"The average dog is a nicer person than the average person" — Andy Rooney
Our 15-year old chocolate lab, Stella, is in her final days.
It is a gentle time in our home--ear scratches and belly rubs, extra treats, assurance of our love for her, and lots of reminiscing.
I remember the day she stole my heart. As she curled up on her bed, I knelt down to scratch her chin and she rested the full weight of her sweet puppy head on my hand for a long time, looking up at me with trust and what felt like love. I remember it so clearly because it was Valentine's Day and I yelled out to no one in particular, "I just fell in love with Stella!"
She was a great duck hunter. Or perhaps I should say, she was a good enough duck hunter, and a great house dog. She loves sitting in front of the fire on a winter's day, or at our feet while we read the Sunday paper, drink coffee and chat. Her deepest desire is to be wherever her people are. We are (I think, I hope!) her greatest joy.
She never met a visitor she didn't love, including the UPS guy, the paper delivery folk, and even local political candidates walking door-to-door to drum up votes. When she was little, I took her on long walks around our neighborhood. When she saw a neighbor doing something interesting in their yard, she sat down in the middle of the street to study them, ears perked in curiosity. She sat and stared for uncomfortably long periods of time. I think she was secretly hoping they would see her, too, and come say hi. I apologized to a lot of neighbors who thought perhaps I was some kind of local creeper!
Once, she ate an entire Jack-o-lantern and pooped it all out in the house.
Every summer she eats all the hasta in our garden, right down to little nubs.
She can eat an entire bowl of food in seconds, only after first flicking her pills out of the bowl because she refuses to eat them.
She now pretends she is deaf, and yet comes running when she hears my husband screw the lid off the peanut butter jar, or hears me start to slice an apple.
She loves it when our grown kids come home. She hates it when they bring their own dogs with them.
When we built our treehouse in the woods we called it "Stella's Place at Whispering Pines." It is one of her favorite places. Almost as if she knows we named it for her. Now she is too old and feeble to hobble up the steps, so we celebrated her final visit awhile ago. It will always bear her name.
We keep asking her to let us know when she is ready to go. Every morning, the first thing we do is check to see if she's still with us. When she hears us come into the kitchen, her tail starts to thump against the wood floor she's scratched to smithereens. She doesn't jump up to greet us like she used to. Instead, she waits for us to kneel down and tell her we are so happy she is still alive. She licks our faces in reply.
As the days grow shorter and the nip of fall fills the air, we know our time with our girl is running out.
There will be tears.
A good dog is one of life's great gifts.
A great dog is honestly some of God's very best work.
