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Pawly is in Heaven. She passed away in her sleep while receiving treatment for pancreatitis; of an aneurysm resulting from a failing heart. The two conditions were unrelated, and her death was a pretty big shock to all of us.
Or was it? I believe strongly that a pet will choose their time to die. Pawly was not in the best of health this past year, but her sense of duty to my family kept her moving despite her failing hind legs, breathing despite the endless panting. But even though she seemed to be feeling poorly, Pawly wasn’t ready to leave my family yet.
She had to see them pass into a new chapter of their lives. She wanted to know that they could be happy without her. But first, she had to see the countryside her family called home before she came along. And Pawly loved it! She got to run through fields of sage brush, smell the fresh air of two mountain ranges, see her first cows and horses and llamas… Through those experiences, Pawly became revitalized. And she learned how to have fun again because she could sense our happiness.
So in the days running up to her death, Pawly took car rides willingly and climbed and sniffed up and down rocky hillsides. She even went without her pain medicine for two weeks; before the move across the country she needed two doses a day to fight the inflammation in her hips. She lost 15 lbs, quit panting almost entirely, and her raw, cracked nose completely healed to its youthful softness.
But Pawly’s time with my family was drawing to a close. Suddenly she became violently ill and had to be taken to the doctor. Amazingly, she was calm through the examination and even seemed to like the young man who was treating her. Pawly used to lose her mind when taken to the veterinarian in South Carolina. Maybe all that traveling had made her a more worldly and emotionally resilient dog. Or maybe she was relieved that Mom wouldn’t have to see her suffer–see her die.
In the wee hours of the morning of November 1st, Pawly said goodbye to my family and this world. She spent 12 years being Mom’s Shadow, Dad’s garage guardian, Latice’s ‘Poo, and my living toy. We will talk about her for the rest of our lives, because she was more than a dog for us. She was, and will forever be, our furry heart.
What was Pawly to you? Write a comment to share your favorite Pawly story.
November 2nd, 2008 at 8:51 pm
I very much appreciate what you have written. Pawly was incredibly smart and instinctively kept you ladies safe. She managed the other animals in the house including protecting the furniture from damage from cats. She always came when you whistled for her. She pretty much never pooped in her own yard. She never drew blood biting a person. To my knowledge, she never got into a dogfight, but would break up a catfight when asked. She was the only dog I have known who would willingly be bathed. She shadowed Liz no matter what Liz was doing. She taught me a lot about what a dog can be. She was an important part of our family’s life during our transition from naiveté to, well, less naiveté…
November 2nd, 2008 at 9:57 pm
I love your comment, Dad. Especially the part about never pooping in her own yard. For a dog, that’s a pretty big deal.
She would break up a cat fight! Just stick her nose in there and scare the hell out of everyone. Someone always got slimed, too.
Back when I was in college, she and I would chase each other all over the house for the first 30 minutes of my visits home. And every time she’d bust her ass at the end of the hallway.
If she was on the bed and you moved your hand around under the covers, she’d pounce like a cat and chew on the bedspread after she’d caught you. I’m pretty sure her nibbling habit either spawned or resulted from that behavior.
She didn’t like anyone’s face to be near hers; except for yours. When she was younger, she’d claw and wiggle and struggle her way into your lap until she was almost exhausted. Then she’d strain with every muscle to reach her teeth up to your beard so she could chew on it.
November 2nd, 2008 at 10:19 pm
For twelve years I looked after her and she did the same for me. I miss her and truly I can’t believe that she is gone. She was born the last week of October in 1996 and was a good girl all her life.
November 2nd, 2008 at 10:32 pm
So she was exactly 12 years old… very cool.
She really did look after you: If one of us said, “Go see Mama” she’d immediately head in your direction, regardless of whether you were 10 ft or 100 ft away. Dammit, she knew where you were at all times!
And when you talked to her she’d tilt her head to the side like she was absorbing everything you were saying to her.
If other dogs approached and you told them to “go home”, Pawly would growl, take off running, and start barking wildly. In that order. If you didn’t want something near you, she was going to make sure it got chased off.
She did not like it when you shoveled. At all. She’d attack your feet and drag you away from the evil stick monster with the iron mouth.
If you told her to roll over, she would bark indignantly. She learned how to sit down, lay down, speak, jump up, stay, go in the house, drop it, get the kitty, and hang out within hours of first hearing the command. Never once would she roll over. Pawly was too good for that.
When she was younger, she would writhe on the carpet while growling and snorting and groaning. Her back scratching ritual usually ended with a wild bark, a sneeze, or a teeth-wielding confrontation with a cat or a person tackling her.
No doubt, she loved attention and liked to bait us humans into playing with her. It was too easy.
November 3rd, 2008 at 9:31 am
Pawly was great! I love dogs and she was one of the best. Plus it was so much fun to see how much she meant to the entire family. I know she is in a good place. And she had one heck of a good life with you guys. From being spoiled to being harassed (Nyco) I think she lived like a king. I always remember her multi-hour attempts to get you to pet her by nudging her nose under you hand “You will pet me or I will pet myself with your hand!” . Thank you all for writing these things here, I can see they mean a lot to each of you.