In my 42 years, I have had one dog that was really and truly my own dog. The kind of dog that looks at you like you are the end-all, be-all of her existence. She waits for you by the back door at the end of your day, puts her head in your lap when you are sad, and she trembles in your presence when she has done something bad.
Abby was my dog. My first husband and I got her as a puppy. She was a black lab and out of the litter of 10 puppies, she was the one the wouldn't stop following me. If I sat, she was on my lap, if I got up and walked, she followed me. She picked me.
As a puppy, Abby was a curious mixture of frustrating pain in the ass and big-hearted lover. She chewed every garden hose we ever left near her. She made a game out of it, poking holes in the hose with her sharp puppy teeth until it squirted her in the face. Then she bounced around barking at it. She ate a fiberglass water heater blanket that I only discovered after picking up fuzzy pink poop in the back yard. She ate rat poison once (vitamin K is the fix). She also ate steel wool, crayons, a balloon, and countless Legos after my son was born.
She threw her back out once playing frisbee when she was about a year old. I was convinced there was something tragically wrong with her, as she sat in my lap trembling and whining. A call to the vet in the wee hours of a Sunday night taught me I was making it worse by fussing over her. When I got off the phone, I told Abby she was OK. Just that 'you're ok' and she believed me, putting all her trust in the vibe I was giving off. She perked up and made it through the night with aspirin until I could get her to the vet the next morning. I had to give her muscle relaxers while her back corrected itself, turning her into Gumby Dog for a week.
I had cat that snuck out and got knocked up before I could get her to the vet to be fixed (she was very young). When the kittens started getting interesting, Abby couldn't stay away. After work, my husband and I would pop a bag of popcorn, take our sodas and plop down in the 'kitten room' for entertainment. The kittens were only part of the fun. Abby was adorable. She would sit completely still while these little helpless kittens used her as a jungle gym, their sharp claws digging into her back, her ears, and even her nose. Nothing ever phased her.
When my kids were born, Abby rolled with the changes. She never expressed jealousy, just curiosity. She soon became their best friend, as well as my own. When we moved to the country, she adapted immediately, making a lap around our 1-acre property, along the creek, and back up to the house every morning and evening. We lived on a busy highway, which claimed the lives of many a cat and random stray dogs, but Abby never got near it.
At 11 years old, Abby was diagnosed with a particularly vile type of melanoma. First we had a toe amputated, then it was to be a foot, then a leg, and then she would succumb. I couldn't watch her suffer, nor could I chip away at her until she died. I decided to let her go, give her all the love I could, and have faith that I would know when the time was right. And I did. One beautiful spring day, playing in the yard with my two kids, I couldn't stop watching Abby. She was miserable. The lumps on her body had gotten worse and it seemed that no matter where she sat or rested, she couldn't settle. Up, down, up down, up, down all morning. Having been raised on a farm, I knew what that meant. She was in pain.
It was May 6, 2000. I called the vet and told him it was time to put her down. He was in the office that afternoon, but then gone until May 9. May 9 is my birthday. Maybe it was selfish of me, but I couldn't spend the rest of my birthdays knowing that was Abby's last day. I said my last goodbye, and comforted my kids as best I could. And Abby was gone.
Weeks later we took Abby's ashes to the creek and scattered them to the wind. It seemed appropriate and it made me feel somewhat healed. I still have the nice box that the ashes came in, containing some trace amount of ash. I joke from time-to-time that I hope science someday allows me to recreate her.
Because she really was the best dog ever.
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