The last 12 years have been nothing but turmoil, one thing after another going south on me. Marriage, mortgage, career, friends, and health all sorta went away. The only constant was a dirty red dog that stayed by my side. For some considerable stretches of those 12 years the only reason I kept going was because she was counting on me. She had no bird dog in her, but learned that finding pheasants and grouse pleased me, and she did with gusto! Sometimes as much as half a mile from me and the shotgun, she had such a drive to please me.
Top of her class in the local American Kennel Club obedience classes Level I and II, and both times the only mixed breed in the class. Passed the intensive three day Therapy Dog testing on her first try, she thought the best thing in the world was a nursing home - captive audience she called it. Meek as a lamb with children, intuitively understood extra calmness was necessary with special needs children.
She was never excited when I came home from work, never once jumped up to greet me, acted as if she just didn't care. But whenever someone had to watch her when I was out of town she would lay with her nose against the door she saw me last go. It was not unusual for the dog that ate anything and everything to refuse all food until I returned.
On Friday, the third of June, I walked her into the vet clinic knowing only one of us was leaving. Dr. Clark had fought all week trying to find us a reprieve, but he and I decided together that the pancreatitis would return in days of any treatment we tried. The pain of this disease is excruciating, vets generally go straight to morphine within minutes of diagnosis. Scully lay on the table as Dr Clark pushed the barbituate overdose into her vein. Scully licked her lips twice and lay her head in my hand. One of the very best things to ever happen in my life was over.
Thank you for your prayers. The brief posts on this thread mean the world to me.I am touched deeply. Again, thank you.
