It was in February of 2003 during one of the worst ice storms we'd ever had that you decided to stop and rest. We had been without power for three days. Everyone was inside trying to stay warm. They kept telling me something was outside and that I needed to go in search again and find it. There was something noticeably different about you - even as a pup. Where you had come from was a mystery. What you might grow up to be was anyone's guess. What you gave us in return when given the chance was extraordinary.
He watched over us all the time - every day and every night. He didn't like anyone to know he was watching. He always knew when someone was watching him.
He wouldn't consider anyone a friend of his until they were willing to sit, be still, be quiet, and let him walk up from behind and sniff the back of their neck and inside of their ear.
He had a nickname - The Butt Man - because he liked to quietly sneak up on friends from behind and then - without warning - stick his nose way up their butt. He would give only that of himself and no more. He laughed.
He was a mind reader and fortune teller. He knew everything that was going on and every move someone was going to make before they made it. He could gracefully dodge anyone who had thoughts of trying to reach out and touch him. He let me hug him.
He had the best poker face and could tell me everything I needed to know about someone. He wouldn't go to anyone who called out his name. He didn't care if someone thought he would love the toy they had bought special just for him - he disapproved and didn't care if his disapproval was disappointing.
He was always one step ahead of everyone - well, almost everyone.
He never met a collar he liked. He believed in collars and leashes and believed they were for other dogs only. He never argued with anyone and could walk away from anyone who wanted to.
He wouldn't let a stranger look him in the eye without giving them notice to look away.
He loved to pretend.
He was a comedian. He told great jokes. He was well-educated and learned all his lessons the first time. He was a teacher, too. He taught me how to walk out the door first - before he did - every morning to make sure no coons were out there before he went out. He'd stroll out with confidence on "coast clear - no coons."
He never raided the garbage. He never stole anything from the litter box. He never chewed on the furniture. He never tore up a shoe. He never used the floor. He never dug up the flowers or bushes.
He didn’t stink. He never had a bath except one. He didn't go for joy rides in the truck or the boat. He never went swimming. He liked the sprinkler just fine. He never tried to dig under the fence or climb over it. He was never spoken harshly to or reprimanded - not ever, not once.
He had his own wood pile. He loved camp fires.
He loved butterflies
He didn't do tricks. He didn't fetch sticks or chase balls. He didn't sit, speak, or lay down on command. He never applied to Pet Smart's Social Hour For Dogs.
He was a gentle, quiet and noble soul - a free spirit. He didn't come with instructions - he didn't need any. His name was Yabbay, and he was the smartest damn dog I've ever known.
He had his own dog pad, his own floor fan, his own air-conditioner, his own bed, couch, pillows, linens, his own back scratcher, belly rubber, his own guard cats, his own patio, coolers, grill, his own shade tree, dog house, and his own roof. He loved the rain and the wind. He cried when he lost best friends. He let me camp out with him in his dog house one time. He howled at the moon. He had a special place he liked to hide his head during thunder storms in the night - under my pillow as far as he could get it. He snored. He had sweet dreams. He loved dogs. He loved cats. Everyone who met him wanted to win him over. Well, almost everyone. One of the Fed-Ex drivers was petrified of him. Other than that, everyone wanted to win his love . Bribes were offered from his most loyal fans and friends throughout the years in hopes they‘d win his approval enough for just one pet, one hug, maybe one kiss. Pork rinds, Slim Jims, Milk Bones, Gorton's Fish Sticks, tennis balls, squeaky toys, rawhide chews, and even country ham slices were some of the best bribes I remember.It was early Friday morning - July 11. I knew something was wrong from the time I woke up - something was seriously wrong. It had come on in the middle of the night - like a flash flood out of no where without any warning. The vet got here as soon as she could. He tested positive for heartworms, and he was in congestive heart failure. Without treatment he wouldn't survive - not even through the weekend. With immediate and aggressive treatment and admission to the intensive care unit to receive IV medications, there was hope. It was the only hope. If he could get through the crisis and not go into kidney or liver failure and then undergo treatment for heartworms later, there was hope that he could have a "good quality of life." There was hope.
