Almost twelve years ago, as a junior in college, I was encouraged by close friends to get a dog to help me through a difficult time in my life. I asked my college best friend and roommate, Lindsey, to take to me to the animal shelter to pick one out. Something came up, and we weren’t able to go the day that I had planned to get a dog and bring it home. I was frustrated because I wanted one so badly. But, during that week, I was able to reflect that I shouldn’t rush into it, and maybe it was crazy to get one… so I would just let fate control it, and if one was right for me, it would work out when the time came to get one. So, I waited a couple weeks until I could go again, and when they were having a sale, and she and I excitedly went to just “look and see if one jumped out at me that I thought would be a good match.”
It was just before Thanksgiving break, and the facility was about to close for the day, but we had just enough time to pass the crates of dozens of dogs and cats looking at you with big sad and hopeful eyes, hoping you’d pick them. I knew exactly what I was looking for - an affectionate, loyal, protective, and intelligent dog - and hopefully a white one. And it had to be a girl because I wanted to be able to rub her belly… and.. well.. with a boy… you know - I just didn’t want to deal with all of that. And the marking.
So, I passed a few crates, and then I saw this beautiful, white, almost angelic-looking dog. I said “Lindsey, this is the one.” I knew right away. She looked at me with these beautiful, hope-filled, strong eyes, and I knew. She licked me through the cage, and I was sold. It was love at first sight. I immediately asked the attendant if I could take her outside to really analyze her temperament. She paid no attention to me outside. She walked the perimeter of the outdoor area and alertly and very nobly assessed the surroundings. I knew it meant she was protective, and it made me want her even more, but honestly nothing would have changed my mind. When you know, you know.
I asked the front desk if they could provide any history on the pretty white dog, “Cotton.” They told me that she couldn’t provide details about the original owner, but she did tell me that she had just been sent back from her first adoptive parents (so, her second owner in just 2 years of life) because she “kept waking them up in the middle of the night because she wanted to play.” I said, right away, “Well I want her!” I couldn’t imagine a better dog - a NOCTURNAL dog? I never sleep. It was perfect. And then my heart broke. I thought “these idiots adopted a young dog and thought they didn’t need to exercise her? Then brought her back, and she’s here for the second time?” I was sure she was for me, and ready to take her home when the receptionist told me it would take too long to get the paperwork before closing, and that I would have to come back after the Thanksgiving Holiday. I had already fallen in love with her, and was welling up with tears. Before I left, I paid for her, and made certain she was mine, then watched her go back into her little cage, and I hoped it wouldn’t make her not trust me. I waited through the Thanksgiving Break (four whole days!) then went back with Lindsey and got her as soon as we both had a break from class.
They stuck a microchip in her, and I remember looking at Lindsey with my mouth open thinking that the apocalypse was here and telling her we were days away from being scanned ourselves for identity. I walked that beautiful thing to Lindsey’s car, and sat with her in the backseat so she wouldn’t be scared. When we rode away, she buried her head in my lap and hugged me, and hugged me, and hugged me and sighed. She knew. And I told her she was mine.
I didn’t have a name for her - I wanted to meet her first. So, I did the obvious thing and got on babynames.com, and analyzed about 100 names before coming to hers. I wanted meaning, and I wanted it to match her noble and comforting personality. I chose the name “Adalia.” It meant “God is my Refuge” and “noble” in German. I would call her Dali for short. I went and bought her a bed, and toys, and everything she didn’t need but I wanted to buy. She was so, so grateful. And there was no doubt in her mind who she belonged to. She was incredibly intelligent; the fastest-learning dog I had ever trained. I even taught her the famous collie, Reveille’s signature trick in about three minutes and four pieces of jerky. I asked her “Dali, would rather go to t.u., or roll over and die?” Obviously she made the right choice. Every time. She rolled right over, and I gave her triple treats for that trick.
She rested her head on the windowsill of my first townhome and waited for me to come home from class. And didn’t rest until then. Hours she would wait and look. She was so good at barking and being protective that I came home late one night to a cop car in my driveway. I thought “oh no. who died?”
But no, it was Dali. She got the cops called on her for barking. It was my first encounter with the police. They even did a search through our house with a Mag-Lite. Legit. My roommates and I called her “Dali the Delinquent” for a few months after that.
