But when the kids got home and asked me where she was, they briefly looked at me in confusion... Mom, did you mean to say she's "gone?" Sarah's gone?
Ummm.... gone where?
And that's the hell of the thing right there... if dogs don't have souls, and our souls are what go to heaven, then where do dogs go? And kitties, and ferrets and guinea pigs and beloved horses, and all of God's creatures that have been loved by one of God's children... where are they?
The notion of a "rainbow bridge" makes the loss of a pet somewhat more bearable, but where do they go?
WHERE IS MY DOG ??
*********
It was spring of 2008, and we were coming home from a taekwondo tournament. Jamie had been half-hearted about his taekwondo for a while, but he went through the motions and was awarded one of those "thanks-anyway-for-giving-us-your-money" medals at the competition. Afterwards, all four of us were in a funk, so we decided to stop for a late lunch/early supper at Olive Garden in Dunwoody.
For context, it's important to mention that I'd been dropping not-so-subtle hints to the Mister for a few months that the kids needed a dog (truth be told, it was I who NEEDED a dog). However, not being much of a dog person himself, the Mister had not yet concurred.
After our meal at Olive Garden, and as we were headed out of the Dunwoody complex where it was located, we saw this poor fool dressed in a dog costume with a sign that said "We Have Puppies!" with an arrow pointing to PetSmart. In a brief loss of sanity, the Mister said we should at least go have a look.
An hour or so later, we left the store with a sleek, shiny black-and-tan dachshund puppy, a crate, a crapload of doggy supplies, and a new argument about what to name her. I was hellbent on Olive - what a great name! And we just ate at (drumroll, please....) OLIVE Garden! Get it? Olive? Olive Garden? It seemed pretty cut and dried and obvious to me.
But nobody else liked the name "Olive", so we continued kicking it around until somebody said "Sarah".
Sarah. SARAH. Who names their dog Sarah, for pete's sake?
Well, we did, that's who.
As a consolation prize for having lost the battle for "Olive", I held out for "Sarah Marie", because southern dogs should have a double name (duh!) and there is a James Taylor song that I've always loved about a girl named Sarah Maria. And then, once I'd gotten around to doing Sarah's AKC registration paperwork, I decided to give her something more elegant that would honor my East Tennessee roots - hence "Sarah Marie of the Mountains".
For years, Sarah was always a source of great joy as well as significant annoyance. She barked at every noise, every guest, every movement she saw out of the window, strangers, poor Abby the Tabby... Her bark was shrill and loud, and it was most often met with a stern "Sarah, HUSH!!" from one or more of us. And, every now and then, it would be more akin to "SARAH, SHUT THE F**K UP!!"
But she just kept barking.
Being a wiener dog, her sturdy little sausage body made it easy for me to swaddle her and hold her like a baby. We both enjoyed that immensely. She would nod off in my arms, head lolled back and little pudgy platypus feet just hanging there.
Sometimes she had what must have been thrilling dreams - she would twitch and jerk, then quietly bark in her sleep. I think she was chasing bunnies in her dreams, but perhaps it was small children instead.
In her waking hours, she was a fierce pest control officer, barking and biting at any flies or bees that might have made the fatal mistake of flying into our home. It's hard to have short stumpy legs whilst chasing a fly, but damned if she didn't catch them most of the time.
Dachshunds are funny little dogs in that, while they may be part of a family, they generally pick one person to whom they are most strongly attached.
And while she was "our" dog, Sarah was most assuredly MY dog.
Lord, how that dog loved me, and vice versa. She followed me from room to room, and within fifteen seconds of me sitting my butt down on the sofa, she was on my lap or stretched out next to my leg. She was like an extra appendage. I'm told that she even mourned my absence when I was away on business trips.
In the spring of 2013, my job changed and I began working from a home-based office. Sarah was a pest, always wanting attention and being underfoot and completely interfering with work. I started suggesting that she was lonely and that she needed another doggy friend to play with.
This suggestion was not especially well-received by the Mister.
Then, once again, in a momentary lapse of reason, he allowed himself to be persuaded by the Boy and by the giant liquid brown eyes of a beagle-ish mutt at one of those Humane Society's adopt-a-pet events outside of the pet supply store. Let the record reflect that I WASN'T EVEN THERE, but in fairness, they did call me to get my opinion. In retrospect, I find that completely hilarious. Asking me if we could get another dog? Really?? Like I would ever say "no" to that question.