His red collar was on the desk - that's where it stayed. Dexamethasone and Lasix were administered on the spot. We wrapped him up in his blue comforter and carried him to the van. I cried a river. She said she'd call me as soon as they got him admitted. I got the call - he was stable. Someone would be there all night to check on him.
The end of the day came. I went to a place we always went at the end of the day. I couldn't remember ever having felt so shitty- even though I knew he was getting the best of medical care - I knew my best friend was fighting for his life. I remembered the moon and fires.
I thought back to the first day he'd come into our lives - to the ice storm. He was the last of his original pack - the only one left out of four of the greatest DRD's ever - a bunch of legendary mutts who spanned the last 20 years - the best of times, the worst of them, the greatest times - they'd seen it all. They had been there through it all.I didn't sleep a wink. I walked out when morning came - this was the first thing I saw.
Another time and another place I would have thought it was just a beautiful ray of sunlight.
It wasn't another time and place, though, and it was shining down like a beacon from above, over Daffodil Hill and into Yabbay's lot.
I'd never been willing to believe there are "messages sent from above" - why the hell start now?
I tried to convince myself that the odd light had a scientific explanation. I wondered if I could capture a picture of it. I wondered how Yabbay was doing. I decided to start walking - I tried to get the ray of sunlight off my mind. I rounded the corner, and this is what I saw.
This ray of sunlight was shining down on my thinking chair. I didn't walk over to sit down.The phone rang - 7:45, vet's office.
"Yabbay's doing a lot better than we expected. His liver and kidneys are a lot better off than we thought they'd be. We'd like to continue the IV meds one more night and recheck his labs in the morning. He might get to come home tomorrow. Do you know what he might like to eat? We've tried hot dogs, Big Macs, macaroni and cheese, salmon - he just turns his head and won't look at us. He doesn't need to eat yet; we just thought it might make him feel better. He'll feel more like eating when he's home, and he'll recover better at home, too."
"You can bring him home NOW if you think that would be better for him!!"
(I just wanted my &$^#%$ DOG back!)
Sunday morning - she called again - "He did good through the night and even pulled the catheter out. He's putting up a fight this morning and not cooperating with us - ALL good signs! It means he's still strong and doing good and ready to get out of here! Will you be home after lunch?"
I'd walk home from Alaska to be home after lunch for Yabbay!!
I cut the A/C down as cold as it would go - 62 and "turbo." No one but Yabbay could stand to be in the same room with me in the summertime - wintertime too for that matter.
I watched out the window for dust on the dry road - the "sign" he was headed home.
DUST! He darted inside and slunk away to hide from whatever had taken him away from home. Hugs, apologies, and bribes for forgiveness could wait. He needed time to defuse on his own - in his own space.There was bag full of pill bottles - five bottles - lasix, prednisone, two antibiotics, and Enalapril. I'd never had to give him one pill let alone 24 pills in one day. He could eat whatever he wanted. His prognosis was "guarded", he was still in critical condition, but IF he could get through the next few weeks ........ if ...... "good quality of life"..... if
Those words echoed in my head.
"If anyone calls, I'm not here, you don't know where I am or when I'll be back." They knew the routine - I had a case of tunnel vision, the worse case anyone had seen in a while. I started running in and out of the kitchen and up and down the stairs, slinging kitchen cabinets and refrigerators and freezer doors open, looking here and there for the special treat, for leftovers, for something stuffed in the back of one of the freezers that no one would want anyhow that I could cook up and hide pills in. By the time it was over with, the counters were loaded up with concoctions. Bacon (fried perfectly) with buttered toast on the side was piled high on a paper plate, a half dozen scrambled eggs were in a bowl, two whole chickens were in a pot - boiling - to be deboned later, a pork roast was in the oven, hot dogs and sausage from the freezer were in a bag marked "FOR YABBAY!"
