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Well, I think I have set a new record for consecutive weeks without a Rector’s Rambling when not on sabbatical. I’ve missed some here or there because things get busy, which is how this recent dry spell started. But then it was another issue. I got a Rambling stuck in the chute, so to speak, and it’s been keeping me from writing – blocking anything from getting past it. I suppose I knew I had to ramble about something, but I’ve been avoiding it. As I’ve shared previously, I often need to write or preach about something to process it fully. I realized about a week ago that I just needed to write this Rambling to finish processing this particular issue. Then I assume I’ll get back to my regular pattern of squeezing Ramblings into typically busy weeks. So here goes.
I think most everyone who has been reading Rector's Ramblings for a few years knows I’m a dog person; our family is a dog family. I’ve rambled over the years about losing and finding dogs, the death of dogs, and getting new dogs. Dog ramblings are among the most popular pieces I’ve ever written. My ramblings when our first dog, Sammy, died, and my ramblings when I lost Scarlette on Jekyll Island rank first and second for Ramblings with the most feedback. Well, I lost Scarlette again over the holidays, but not in a way that I was able to find her again. Not exactly, anyway.
On Christmas night, somewhere between dinner time and bedtime, we realized Scarlette was unwell. As the evening wore on, we realized she was very ill. We googled her symptoms, and I didn’t like what I was seeing. I called the closest 24-hour pet ER in Fernandina, and the intake nurse said, “I think it’s time for you to get in the car and bring her down here.” So, we did. Leaving at 11:30 at night, we arrived a little before 1:00 am. We had told them we suspected “bloat,” and they were ready when we arrived to whisk her away for an X-ray. We waited about 15 minutes, and the tech came out to tell us the results were ready and that the doctor wanted to see us in a private room. She confirmed that it was indeed bloat, a condition in which the dog’s stomach twists, choking off blood flow to both ends.
It's not an uncommon ailment for “big-chested” breeds like German Shepherds, and although I’d heard of it, I didn’t know how common it actually is. Surgery can fix it, but it’s a difficult procedure for a dog to undergo, and the recovery takes about a month if there are no complications. She admitted that we got Scarlette in very quickly, and the “score” they measure based on bloodwork was among the lowest the doctor had seen in a dog with bloat. The doctor answered all our questions, and while we also got information about the range of costs we could expect, we could tell she wasn’t really suggesting we have the surgery. When pressed, she essentially said she wouldn’t put a senior dog through a surgery that unpleasant.
I hadn’t really thought of Scarlette as a senior dog. I know we’d had her for over a decade, and when we stopped and thought about it, we realized she was at least thirteen. The only health problem she had was some hearing loss, but physically, she was in fantastic shape. Only the gray on her muzzle and sprinkled along her spine betrayed her age. But of course, we had to agree, as much as we didn’t want to. It was time to say goodbye. I feel like I got a little glimpse of what it felt like for Scarlette’s stomach to twist, because I felt my heart doing the same thing. How could we go from a perfectly healthy dog to no real option for life in under twelve hours? My aunt and uncle were visiting us for Christmas, so we woke the kids to see if they wanted to say goodbye. Since they did, the four of them drove down together and arrived around 3:30 am. We had a quiet hour and a half with a partially sedated Scarlette while we waited, and it wasn’t a pleasant wait for any of us.
When our first two dogs needed to be euthanized, we saw it coming. They had health problems, had been taking medications and receiving treatment, and it was a matter of working with our vet to decide “it was time.” This was different. And while I loved our first two dogs deeply, in both cases, they were more closely bonded to Donna. Scarlette, however, was “mine,” the first dog in my life for whom I was “her person.” She and I bonded very quickly after we adopted her, and for a while she was even an office dog (until she tried to “shepherd” the HVAC guy out of my office one day when he kept coming and going while working on the thermostat). We ran together, she went to the clergy conference and Sewanee with me, and she even went kayaking with me. She was my dog.