I took her to the park. I played fetch with her in the baseball fields. I walked her all over the streets of College Station, and when I got a car, she rode with me everywhere. When I went into stores and then came back out, you’d find her in the driver’s seat - guarding and protecting until I got back.
She brought me back to life. The thing about me is - my friends, or people that I love in general, are my world. I would do anything for them. But, not everyone is like that. And, I’ve always struggled with that. And, the thing about a dog is… well, at least this dog for sure…she would have done anything for me. She reciprocated the love that I gave to her, and while I know we shouldn’t love dogs more than people, and I don’t, it was just what I needed at the time in my life to help me love others in the way I was created. She reminded me of the powerful force that love was, and she reminded me that hope was very, very real. And she reminded me that God was my refuge, because I knew that only He could orchestrate such a plan so that I could get her, even if it meant having her returned once, and me not able to go another time, so that the timing was perfect for me to have the perfect dog. She reminded me He loved me and wanted good things for me.
Three years ago, she injured herself. She had pain in her lower back and hip area. I took her to the vet right away, and he told me it was arthritis. I didn’t believe him, because of its quick onset, but he was a medical professional, and who was I to make a call. I put her on Usana supplements - high powered glucosamine, antioxidants, minerals, and more fish oil than you could imagine. After about two weeks of that, her limping turned into running and catching like she did was just a pup. She was the most agile thing in the world. Would almost do flips to catch a frisbee, and would run for miles and never tire, so it was a relief to see a 9 year old dog act as if she was 3 again. This year, she re-injured herself, and the limp came back. It upset me, seeing her not be able to walk well, but she still managed. Then, in October, it got worse. I avoided it for as long as I could, and then took her into a vet just before Christmas who recommended I put her on “bed rest” for two weeks and if no better - surgery. ummmm… how do you put a 55lb dog on bed rest? Well, for me, it meant I had to also be on bed rest. I stayed with her through the Christmas holidays, for fear that I would walk in “and she be paralyzed” like the vet warned. I brought her in just before the New Year to see a cooperating vet and she said - absolutely no surgery, which I originally thought also, and that it was time to put her down.
I was in shock. I thought “ok. I missed Christmas. I have locked her up and carried her up and down the stairs with a recovering ankle myself, and now you’re telling me this?” So I cried, and the vet cried with me, and I took her home, and cried through the rest of my winter break. I watched her get worse, and I listened to wise advice from a mother, telling me that we were given authority over these animals to do what was best for them - not us, and knew it was probably best to let her go. It was so hard, though - she was so, so, so beautiful. Her eyes were bright. She knew all her commands. She loved to eat. Her heart was in great condition. Her lungs great. Her coat was gorgeous. Her ears were as alert as ever. But, she couldn’t walk. And walking, for her, was her job. She patrolled every night to keep me safe, and she couldn’t do that anymore. So at night, she would pant from nervousness of not being able to do what she was born to do. It will kill you.. not being able to do what you were born to do. It was heartbreaking. She wanted to be herself, and couldn't be. I took her to our family vet at the end of the break, this being the third vet, and he confirmed that she would get no better, although not necessarily in pain, and recommended euthanasia. I knew he would be straight with me, unlike a big city vet looking for money from a surgery. I cried all the way home, and went to work the next day. Each night, I came home, carried her up and down the stairs, and she would comfort me when I cried. Little did she know who I was crying over. On nights I didn’t have class, I would drive her around until she fell asleep, so she could have her purpose of patrolling - just not using her own legs to do it. I love to take drives - its my favorite thing to do, especially with her, so it was no bother, but I knew it wouldn’t last once I got busy enough. I would have done anything in the world to save her - and I did. Vitamins, medicine, acupuncture, chiropractor, you name it, I did it. I prayed to God that she would get sick to make the decision easier, but she stayed her beautiful healthy self, except her little legs and back just got worse.