"LUCKY?? C'mon Lucky!!! C'mon Boy! Let's go see Yabbay!!" Lucky was the best therapy dog. He ate! He took his meds! Eating, drinking, walking, pee'ing taking meds - I was so excited I called everyone to tell them the great news!!
On Thursday - his fourth day home from the hospital - I could tell he was losing interest in eating, and so I fixed him something I thought he might like - Shit On A Shingle. "C'mon Lucky!" If Lucky would eat it, Yabbay would. Lucky would eat anything.
Lucky led him to water, and he drank it.
By Thursday afternoon, I couldn't ignore the voice in my heart anymore. It was telling me that the hope for a "good quality of life" was getting dimmer.I didn't want to cry in front of him. I laid down beside him and told him how very sorry I was that he was so sick from heartworms and that I was so very sorry they had shaved his beautiful legs to get the #!&%%# catheter in that I was so very sorry he had to take pills that made him feel awful and that I was so sorry for crying.
I called the vet to see if she'd come see him before next week and maybe run some labs again just to make sure his liver and kidneys were still OK - that I needed some assurance. She called after she got the labs back and said that the numbers on some of his labs were "so crazy" - that she felt certain it was a lab error, to not be alarmed, that she wanted to come get another specimen just to make sure.
Three times - it wasn't an error.
A part of me died.
I walked down from Daffodil Hill that afternoon. I wanted to just keep walking, but I was attacked.
The gourds are growing and doing great.
The Okra is doing great!
The pine cones are doing great, too.
Does anyone know how the apples tasted this year?
The monarch butterflies are here.
The cotton's blooming. Lucky, the bear hound, was scoping the field out.
Miss Jolly Apple Be has been teaching Chewy how to climb the apple tree and how to play fetch the apple.
Apple breath!!
After I hung out with some friends for a while, I walked to a special spot on the hill - the place we always sat at the end of the day. He wasn't there. I looked up towards Daffodil Hill - where he was laid to rest. He needed a marker - he needed a cross like everyone else had. I wondered why I had made crosses. It didn't matter why. I wondered if we had any of that old knotty pine flooring left in the barn, and I wondered if we had any of that blue paint left. It was somewhere. He'd have to have blue on his cross. Hell NO to red.
I stood up to go back to the house. I looked to the sky. For some reason I looked to the sky one more time.
I'd never had a hard time believing something was really happening when it was. This really really wasn't happening, was it? I hadn't seen a rainbow in years let alone see one now.
I watched the skies around it turn a beautiful shade of blue.
We used to look at the moon in the same sky.
Call it a spiritual experience, a message from above, a message from The Great Eye in the Sky, from Yabbay, from God, from whoever, however, wherever - I don't know who or where it came from. It doesn't matter. What matters is - I'll never NOT believe that something a lot more powerful than I ever imagined IS out there.I've never had an experience like that rainbow or those rays of sunlight.
But then again, I'd never had a dog like Yabbay.
I was given a choice - I could believe the rays of sunlight and rainbow were just coincidental, or I could believe there was a purpose to them, a message to be considered - that they didn't just happen, that they happened for a reason.The message was - he came into my life for a reason, and he'll be with me forever. He sent me rays of hope that morning - NOT to shine down from the sky to just anywhere but to shine down over Daffodil Hill and into his dog lot.
And then he sent another ray of hope to shine down on another special place - one of my favorite thinking chairs.
He sent me rays of hope that morning because he was hoping like HELL he'd get home quick because he had unfinished business to take care of. He wanted to enjoy some fine dining with his best friends and drink from his cooler and walk across his turf and leave lots of messages to Chewy and Miss Jolly - be dogs, be nice to the cats, let Lucky have all the treats in that box, and never let any of the crew ever give up on hope.And then - after I laid him to rest on Daffodil Hill- he sent me a rainbow to let me know I had done the right thing by helping him leave us with some dignity. He wanted me to know he was right where he wanted to be - still with us and at peace. He also wanted me to start believing in the possibility that a place called "The Other Side" does exist because believing is probably a lot less painful than not believing when you lose someone you love.
