I've been around dogs all my life. Before I was even born, my parents had a dog named Taco- this is how "taco" became the second word I ever said. She was my "nanny dog." My parents were concerned how the furry baby of the family would react when they brought home a new crying bundle of joy, but she loved me and treated me like one of her own puppies. There is not one picture of me as a child without Taco in it (or maybe she was just a camera hog). She is the one who invoked in me a love for animals. Even in her old age, she was always there for me. Once she got to be too old to walk from room to room at night, she stayed in mine because in her mind, I was still her little puppy.
Then came Sadie. She's a brat. But I love her anyway. I have never known a more neurotic dog. She's scared of fireworks, bugs, loud noises and Lord knows what else, but she looks like an absolute hell dog when she's hiding and you lift up the couch cover to stare into her glowing red eyes and bared teeth (or lack thereof). She's an insane little ankle biter (with no teeth), but she's hilarious. She a snoop that spies on the neighbors, only likes Dairy Queen ice cream (yes, she can tell the difference), and understands more words than any dog should. No matter what, she makes me laugh. Unfortunately, she was too neurotic to take to Pittsburgh with me when I got my own house so that brings me to...
Keyta. She was the first dog that I got from the shelter. She was my pound puppy. The first night my roommate and I had her, it was obvious she was quite the character. As soon as she came home, we gave her a bath... probably not the best first impression considering that she hated water. But she must have liked the end result because she couldn't stop looking at herself in the mirror. It wasn't an "OMG! Another dog!" look, more of a stoic stare-down of "Ooooh yeah, look at me." My roommate and I were rather nervous that first night. Here was a dog who was ripped away from everything it knew and thrust into our home. How would she react? Calmly. She stayed in my roommate's room for the night and just slept the entire night. It was like she knew she had a home now... well, kinda. The next day she ran away. My roommate's boyfriend was staying with us at the time and when he went to let her out, she bolted. Maybe she didn't like us so much after all. But we got her back and had many more misadventures after that...
She created her own super alter-ego, known as "Roof Dog...." Ok, so she would just climb out onto the roof of the porch while I was at work. The only reason why I caught her is I was watching my friend's cat and had to keep the two separate so I had Keyta locked in the spare room. But when I went to let her out, she was nowhere to be found. Then, I saw a little nose poking through the window. I walked over to see the damn dog standing there, stupid grin and all. The stupid grin that inspired her costume for Halloween... the Joker. She also went as the Smoke Monster. She didn't seem to mind much. In fact, I think she kind of liked the attention.
She ran away a few other times. Mostly for my roommates. Or the poor people I coerced into watching her. Only once for me. It was on Mother's Day. I had just got done taking her for a nice long walk and was heading out the door. My friend was to check on her during the day while I was spending time with mother dear. I prepared a few things in the kitchen and heard the screen door open and shut. Strange. She wasn't supposed to come check on Keyta till later. Then I looked in the living room and the damn dog ran away. As I bolted down the street after her, I noticed that she would always look back to make sure she had me in her sight. So I slowed down a bit, but still screaming to people to try to catch her, in fear she would get hit by a car. Luckily, a nice lady with her two grandchildren answered my plea and helped me wrangle the mutt. She even drove us back to my house. So, thanks to Keyta, I was a little late going home that Mother's Day and a little more out of breath... and gross and sweaty.
She was a carb whore. Quite often she would break into the kitchen and only eat a loaf of bread. An entire loaf. She hated vegetables though. Of any kind. I've never seen a dog make a face of complete disgust when offered a piece of lettuce. Because I'm sure the stuffing in toys tastes so much better. She never touched my stuffed animals. I don't know how she knew they were off limits. So Eeyore, Wall E and Pluto remained safe on my floor.
After all of that, she sounds like a little devil dog. But she wasn't. She was my first dog on my own and she taught me so much. See, she wasn't just a pound puppy. Before we had her, she was abused, neglected and taken out of someone's house. Note I use the term "house," not "home." You think that she would hold a grudge against the human race and swear an oath to take revenge. But she didn't. As far as I could tell, she loved us unconditionally. As one who is quick to react and long to hold a grudge, it made me step back and look at myself. She taught me to be more forgiving. If this dog could bounce back from an awful existence to love a person again, surely I could let a few snide comments or sideways glances go.
To help with the running away, I used to tell her to "go home" as soon as we neared the house. And she would get excited and pull on the leash, proud she knew where she was, and bound up the stairs into the house to lap up some water or grab a tennis ball to continue the play day. I called her "Keyta Cat" because she would pounce on the tennis ball and bat it around like a cat. She was quite the character. And she was mine.
When I took her to the vet Friday, I had a sinking feeling it would not end well. But I just wanted a little bit of hope. If not for her, for me. I know it was selfish, but I wanted to at least try. Then when I saw her yesterday, I knew she wasn't my Keyta Cat anymore. All she wanted to do was run and play, but she was too sick and weak. I could see it in her eyes, she knew it was time. I think she knew it was time when I took her in- even though she was very weak, she just pulled towards me. The vets wouldn't tell me everything because they knew I was too upset. But I gave them permission to tell my father. He said they didn't think she would make it through Tuesday. But they kept telling her I would be there in the morning so she fought through the night. Maybe the dog who was always trying to run away loved me after all.
Without her, my house is empty. Note I use the term "house," not home. The creaks are more menacing than welcoming, knowing a happy husky isn't bounding down the stairs to greet me. There's a strange echo I never noticed before. And it's just so... quiet. There are still small pieces of her around. A bowl here, a toy there. I haven't the heart to pick them up yet. And thanks to the ridiculous amount of shedding every season, I'll never be able to get all her hair out of my house... or her out of my heart.
Goodbye, Keyta. I'll miss you so much, buddy.
No comments:
Post a Comment