Annie
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Annie Mae had a fairly long, black, shiny coat. Her litter mate, Emmy Lou didn't look like her. Emmy has a kind of a yellow cur looking coat. Both were pretty good-sized dogs, with Annie being the bigger of the two. Of course, she had gained a good bit of weight over the last year or so.
I had these two mutts because of a kind-hearted wife. Mother had gotten killed out on the road and Jolly's wife is good at finding homes, let's take the puppies to her, they said. And the wife was pretty good, but we had two puppies nobody wanted.
I had an empty pen, pretty large, maybe 50x50 or bigger. Several trees inside and outside. Big pin oak in one corner. Stays pretty cool in the summer. The pen was empty, so the pups inherited it. And there they stayed. I built them a big doghouse, with room for both to stretch out or curl up.
I'm not saying they always got the affection they wanted, but we petted them up whenever we fed them, or maybe I'd rub a head or two and throw each one a left-over biscuit when I was working in the shop. The wife would sometimes pull up a metal folding chair and take turns brushing and hugging up on them. I wouldn't say they were neglected. Not at all.
The two young dogs used to be bad about digging out, especially if there was a deer or some other critter passing by in the middle of the night. I've had to chase down more than one dog at three in the morning and then patch fence, before going to work. As they got older, they weren't quite as bad. A hot wire around the pen helped considerable, too.
Annie was always the gentler of the two. Never barked as much, always looking for her ears to scratched or that long coat to be brushed. Emmy was a bit more energetic, with a bit more of a temper. Even though they were litter mates, every now and they'd tie up, just to see who was boss.
Both had a few minor health issues through the years...Usually allergy related, occasionally I'd haul one to the vet, fussing about money wasted on pot-lickers. Overall, though, pretty healthy. We checked today, they've been out there ten years.
Thursday, Annie didn't eat all of her feed. I figured maybe she'd knocked Emmy off of hers. It has been known to happen. I did notice she was drinking more water than usual. Friday, she refused food. I figured it was just her allergies kicking up and as fat as she was, missing a meal wouldn't hurt. I worked this weekend and the wife told me Annie wasn't eating Saturday and wasn't drinking or moving around very much. I went out to check on her when I got home, petted her head and fetched her some fresh water in a bowl she could reach laying down. Her eyes looked a little dull and she just laid her muzzle in the water, but didn't drink. When I left the pen, I rubbed her back, petted her head, and said good-bye, because I didn't think I'd see her again. She had that look
I leave for work way before daylight. The hospital stirs early. I knew my wife was headed to church, but she called before she left and told me Annie was laying at the back of the pen in a lean-to shed I'd built years ago under the pin oak tree.
She called me at 1240 and told me Annie had died while she was gone. Couldn't have been long, the body was still warm. She covered her best she could with a sheet (the wife is still having trouble with a foot that was operated on two weeks before Christmas. I picked up antibiotic number 14 and 15 this week) and left Emmy lying by the body.
I got home about six-thirty, shucked off my scrubs and threw on my working clothes. Sky was getting dark and you could start to hear thunder, but I had to dig a dog grave. I hustled up and made some dirt fly, trying to beat the rain. I'm not in too good of shape to do that, not anymore, but you can't leave her out there and I don't just chunk a dead dog in the woods for the critters...She was a decent dog and she deserved better.
Son-in-law arrived in time to help muck out the grave and then we took her sheet-wrapped body out of the pen to the graveside. Had to lift her out of the wheelbarrow and turn and put her down in the ground. As I said, I'd been pushing hard and when I layed her in the bottom of the grave, I wasn't sure for a moment I hadn't had another MI. I've got plates laced up in my sternum, so I must have jerked some laces or nerve ends. Heart rate didn't bounce (I checked my watch) and my BP was fine. Pain seems positional. Got my attention, though. Son-in-law finished filling in the grave.
As I was trudging back to the house, the rain was already falling pretty good, but Emmy was standing by the gate, looking at the grave. I guess she couldn't figure out why her littermate had left her.
You know, I'm getting a little tired of this. In the past couple of years, I've buried a sixteen year-old border collie, my fifteen year-old sheltie, my twelve year-old barn cat and now one of my ten year old dogs in the outside pen.
I'm running out of furry friends...
Always remember, Operation Valkyrie was an act of sedition.
Warning: I post things that interest me. Read and comment at your own discretion. -
Not how you want to spend Mother’s Day. Sorry for your loss, Jolly.
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Always remember, Operation Valkyrie was an act of sedition.
Warning: I post things that interest me. Read and comment at your own discretion. -
Sorry to hear about this, Jolly. Losing a pet is miserable.
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Damn.
A wiser feller'n myself once said that pets leave paw prints on your heart. Good way of putting it.