Who in the HELL taught him THAT trick!?
July 18, 2008
R.I.P.
“A lovely ancient fairy-tale tells that while God was painting the sky blue, a Chow Chow was following Him and licked up the drops that fell with his tongue. There is some truth in all fairy-tales, and in this one it is true that the Chow has a blue tongue and that his origins begin with God's Creation ! Up till now there isn't any historical dog-fancier who could give a date or a definite period to his origins.”
Three weeks later
I had actually finished this post about three weeks ago and was ready to publish the above when something happened. It happened after I considered the message, and it happened right after I said (above) "He also wanted me to start believing in the possibility that a place called "The Other Side" does exist because believing is probably a lot less painful than not believing when you lose someone you love. Who in the HELL taught him THAT trick!?"
It didn't happen 5 minutes later or two days later - it happened right then, right at that moment - as if someone or something knew that I had what I would need - hope and faith.
It happened on Monday, July 21, at 7:50 p.m. That's when I ran from this seat as fast as I could and then called the ambulance.
"He sure is a cute little puppy - what did you say his name was again?"
She's home now and doing a lot better, thank God!!
Who's watching who?
Oh my deer, if Dear Yabbay were here, he'd surely sneak up from behind you and sniff the inside of your ear and tell you that you have something in there that needs getting out.
Ah .... that's better!
Listen to this:"That little Chewy sure is a cute little puppy. What did you say his mama's name is again?"
Her name's Miss Jolly. Wanna go see them again?
Does anyone out there believe in fairy tales? How about miracles?
“A lovely ancient fairy-tale tells that while God was painting the sky blue, a Chow Chow was following Him and licked up the drops that fell with his tongue. There is some truth in all fairy-tales, and in this one it is true that the Chow has a blue tongue and that his origins begin with God's Creation ! Up till now there isn't any historical dog-fancier who could give a date or a definite period to his origins.”There was a time I didn't believe.
How was it that Miss Jolly just happened to be in that shack in the woods and just happened to come into my life when she did and just happened to deliver nine beautiful puppies, one of which I just happened to keep - the one whose tongue would turn blue like Yabbay's?
ChewBacca, AKA Chewy Chewy. It's a mystery. Or is it?
Chewy loves chillin' on his comforter in the A/C with his mama and step-mammy. He loves the cats, too. He just got back from a visit to the vets a few days ago for a checkup and his puupy vaccines (15 weeks old!) His blazing new collar sports his rabies tag. Miss Jolly also went to the vets last week - she got fixed. She did great!
but...but...but...
Yes - she's making me sit here like a good dog and listen to your story about that Yabbay dog and about messages in the sky and about life and how everything happens for a reason and all that good stuff, and I love it, but I really want to get back to playing with this sock that I love and snatched off the floor and brought out here for you.
One day when I'm old and decrepit and rockin' in my thinkin' rocker and recalling life's greatest moments - like having "spiritual experiences" and about how my great dogs taught me to believe in fairy tales, it's for sure I'll never forget this "life's greatest moments" story. I'll tell it 1000 times, too, and if no one sitting in their rocker gives a hoot about all the great dogs of my life or about the rays of sunshine and hope and beautiful rainbow Yabbay sent me or about my first spiritual experience, or if no one thinks it's awesome and deserves all this talking about, or if no one believes it - that's OK. Things could be a lot worse than not believing. Or could they?
You were the greatest dog EVER!! You were THE BEST - the one and only Yabbay - the Yabbay Dabbay Doo of Life. You taught an old dog a new trick! Thank you!Chow Chows for Adoption, North Carolina (or pick your state)
