Angels Unaware

Sadie came to us late in life. She'd had a whole other existence as a champion show dog and then an illustrious breeding career, making beautiful babies with other champions. Australian Shepherds, to me, are the smartest and most sensitive dogs I've ever experienced. The line that Sadie came from is calmer and brainier than even the others I've known. She was living with my sister's family for years, running with her doggie pals on a few acres. She had never lived solely inside. We got her in her dotage, with a different name. Everyone said I couldn't change her name, but I did. She became my constant companion, and immediately knew that the toilet was outside, not in the house. She has lived the life of Riley these last few years, with grooming and treats and serene, simple purpose as my personal assistant. There's nothing quite like a devoted dog waiting at the door for you at the end of the day. They are at our mercy, with our contrived, domesticated lives, and live out their days serving us with their doe eyes and happy allegiance. 

The last few months, she had become more and more incontinent. There were also small seizures, little slips of consciousness. I didn't want to face the spectre of the end of her life. I didn't want to be responsible for doing the deed, and was hoping she would just go gently into the night without my intervention. I've had to put down several animals and the grief of it never leaves you. Sometimes the veterinarians do a good job, sometimes not. The "nots" are most grievous. One time, I took a friend's dog; she was in a financial drought and so were we at the time. One of my sons did it the old-fashioned, farm way...I fed the dog chunks of chicken laced with Benadryl, then took her into the woods where she was happy as birdsong, full of treats. She didn't have to experience the fear of a needle or the sterile smells of a medical facility. It was the quickest and most compassionate of deaths. But I was not courageous enough to do this to my own dog.

My niece had offered to take her, put her on a raw diet, and keep her with her other dogs, where she would have more outside toilet "options." I was so grateful for this, but over the next few days I began to wrestle with it. How could I abandon my dog, who was so attached to me? I was privately resolved to find a way to keep her here, even though my house was beginning to smell like a potty.  I was losing sleep, waking in the night and agonizing with guilt about what to do. I asked God to make it plain. She still looked healthy, was eating and bright-eyed, though she had taken to walking all over the house at night. I was getting up multiple times to take her outside. Sleep and toilets. The scourge of old age. 

Last Friday night, I woke at 3:00 a.m. to the sound of scrambling dog feet. I quickly walked her to the yard, but her gait was confused. She fell several times and was not only blinded, but severely impaired. I cradled her and wept, not only for the impending loss, but in gratefulness to God for giving me a clear sign. A kind veterinarian was able to get us in quickly. They rolled in a little cart with all the treats that had been forbidden her. She gladly lapped up cookies and chocolate kisses as she relaxed into the first injection of sedative. I will always be grateful for the tenderness they showed her and us as we let her go gently into that night. 

I spent the best part of the day letting the tears roll. God arranged so much sweetness as we grieved her. My niece, who lives an hour and a half away, just happened to be picking up furniture in Villa Rica. She dropped flowers at our doorstep. All of our children and grandchildren, who just happened to be coming over that evening, helped us bury her in the yard with a proper tiny funeral. I was surrounded by little arms who also loved our Sadie. The scriptures say, "Not even a sparrow falls without His notice...how much more does He care for you." The heavens and the earth declare His glory. And so do our little dogs.