And so ours became a two-dog house, with Sarah Marie ruling the roost and her trusty sidekick Bud E. Beagle slobbering along beside her. Buddy is not the smartest dog, but boy is he sweet. He loved Sarah so much - I don't think it was always entirely reciprocal, but she was gentle and kind to him. He has itchy hound-dog ears and perpetually runny eyes - often, she would patiently clean his face and his ears as they snuggled on the couch or in my lap.
They had great fun, Buddy and Sarah, always together and always (well, mostly) content. Buddy has very little understanding of personal space, but for the most part, Sarah did not seem to mind.
**********
A few weeks ago, we noticed that Sarah had developed a bit of a cough. Nothing terrible, just a bit of a wheeze that was accompanied by the kind of cough that most dogs do when they drink water too fast. Spring had sprung, and because I've always suspected she had seasonal allergies like the rest of us, I didn't think too much of it. After all, she was only eight years old - although she was sporting a few gray whiskers, that's not all that old.
Then, on Saturday, May 14th, I noticed that her bottom looked awful. It looked like one of those monkey butts (an orangutan maybe?) that is inside out and looks completely gross. I dithered for an hour or so and briefly contemplated trying to shove all that mess back up inside of her... but thankfully I remembered that I actually do not know everything (yes, sometimes I forget that), and we took her to the pet ER clinic.
They diagnosed a rectal prolapse, where the lower colon basically falls out of your butt, but the underlying problem was a bit of a mystery at that point. They did a series of x-rays which showed several clouds in her chest and in her belly. "Hopefully that's just a fungal infection," said the ER veterinarian. "There is medicine to treat fungal infections - it's not cheap, but it's effective, and if she has a fungal infection, then we know just what to do."
In my retrospectively pitiable ignorance, I said: "But what if it ISN'T a fungal infection? Then what is it?"
The ER vet, in a gentle voice said, "then it's likely lymphoma."
Oh. Okay then. Time to pray for fungus.
**********
On Friday morning, May 20, 2016, I did my morning bit like I always do. Get up, go pee, look in the mirror for new pimples and/or wrinkles, then go downstairs and let the dogs out of their crates and put out their breakfast. The next part is when they either pee or eat breakfast first, depending on whether they went before bedtime the night before.
Sarah didn't eat, which was weird, so I opened the back door, assuming she wanted a potty break before breakfast. As I stood in the kitchen, I heard a baby crying. Seriously, I heard an infant crying somewhere behind the house, almost like somebody had abandoned an injured baby in my yard.
I rushed to the window, only to see our little Sarah hunched in a "C" curve and trying to pass something terrible through her little sausage link body. It took a minute for me to realize that she - Sarah - was the crying baby. She was making a shrieking and painful sound I'd never heard from her before... she wailed and pushed and wailed...and it was then I realized that it wasn't a fungus.
At 10 a.m., I took her to our regular vet, Sullivan Family Pet Hospital, and I asked them to get in touch with the ER vet clinic to get copies of her X-ray films.
At noon, dear Dr. Allison Sullivan called me to let me know that it wasn't a fungal infection.
That she could refer me to a veterinary oncologist.
That chemo was always a possibility to extend Sarah's life for a few months, for a few thousand dollars... but that Sarah would probably be in pain.
That euthanasia was probably the kindest option.
**********
I am sometimes monstrously self-centered, with limited cognition of others ... so I am somewhat embarrassed to report that I thought twice about it. I can afford chemo, I thought to myself. If they'll just give her chemo and pain meds, I can hug her and snuggle with her and swaddle her as long as possible.
But something... someone... pricked my conscience, and I knew it was time to relieve Sarah's pain. To do the thing that no one EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER wants to do.
And so I asked Dr. Sullivan to let her go. To put her down, to let her go to sleep.
I would like to tell you that I went to Sullivan Pet Hospital and held her paw as she left this life. I wish that was true. But instead I sat here at my desk, wracked with agony and cowardice and.. and... and I let someone else tell her how much I loved her before they "let her go".
**********
So, again I ask.
Where is my dog??
Hang on - I just found her.
She's right here.
She's right here.
She's here, squarely seated in the middle of the memories of my heart, all cozy and swaddled and barking in her sleep.
And that, my dear friends, is where I will ALWAYS find her.
