In April 2020, Covid had a chokehold on our world. We were told to stay home and stay away from people.
So, it seemed everyone went out and got a dog.
Including me.
I had not had a pet since putting down Barney, my dachshund, several years earlier. But time had healed the wound, and I was ready for some four-legged companionship. Something didn’t feel right about buying a dog, and everything felt right about adopting one.
So on a Saturday, Nancy, my significant other at the time and now my fiancée’, went with me to the Humane Society of Northwest Louisiana. We had no idea what we were looking for, except a dog in need of a home. We went into the “yard”, and boy did they came a runnin’. Big dogs. Little dogs. Cute dogs. Ugly dogs.
They ran circles around us. Literally.
But, like humans, the canines got bored quickly and went on to something else.
Except one.
She was a Golden Retriever who refused to leave us. She stayed close to Nancy. Perhaps it was a female bonding thing. I wasn’t convinced this was the dog for me, but Nancy gave me that look. You know, the look a woman gives implying you are the worst person in the world if you don’t choose this dog.
So, we signed the adoption papers, found out her real name was Maddie (not Brownie, as she was called at the shelter), got a picture of the three of us, and began what would be a four-and-a-half-year love affair.
Though it was about 45 minutes before I had buyer’s remorse.
How was I supposed to know my back yard neighbor had a rabbit? Who lives in the city with a rabbit?
Once home, Maddie made a beeline for the rabbit, which was protected only by a wooden privacy fence.
There isn’t any privacy when it’s retriever versus rabbit.
Maddie brought down the fence, and in no time, was thinking about having rabbit stew for dinner. I finally pried the rabbit from Maddie’s soft mouth, prayed I wouldn’t get sued, then went to Lowe’s and got some fence boards.
I had not bought the first bag of dog food, and this whole adoption thing was costing me money.
Turns out, Maddie was about as low maintenance a dog as you could have. She never caused the slightest problem (other than me having to replace half my fence.) I think Maddie was just happy to have a good home. She was so calm. So content. In fact, many times, I didn’t even notice she was at home until she got inches from me, sat, and gave me a big, brown-eyed stare which screamed “Pet me, please.”
My fiancée’ has eight grandchildren, five of them eight years old and younger. Maddie didn’t like other dogs, but she loved kids. Such a sweet girl, Maddie would lay for hours, happy to receive head pats and tail pulls. Nancy’s three-year old granddaughter called Maddie “My best friend.”
There’s that female bonding thing again.
When Nancy and I adopted Maddie, we were told she was seven years old. But as time passed, we thought she must have been older. Eventually, walks around the neighborhood brought on too much huffing and puffing. Games of Fetch in the back yard turned into me throwing the ball and me retrieving it.
But when I woke up Wednesday, October 23rd, Maddie wouldn’t, or couldn’t, stand up. I had to carry her outside. She wouldn’t eat.
I took Maddie to the vet, where she stayed two nights and received the full hospital treatment. An ultrasound. Intravenous antibiotics. Fluids. Hoping it was just an infection, we brought her home.
But Maddie only got worse, and our heart sank. Two days later, my 91-year-old father, who would feed Maddie food and treats when I was out of town, drove 30 minutes, got down on the floor, and gave Maddie her final belly rubs.
Monday, I carried Maddie to the car for what I had a feeling would be the final time. I left her at the vet, hoping there was hope. But that afternoon, the call came. Hope was drowning in fluid surrounding Maddie’s great, big, beautiful heart.
I desperately wanted Maddie to pass at home, and on her own. But the vet said Maddie was struggling, and ending that struggle as soon as possible was the right thing to do.
So, soon after 5pm, Maddie – lying on a blanket – was brought into a cozy, dimly-lit room. From the time we adopted her, when Maddie heard her name, she would wag her tail, which had a distinctive white tip.
But not this time.
Nancy and I got down on the floor, crying like no adult should ever be moved to do. We whispered in Maddie’s ears. Told her how much we loved her. Told her what a great dog she had been. Told her she was about to be pain-free, running with the other dogs in heaven.
At 5:18, the vet pushed one syringe filled with sedation medicine. The vet then asked if we were ready. We nodded, and I buried my face in Maddie’s body – her rib cage expanding in and out because she was breathing so hard.
Within seconds, the breathing stopped. The struggle ended. Maddie was gone.
I looked up, and Maddie’s paw was on Nancy’s leg. Female bonding until the end.
Maddie taught this 61-year-old a lot. How to love and not expect anything in return. How just “being there” can mean so much. How thankful I should be – like her – for a roof over my head.
On that late April day more than four years ago, Nancy and I thought we had rescued Maddie. But, as Nancy says, it was Maddie who rescued us.
Rest in peace, Maddie dog. Rest in peace.
Contact Tony at SBJTonyT@gmail.com.
