Long ago you were born one of twelve, and I made the mistake of selling you to the wrong home. I then fought to bring you home. You were thin and unsteady on your feet. We didn’t know what had happened to you or why anyone would do this to you. One thing we did know for sure was that you had not forgotten us. You recognized me from the moment you saw me. You couldn’t find any toys to bring me at this awful place, but you felt a maple leaf would do. I didn’t know if you would be with us long in the condition you were in, but you were then, and to the day you passed, a fighter.
All the way home you drooled in fear. As you entered the house you were sure that these dogs would attack you as others had done before, but these dogs were your family. They greeted you with wagging tails. You were home and home to stay. We offered you food, but you had not had this for some time and didn’t know if the others would attack you for eating it. I fed you by hand to assure you the others would not take it from you. We weren’t sure how long you would be with us.
Your light was dim. We were going to make you as comfortable as we could for as long as we had with you. But as the days passed, you became stronger. Your mind first, wanting to eat more and trying to play, even if you did fall often. Your body was not as strong as your mind; it would not let you wrestle with the other dogs for long. As the weeks passed, though, your body became strong and the fear of losing you became less and less. Even then you amazed us with your strength and will power. You were shining.
It was about six weeks before you found the confidence to pick up a toy. It was a small bear and he laughed when you squeezed him. You were not given a toy before and you vowed to yourself to never put him down again. You even peed with him in your mouth. You squeezed him and ran up and down the hallway as if it were you laughing. From that day onward you were rarely seen without a stuffy of some sort.
You had become a strong nine-month-old pup now. I thought it best to see if we could find out what may have happened to you and what damage had been done. I took you for xrays. You were frightened. I think you thought I was sending you back. The xrays were clean… Only some evidence of HOD in the past because of poor nutrition.
You were a strong two-year-old when I was deciding whether to spay you or breed you. I was never going to show you as I felt you would be too frightened after all you had been through. My friends — other breeders — said you were too stunning not to breed. I was unsure. Angus, however, was very sure. On your next heat he cleared an eight-foot fence to make the decision and seal the deal. I called my vet. I was concerned about the HOD causing some whelping issues, but the vet said it would be too dangerous for us to interfere with the breeding. The day came. Your temperature was still up. I thought I could pop into town for some supplies before you were ready. On my return, you were so happy to see me.
You ran up and down the hallway, begging me to come see what you had done. I walked into the bedroom and there was a beautiful blue pup all cleaned and dry in the whelping box. Then, before I knew it, one pup after the next — so fast! Not even a pant between pups. I had never seen a dog whelp so fast and to this day have yet to witness this speed. You had nine pups in three hours. This may be a record! And such huge, strong pups. You were the greatest mother. The pups were so well fed, cleaned and cared for. And one of those pups is our sweet Madison.
One more litter and you were retired but only from breeding. You had become so good at helping with other dog issues. You had become my blue sky on a rainy day. If Cesar had Daddy then I had Sky. You had the greatest energy. You were so strong yet always calm. A few years passed and your greatest job of all was yet to come. I became pregnant with our son London. And you became his greatest baby-sitter.
You were his best friend. He knew you before any of the other dogs. You spent many days laying with him and sharing his cookies. I watched you play the gentlest tug-a-war games with him. You always let him win. And you always placed yourself between him and strangers.
One day in late January after a crazy weekend of whelping pups, I came downstairs to find you looking at me with pain in your eyes. We passed the tube. Gas would release but then just come back. I called the vet and rushed you in. You were not torsioned but your digestive tract would not work anymore. I talked long and hard with my vet. He knew there was little we could do and you were suffering. The previous spring you had started to experience muscle atrophy and were struggling to walk. The warm weather arrived and you found it in you to improve. At the time, I promised you when the day came that your dignity was gone, I would not allow you to suffer. I was keeping that promise now, a year later.
I knew this time the warm weather was not going to help. I asked you to jump in the car for one more ride. I held you tight. I told you that you would soon be able to run with Grace like you did when you were young. I asked you to give her my love. I said goodbye from us all. I know I will see you again and that you would be with us always through your daughter, grandkids, and great-grandkids. I held you as you went to sleep and let my tears flow for the happiness you have given our family. The next morning
