Remembering Sissy

One morning, a few years back, when I came in to work, I stuck my head in the kennel ward to check in with my friend and co-worker Clare.  There, standing in one of the cages staring at me, was the funniest looking little dog I’d ever seen.

She was black and white like a Holstein cow, with ticking like a hound.  One ear was as erect as that of a German Shepherd on Red Bull, and almost the same size; the other ear flopped over at the tip – really quite dashing.  She had big brown eyes, and a huge smile, and all this was arranged on a head the size of a tennis ball.  She was about ten inches tall, ten inches long, and not far from ten inches wide, give or take an inch or two, and her body was supported by four (yes, she actually had all four) skinny little legs, one of which was crooked.  To top it all off, her bushy little flag of a tail wagged so fast that you expected lift-off at any moment.  It was as though Dr. Frankenstein, DVM was in a really good mood one stormy night in the laboratory.

The first thing I said was, “Oh My Gosh, what is this?  It is absolutely adorable!”

Clare replied, “We saved her for you!”  I could swear that dog nodded her head.

As it turned out, they had done just that.  Sissy had belonged to an elderly couple.  The wife passed away, the daughter came home, placed her father in a nursing home, and brought their two dogs in to be euthanized.  No one at our clinic was willing to euthanize two healthy pets, so the doctor asked the daughter to sign the pets over to us.  The larger, younger dog was placed very quickly, but what sucker would take in a not too pretty thirteen-year-old dog that supposedly dribbled urine everywhere, and had a large inguinal hernia?  That would be me.

I had to work up the nerve to tell my husband that I was bringing home another one, so I kept her at the clinic for a few days.  He came into work with me on Sunday, and when he saw Sissy, he laughed and said, “That is the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen.”

To which I replied with my biggest Cheshire Cat grin, “Funny you should say that.”

“Nah!”

“Ummm, yeah.”

My husband, a very tolerant man, just smiled and shook his head.  Sissy came home the next night.

She established her place in the herd very quickly, and designated herself as my guardian angel.  No one was allowed to touch me if we were resting on the couch together.  She was extremely loyal. We found out by accident one day that she was a tennis ball addict.  She would chase it, somehow stuff enough of it into her little mouth to bring it back to you, and then drop it at your feet.  If that didn’t work, she’d put it in your lap, or anywhere else that would get you to toss it again.  She’d play ball all day if you would.  We also discovered that she was a morning person.  This was the happiest, tail-waggingest little creature when she got up in the morning; my husband always greeted her with, “Good morning, Sunshine.”

And sunshine she was.  My aunt came to visit while she was recovering from a radical mastectomy.  She was tired, scared, and in pain.  She liked to sit in the sun in the backyard and enjoy the birds, the ponds, and especially La Moo (one of Sissy’s nicknames).  She played ball with my aunt, sat with her, amused her, and kept her smiling for hours.  It was as though she knew my aunt needed her.

When we took radiographs of Sissy prior to her hernia repair surgery, we found that at some point in her life, she had fractured her femur just below the hip.  The break had never been repaired.  She had also broken one of her front legs, which was why it was crooked.  None of this slowed her down; she still ran after her ball like a silly puppy.  I’ve never seen a dog so alive, so full of joy, and so tough.  She completely stole my heart.

A few years after we got her, Sissy became very ill very quickly.  She had gone into acute kidney failure, we later found out, as a result of neoplasia.  It was heartbreaking to see this little bundle of energy so sick and so unhappy.  With much reluctance, we decided to let her go, and I miss her still.

Adopting an older pet is tough.  They typically have more problems, and you know they won’t be with you very long, even after you fix them up.  When they leave you, it hurts just as much as losing one you’ve had since puppyhood.

Is it worth it?  Would I do it again?  You bet.  You just never know what treasures await in one of those old doggy packages.

~ Bobbie Cericola