As I look through the memories of my life, it is apparent that many of my key moments had at least one dog in the background, and often a horse. More frequently than not, the dog and horse were in the foreground. Both my parents loved animals and I inherited that love from them.
Mom and her dog “Taffy”
Daddy with the new litter of working Border Collie puppies
Since I’ve been adulting, and have a modest control in my world, I have seen fit to have dogs in my life. Three seems to be a good number. The work isn’t that much more than two, and the hair simply becomes a statement of one’s existence. This is not unlike the plethora of toys seen in the homes where young children are living. The stuff is everywhere. You figure out how to live with it.
Eight years ago, about a year before my big dog Dharma passed on, I realized that my little Siberian Husky would need her own dog for when Dharma left us, and that now was the right time to find that dog. I put in applications at rescues, visited and passed on some rescue dogs, and eventually received a call from my veterinarian in rural Pennsylvania. She told me that two young German Shepherds had been running through her property for a week or so, and having been captured, were now currently residing in a stall in one of her horse barns.
Right about now is a good time to talk about kismet..fate. Sometimes, all we have to do is show up in the right place and the timing is perfect, the circumstances are exactly what we expected and hoped for, and all is well. It’s easy, and seemingly no effort.
This was not one of those times.
This was one of those times during which it was evident to everyone BUT me what was happening, and I was being pushed and prodded by the people and forces around me into exactly what I needed. Except it didn’t look like what I wanted, or what I expected, or planned for. Sometimes I am a little bit dense, and the people around me have to be somewhat assertive.
Some of you are nodding your heads right now. Don’t judge.
My response to her call was to ask the age of this dog. I was told the she was “young-ish”…and had a good, straight back. She emphasized that she appeared really “connected and tuned in.”
They were soooooo working me, and I knew it.
I specifically wanted a puppy, nothing older than 6 months. Something with good conformation (don’t get me started on what has happened to German Shepherds), and something with a low key personality, and no health issues. I wanted a young puppy that I could seamlessly blend into our pack with a minimum of disruption. A puppy I could raise in an enriched environment, and who wouldn’t pose too much of a problem with Dharma’s increasing frailties. You know..the perfect puppy..the one who doesn’t exist.
So..because I am always up for a road trip, a few days later I drove the 3.5 hours out to my veterinarian’s farm.
Before agreeing to drive out there to meet the dog, I firmly stated that this was simply a go-see and if I liked her, I would drive back to the farm to get her. Among the “yes, of course’s” I received in response to my statements, I was encouraged by my vet to bring both my dogs out to meet this young animal, just to see if everyone got along. My sweetie (AKA The Professor) was shaking his head and saying things like “You know you are coming home with a dog, don’t you?” But I remained firm in my assertions that I was going there strictly out of curiosity. The Professor just kept right on shaking his head, and chuckling to himself.
Upon arrival at the farm, I was greeted with some Very. Large. Barking. from the barn. OK..they’ve been feral..they’re probably used to being on guard.
I peeked over the wall of the stall, and stared down at a very skinny, very animated…adult…German Shepherd. Not what I hoped for. But..I was raised with Shepherds, and I love them, so all of them get fair consideration from me. They are a special breed and especially dear to my heart. So after the meet and greet with my dogs (uneventful), some blood work (for her, not me), and a little time chatting with her in the office, I decided to go home and think about it.
That was until a travel kennel was produced, loaded into my car, and the practical wisdom was offered that I should just take her home now.
So I did. Because I am a sucker. And because it’s really, really hard to say “no” to my vet.
All underweight 60 lbs of her.
She was loud, had no inside skills, and made sport of jumping over Dharma while he was in Deep Dog Sleep. For using him as a speed bump, she earned herself a matched set of holes on either side of her muzzle in the shape of Dharma’s teeth.
She also made a peculiar noise when she played (which was constantly, whether the other dogs wanted to engage or not). It sounded like a high pitched, nasal moan..sort of like Chewbacca…it sounded as though my new dog was part Wookiee.
Fiona, as I named her, had clearly not had the enriched puppy-hood I would like to have given her. She liked to furiously run our fence line and bark like a crack dog at everyone. In fact, it became something of a game to her..see a person, slink into the bushes, wait for person to walk near her, burst out in full blown Bark Mode.
Speaking of fences, what really is the purpose of one? It just creates another barrier to jump over when you want to go chase after something. So I raised the fence height. By two and half feet.
The local animal control officer knew her by name. I would call and introduce myself, and she would reply “Hey there! What did she kill this time?”
We found it amusing that despite having been a feral dog for some time, she had no problem learning to appreciate the finer things in life. Like eiderdown comforters.
And piles of pillows.
Over the years she kept her high energy-puppy quality, while she assumed the role of protector and police officer in our home..as well as the resident clown. Despite her status as middle dog, she was the baby of the family. She also filled out to a healthy and fit 95 lbs.
Shepping from the comfort of the sofa.
In an effort to stop her from inhaling her food, I tried putting it in a ball.
When Drummer The Indignant Puppy showed up she added a new skill to her resume..that of surrogate mommy. Fiona loved that boy from the moment he walked into our house, and he was her puppy. She tried to get him to nurse on her, which confused him a bit.
Drummer couldn’t make a move without her being there.
The Professor says that Fiona was the witness to Drummer’s life. I always give full consideration to what he has to say about Fiona, as those two were cut from the same cloth. Probably why I am so crazy about him.
There were many lessons to teach the young puppy, and she rose to the challenge with enthusiasm and purpose in the way only German Shepherds do. She would give him the toy..and then take it away..give it back to him..and take it away again.
The two were inseparable.
If you’ve made it this far, thank you.