We almost didn’t adopt Scarlette. Initially, the rescue we worked with dissuaded us from pursuing Scarlette. She had been so mistreated in her early life that they weren’t sure how she would do around kids, and worried that she was too aloof and strong-willed. I don’t remember what changed, but we did end up driving to Tennessee to meet her, along with our other two dogs. The woman who had fostered her for about a year was the one who convinced the rescue’s director to give it a shot. Whatever she saw about our connection that day, the director trusted her foster’s gut and assessment, and we agreed to give it a try. The rest, as they say, is history.
Scarlette was aloof in those early months, and maybe even years. Initially, she “tolerated” us, but over time, she became increasingly affectionate. She became alpha of our little pack and was a natural protector of our family, especially our girls. That progression continued right through last year. Our big girl, who used to like her space and to be alone for much of the day, became a snuggler and, like most shepherds, “talked” to us more and more. While she wasn’t a perfect dog, and her alpha mentality with the other dogs sometimes wasn't helpful, she was a great dog. As one of the boarders we used out west said when we picked up our dogs from boarding while in the Grand Canyon, “That one,” pointing to Scarlette, “is a real dog!”
Now, I get it. Scarlette is “just” a dog, but I liked my dog a lot more than most people I know. I have said before (and others have validated) that our pets can be as important to us as parents, spouses, and children. In some cases, even more so, under the right circumstances. I don’t make apologies for the grief it has caused, any more than the tears I’ve been fighting since I started writing this piece. I loved my dog, and she loved me, and there is still a hole in our family after her death. But it’s getting better. I don’t “feel” every instance of walking past her spots in the house anymore, but I still have those moments of expecting to see her and then remembering she’s not there. They will continue to subside over time.
I take comfort in my long-held belief that God holds much of God’s creation in the palm of God’s hand, and that even animals share in God’s eternal promises. Genesis says that God breathed nephesh, or spirit, into the animals, the same spirit God breathed into humans. We may be the highest part of God’s creation, but God loves all of God’s handiwork and called it good, too. Having been with humans and animals alike when they breathe their last, it feels very similar to me. Make of that what you will, but I know what it means to me.
Our last hour with Scarlette was tough. She was still with us, but she was so ill and medicated that she seemed to be somewhere else. I spoke to her and explained what was going to happen and why, and I’d like to think she understood. For the hours when she had been obviously ill, she wasn’t herself, and she wouldn’t look me in the eye for some reason. I’ve heard that dogs often like to go off into the woods or hide under porches and such when it’s time to die, and maybe she was hoping to find such a place, I don’t know. But I do know that, shortly before the kids arrived, as I was on the floor with Scarlette, talking to her and petting her, she turned to me for the first time that evening, looked into my eyes, and held my gaze. I saw her, and she saw me, and I hope she was able to find the same comfort that I did in that final connection.
Soon thereafter, I held her in my lap as the doctor administered the injections, and found it surprisingly easy to leave once she was gone and we said our final goodbyes. She wasn’t there anymore, even if her body was there on the blanket. There was no reason for me to linger.
We drove back down a week later to pick up her ashes, and she’s back in the office with me again. I don’t have to worry that she’ll shepherd anyone else, so I figure I’m safe to have her with me! I don’t know what you believe about dogs (and cats, and other critters) and death, but I promised Scarlette I would see her again. I found her twice – first at a dog rescue more than 500 miles away, and a second time when I scoured Jekyll Island until the wee hours one night after the fireworks scared her out of her collar and she ran off. I don’t know exactly how the next world works, but if it works the way I think it does, or at least the way I hope it does, we’ll find each other again.
Dogs don’t get funerals very often, so they don’t get eulogies, either. I owe Scarlette a lot, and sharing her story with you is the least I can do. I’m grateful for her life and her care for our family, and I’m thankful for all of you who have honored her with me by reading this far. God blesses us in so many ways, and our animals are just one of those blessings. But they are big blessings, to be sure. I pray we all know the love God has for us through the animals we share our lives with. As hard as it is to part ways with all those we love, the love we shared in this life is worth the grief, and I wouldn’t trade that love for anything.