She was a part of every major life event I have had. She was with me when I was crying over my course catalog at A&M - not knowing what to do, because no major was for me, until I found one that let me teach and take all my science hours, she was there when I fell in love with plants and realized that nature was and had always been a huge comfort and connection with the world. She was there when I got what I thought then was the worst news of my life, when my grandmother, who help instill that love of nature, died. She licked my tears, whimpered, and lay in my lap. She was there just months later when my brothers came in the late hours of the night to tell me my Dad had died. She was there in the moments of grief and turmoil after that. I remember typing on AOL instant messenger to a friend when it had just occurred to me that I wouldn’t have anyone to walk me down the aisle on my wedding day… a girl always dreams about her wedding day… I wept and wept and wept. But, it was a silent cry - the cry only someone would know in a deep, deep state of grief. The actual event of losing someone, especially a parent, is terribly devastating, but I would say what is almost worse, is having moments in your life happen when you want share things with them, like “hey guess what I did today?” or you come to realizations that your future - the details you thought they’d be a part of - wouldn’t include them. In that moment, I felt so alone. Everyone in the house was asleep, and Dali was too. She was in the other room - the kitchen. It was the center of the house, and it allowed her to protect all three of us. With my head in my hands, silently crying, I felt something watching me. I turned to the side, and looked, and that dog was staring at me with a look of “it’s ok. I’m here.” I hugged her and she just sighed and calmed me down. She was given to me by no accident. She was my angel. She was there to remind me that God was my refuge.
She was there when I started my photography business, and started taking portraits. In fact, she was my first subject of my first professional camera. She was there when i got my Aggie ring, when I dunked it, (she even licked some of the root beer off the floor), when I graduated, when I got my first job, when I became a teacher, when I fell in love, and when I got my heart broken. On hard days of work. On great days at work. When I lost my best friend. And when I was losing her, Dali, she was even there. Trying to keep me happy.
I knew letting her go couldn’t be planned. So, I made a quick decision, and the night before, we rode to Buc-Ees together. I got her venison sausage, and a pecan kolache, and chocolate milk. The next morning, I took her to McDonald’s, and got her a sausage biscuit. With grape jelly, of course. I filled her Kong with peanut butter, and let her lick until her heart’s content. A friend rode with me home; thank God, and distracted me. Everyone encouraged me not to go into the vet’s office with her, and to just let the vet do it, but I knew that I wanted her last breath to be in my arms. I wanted my face to be what she felt, not someone else’s. I didn’t want to miss out on any second of her life. And, I knew that she was sent to me save my life, and I owed it to her to have the most peaceful end of her life that I could give her because I know she would have done the same for me. With weak knees and shaky arms, I carried her into the vet, gave her peanut butter, and told her I loved her about 100 times. She was nervous; she hated the vet. But, she let me hold her without a fight. She hugged me, and hugged me, and hugged me, and sighed. The same hug she hugged me with the day I brought her home. After a few seconds, she drifted off in my arms, and I laid her down, and told her goodbye. It was absolutely the worst experience of my life, but I have no regrets, and am confident it was right. I have lost more this year than I ever thought was possible. I want so much of it back. I cry for her every night, and while I know she doesn’t suffer anymore, I do. I miss my buddy. It’s not just her that I lost. It’s the reminder that the thing that loved me the most in the world is gone, and it’s what she’s represented to me the last twelve years of trials. It’s as if I am losing all of those things all over again, except she is not there with me this time.
But, I remind myself of her name - and what it meant. And what she was sent to remind me of. That God is my refuge, and He will not forsake me. And, I know that letting her go is letting go of all the hurt from which she comforted me. And, I now have room for an overwhelming amount of blessings. But, right now I hurt. And I’m broken in to a hundred pieces. I miss her deep, deep sighs after my deep, deep sighs. I miss hearing her little tag rattle on her collar. I miss my best friend,
It’s funny though, what this grief does to you - how it puts things into perspective. When you see people get upset over petty things, or have opportunities for arguments, you just look and think “this does NOT matter..…and I don’t care.” And, for someone like me, that’s a good thing. It also shows you who your friends are - and I mean that in a good way. I have had so many people care. And, it has reminded me just how beautiful people can be. I know God will make all of this beautiful. And, I know that I saved her and gave her the best life I could, and she did every thing she could to make me just as happy.
I know that we were perfect for each other. My pyrenees with a little collie and chow. Truly, the most intelligent dog you could imagine - affectionate, incredibly loyal, and beautiful. I will miss her, forever, and thank God for the gift he gave me to enjoy for so long.
For now, I will wake up each day, and know I have a purpose - to teach, and to love. And, I will do that with faith and hope that things will only get better from this point forward, and that the worst is over and the best is yet to come.
