by Sabra
© 2000 Sabra, all rights reserved
It hurts me, everytime I think of it. It hurts to know I have no power over this, it hurts to know, no matter what I do she will be gone.........It just hurts. She is my heart..........she is the best part of me, she gives me strength when I don't have any, she gives me laughter when I think I'm unable, she gives me hope when there is little.........she is my life, my hope, my everything, my friend, my lovely, sweet, gentle loving Sabra.
She came to my doorstep on Sunday May 1, 1989, abused, full of ticks, fleas, great globs of matted fur and absolutely filthy dirty and limping, refusing to put any weight on her left hind leg. I found out the next afternoon, when I tried to load her into the car to take her to the vet's to have her physically completely checked, she was afraid of cars. I can laugh about it now, as she twisted about like a slippery eel, getting out of the car faster than I could get her into the back of it.
Sweating, red faced and trying to remain calm and not lose my temper, I had to call on my sister to come and help me. All of these antics done by her because of her fear, in spite of the pain in her leg, which I found out was fractured when I finally got her to the vet's office, with me in the back seat holding, comforting and crooning to her as she panted and cried, with my sister driving my car.
Once I got her bathed, brushed, de-fleaed, picked all the ticks from her, had her hind leg repaired, she became a vision of gold, blonde, red shaded fur. The colors of the sun setting on desert sand. She was young, between five and six months old the vet said. A Golden Retriever. Silky soft and loving to be brushed and bathed.
Any attention given her she thinks is her due. Anyone who comes to visit, comes for her not me. She climbs into anyone's lap to say hello or butts her head against any part of you she can for attention. It's as if to say, "Hey I'm here, don't cha love me? I'm pretty, sweet, cute and boy you sure taste good!" as she licks your clean shirt or slacks.
When the refrigerator door is open, she shops..........when there is food on the counter unattended, she shops and samples....... She also shops with true delight at Petsmart or Petco. It took me years to get her over her fear of cars, but once I did, she goes to these places regularly, making her selections, carrying them to and placing the selections on the counter, allowing the salesperson to ring them up, sitting and waiting patiently for her "baby" to be given back to her. She has a passion for these wooley toys, treats them as she would one of her puppies if she had had a litter.
When there is something she wants, like a snack, she dances and sings. She moves her eyebrows up and down, a parody of Groucho Marx. I sometimes imagine her with a cigar in her paw saying "Walk this way".
She's eleven now, a mature woman. Her face is now much lighter, appearing very blonde rather than white, but she's showing her age. Her favorite thing now, is when I come home from work, after I've done things I need to do and finally get to relax is for me to lay on the couch and she crawls up and lays with her body between my legs and her head on my chest, snuggled down and sleeps.
Just before Christmas, exactly two days, she had surgery for mast cell tumor and the other day, I found another tumor, but I won't do anything; she deserves to die with dignity and respect, the same way I wish to go. She is no less than I am, but she is more than I am. She gives unconditional love and acceptance I've found no where else. She was given to my keeping, I don't own her and never will. She is now and will ever be, her own person. I hope someday I'm respected the same.