and a note from Lela (Sally we love you very much) and her spirit is running free again in dog heaven, young and whole.
Sally’s decline has been hard for the girls. It is not their first loss, but it is the first death they have directly experienced. Lela has been arguing for the defense, “Why does Sally have to die? Why can’t she choose her own time? Why do you get to choose?” Both of them have had bouts of grief as the reality sank in, Lian screaming and kicking for a half hour, Lela weeping in wrenching sobs. But they both decided they needed to be with Sally at the end.
Sally came to us by a strange path. We had rescued a dog that was lost and running blindly down a busy street. In the process of finding her owners we contacted a group called Friends for Animals. They had a lot of rescued dogs that needed homes. We had lost our oldest dog, Ginger, a few months before. The rescued dogs were housed at a veterinarian’s clinic. We went one day to look. We saw a several dogs, but not one that seemed right. The woman showing us said she had one more, but she was in a different area because she had puppies. The puppies had all found homes but she had not. She told us that the dog they called Sally had been rescued with a pack of dogs that was living in an abandoned lot. She had been so fierce despite her small size that they were not sure they could catch her, but she was so hungry that she went into a crate to get food. Then they found what she was guarding, four plump healthy pups, nestled into a bed she had made in a discarded car seat. She was a good mother and had given everything to the pups and weighed only 25 pounds, and had thin, coarse hair. She had also probably been hit by a car, because one back leg was atrophied with a huge lump of bone and a white scar, and she ran on three legs. The good back leg was muscled like Arnie Schwarzenegger. She had clearly once been a pet, because she was friendly once she realized she was safe. The vet estimated she was about one or perhaps a bit older.
In a crate was a skinny dog with enormous alert ears and markings like a German Sheppard. She was eager to see us, so we took her for a walk. Our Scotty, Duffy, was there to give his approval and she frisked up to him. We said yes and she jumped into the car, and then at home hopped right up on the couch like she had always been there. That was December 1997.
What we found out latter was that Sally did not like strangers, even though she immediately took to us. She loved us with fierce devotion, but her protective zeal made it hard to even walk her when other people were around. We wondered what she had been through as she also hated bikes and even baby carriages. Older men were her least favorite. Our next door neighbor did manage to win her over with dog biscuits to the extent that if she got out of the yard, she would race over to his door.
Sally was not a name we would have ever chosen, but she knew it and responded to it, so we kept it. So she was Sally my Gally, Sally Girl, Sally the Rocket Dog, and Silly Sally. I spent a year massaging and stretching that bad leg and when I saw the scar turn pink I knew I was going to win. By the time she was home a year, she was once again a four legged dog, though that leg would never be entirely good. Even still she was amazingly fast. We were even told she should train for agility competition. She never touched the steps on the porch, but would take a flying leap out and a flying skid to the door on her way back in. She shed her sparse “lost” fur and grew a thick, soft, shiny coat. The fur on her ears was like velvet. She put on 10 pounds and was still trim. But she never lost something of her time on the street. She could snatch and devour a bit of errantly dropped food, or edible (to her) bits on the sidewalk in lightening fashion, knew how to remove a trash bag from a can, and hold down a tin can to clean it out.
She bossed Duffy and tried to boss Disa the cat. But Disa had learned long ago that if you don’t run, they can’t chase you. So there were ultra slo-mo “chases”, with Sally nudging Disa’s rear and Disa eventually getting annoyed at this usurping brat and giving her a good whack on the nose. So Sally learned to live with cats and eat apple cores, because, they might be weird, but Duffy liked them so she wanted her fair share. Eventually Disa passed on and we got The Boys, BigEyes and Sneezer. BigEyes and Sally competed for most attention, but Sneezer loved Sally like Pepe Le Pew loved that black cat. He would rub himself against her purring, and she would look at him, as if thinking “You are a CAT, weird boy.”
Sally came camping with us on trips to Wisconsin and upstate. One night something – a skunk, a coyote? sniffed around outside the tent. Maybe even a bear, as Sally and I both sat silently (not her usual mode) and alert as we following the progress of the sniffing. I can see Sally sitting intent, bat ears trained alertly, as a pack of coyotes howled in the distance and plopping her belly into a stream to cool off on a long hike. Once Sally managed to meet a skunk and spent the rest of the vacation tied to a tree and being doused with tomato juice. Sally loved the sun and would sit with her nose pointed to the rays, eyes closed, until her black fur was too hot to touch. I could almost see a reflector, Jackie O shades and smell the coconut oil.
Then Lela arrived home and Sally wasn’t sure what to make of this creature that crept on the floor and was smaller than her, but clearly a person. When Lian came home, she was terrified of Sally, who only wanted to be friends. But in a few months latter, Lian was bossing Sally. Sally took her demotion from number three to five in the pack pretty well, eventually deciding, “Hey, if they have hands they can pat and give me food.”
The Sally that I want to remember is cavorting with springy bounds. Shoving her muzzle into fresh snow and tossing it up. Rolling to make snow dog angels. Stealthily stalking a squirrel, and leaping high up the tree trunk in her effort to bag one. Sneaking up onto the end of the bed in the early morning, and hogging all my leg room. Slinking up on the couch and plopping her head on my lap with a sigh. Waiting at the door when ever we came home, tail wagging furiously.
Goodbye dear Sally. We love you and miss you.