But it’s only fair to warn you at this time that in this story, the dog doesn’t survive.
On August 31, I woke up and watched all three of my pups playing in the yard while I drank my tea. I anticipated a lovely day of working with horses at a few of my favorite barns, and that is what happened. I then returned home, checked in with everyone, let them go outside for a little bit, and then went off for a swim. Upon returning, I dished out food. Nadi stepped up for her serving, but Fiona was nowhere to be found..this was not the norm. I placed down Drummer’s dinner, and went to find her…I thought perhaps she had let herself outside and couldn’t get back in.
I found her in the living room, lying on the floor. She looked at me with sheepish eyes as if to say “sorry, but I am not eating today.” Maybe she felt that way..she was fond of coming over to me after eating dinner and belching in my face. Because German Shepherds.
I checked her tummy..it was soft, but then when I checked her gums, they were pale..almost white. I picked up the phone and called my vet, and told them we were on the way.
X-rays and an ultrasound later, and we were again in the car. This time en route to the Emergency center. Our regular vet suggested two options: Consult a cardiologist, or put her down. She had pericardial effusion, and it was probably due to cancer.
At the emergency center, the same options were presented. If I chose the former, a pericardiocentesis would need to be performed. After several phone calls to consult with friends and The Professor, I opted to have this procedure performed.
The details here begin to get foggy, and I am not sure if they are important. If you have ever been in this situation, you might be familiar with the high pitched humming that goes through your head after bad news is delivered. In the past weeks, I’ve spoken with veterinarians, animal savvy friends, and even an animal communicator. The end result is the same. Hemangiosarcoma strongly suspected, elevated liver enzymes, and hemangioma fluid present in the chest. None of this means much to me, but sometimes numbers and facts can comfort us.
The next morning the vet called to update me. They had to perform a second pericardiocentesis because she was filling up quickly. They urged me to come down immediately, because they weren’t sure how long she would survive.
I made what might have been a selfish decision to bring her home, but I believe in my heart that it was the right one. Fiona loved her home..our home. It was her kingdom. I arranged with a local vet to have her come to the house to do an at home euthanasia. It was all set. I had an hour and half to get her home, love on her, and then the vet would arrive.
She was wheeled out to me on a stretcher. I saw her before she saw me, and watched what appeared to be a very sick dog lying down quietly as she was rolled outside. The moment she saw me she tried to jump off and come to me. Selfish decision or not, I knew I was right to bring her home. She rode home in the car, her nose out the window, sitting up, and looking at me periodically.
We ended up spending a few hours together that day. I called the vet and asked if they could hold off a little while, and they agreed to do so. We left it that I would call them in another two hours.
Funny things happen when we are in shock. We bargain, we deny, we hope, we go numb. Fiona ate an egg I scrambled for her, and I decided she was a little better, and was more optimistic. She puffed her cheeks in happiness when I scratched under her chin. Time stands still. She stuck to me like glue in the house, and looked at me with the fierce devotion that only German Shepherds can convey. She wasn’t fearful. I think she was more concerned that I was upset, and she couldn’t do anything about that. We spent a good bit of time lying on the floor together.
The threat of loss is one thing, but when it is imminent, if we are lucky, we snap into action. When I saw her lying down, moving from side to side, I knew her pericardium was filling up again. I called the vet, and they said they would be there within an hour.
As it happened, it wasn’t soon enough. She died on the living room floor, with my arms around her. I talked her through the whole thing, and even managed to stay somewhat calm. But Fiona never showed fear, not once..I am not sure she ever felt fear in her life. She was a brave, bold, bitch, and quite practical despite her silliness. I never saw her back down from anything.
It’s only in human form, this human grief, that we seem to analyse death. I suppose this is how we try to understand what nature makes unavoidable. When the loss is sudden and unexpected, it can be hard to process. We worry about decisions, second guess everyone from the vet to the yardman to the neighbors, and wonder if there is something that was missed, and how it was missed. How is it that a healthy, active, athletic dog can be seemingly fine one day, and dead the next? What should I have looked for? Was her diet good enough? Did she spend too much time in the sun? Why is it that it is so hard to catch hemangiosarcoma before it goes to the extreme? So many owners with whom I have spoken had similar experiences to mine. They call it a silent killer, and it doesn’t seem to be uncommon. The numbers for survival of this particular type of cancer are shocking, and sad. Apparently, it is not unusual for the dog to appear fine..until they aren’t. I am hopeful I can find peace with not having discovered the cancer sooner. I can’t say I believe that if I had, any treatment would have changed the outcome. Perhaps the timeline would have been different, but her last time here with us would have involved having to live a very restricted life. She would have hated that. It’s just that those eight years we had with her was too short. It feels like yesterday that she bounced into our home. She’s gone too soon.
So for now..I am gutted, and the house is out of balance. Her presence was huge. I plan to move forward, am trying to remember how much fun she was, how devoted to us she was, and how much we all loved each other in our little pack.
If I could borrow some of her practical nature, I would simply acknowledge her, present her with my love and appreciation for the force of nature she was, and move on. But I am not as evolved as she was. I am grateful to harbor no concerns that she didn’t receive enough attention, or love. When Fiona wanted it, she simply took it. No guile..there was no fat on that dog. She was without apology..herself. My God we had fun.
She’s travelling now, which is somewhat ironic because when she was found, she was also travelling. We were just a brief pause on her way, and she filled that time with great big love and energy. I am sure that wherever her new path takes her, she is on guard and barking at potential interlopers. I just hope like hell that she has a Kong ball, and someone is giving her belly rubs. She has earned them.
R.I.P Good Girl. We love you.
Her Roots Are Showing 