Despite the gruesome title, this is a story of love, the love and companionship between my dog Niña and I. And yes, a bit of a dig at a miserable excuse of a human being, Kristi Noem.
It was 2006, I had recently “semi-retired” and bought a 10 acre rural property with a nice house in southeastern Arizona. I had worked in hotel management with constant travel and wanted to get out of the rat race. And longevity was not one of the family traits, I only had one grandparent still alive when I was born, and both my parents died in their 60s, so, however many years I had left I was determined to live them out in peace and tranquility. And after two marriages and divorces I was happily single.
But I soon began to realize life as a hermit isn’t all it’s cracked to be, and realized I wanted a furry four-legged companion. I had always loved dogs as a kid. My older brother would take me to see Disney’s “Old Yeller” in the theater, and I always bawled like a baby at the ending. But I’d never had the opportunity to properly care for a dog of my own – apartment living, and then constant travel. But now I was in the perfect situation to finally have a dog of my own.
So, I researched online and found the Tombstone Small Animal Shelter, and saw a picture of a golden retriever that I thought would be perfect. So, I drove down to meet her. While the manager got the retriever to meet her I walked around the shelter and met Niña. She ran up to the chain link fence, stood up on her hind legs and did her finest “Pick Me! Pick Me!”.
But I continued on to meet the golden retriever. I was a bit taken back that she growled at me and was not at all friendly. But I gave her my best shot and patted her on her rump. She spun around and nipped my finger, drawing blood. The manager was horrified and led her away and brought me a Band-Aid for me. She apologized profusely and explained the retriever had been chained up in a yard and the boy next door used to throw rocks at her, so “maybe” she had an issue with men. I assured her I was fine, and if she had really wanted to hurt me she could have done so easily; her nip was just her way of saying “back off, buddy, I’m not too sure about you”.
I suggested she could bring me the black and white dog to meet me . ‘Oh, Niña? She was just brought in a few days ago. A rancher found her on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere and brought her in, she was very thirsty and hungry. We think she might have crossed over the border with some migrants and got separated”. “Well, when I walked around she ran up to me and did her best “Pick Me” routine, I should have listened to her”.
She brought Niña out, and we bonded immediately. She smelled the blood on my wound and tried to lick it, and I just petted her and spoke softly to her, and she put her muzzle in my lap, and I knew that instant I had found the friend I had been looking for. “I think she’ll be perfect, I’d like to adopt her”. She explained they had a spay/neuter policy and she had an appointment Monday morning to have her spayed, and that I could pick her up Monday afternoon. I asked about her name, as “Niña” means “daughter” or “little girl” in Spanish. She said she gave her the name and when she called her by her name to take her back to her pen, I saw that she responded to it, so “Niña” it was going to be.
I picked her up Monday afternoon, and she was happy to see me. I brought her home and she sniffed around the house, making sure it was just her and me. That evening I sat on the sofa and began my evening routine: watching TV with a bowl of pot and glass of wine. Niña jumped up on the sofa and cuddled next to me and murmured contently, she knew she had found her “furever” home, and her furever friend.
The years passed by too quickly. I took Niña for long walks around the property and the vacant field next door. She loved to chase rabbits, fortunately she never managed to catch one. And several times a week we would walk out to the mailbox out on the highway a half mile away. But I’d stop a few hundred yards short of the highway and tell Niña to “Stay”, and she’d stop and lay down and wait patiently for me to return. I needed her to know she was not allowed to go near the highway with cars and trucks speeding by. It’s not that hard to train a dog, Kristi. You just need to be patient and make sure they understand what it is that you want them to do.
One evening she struggled to get back up the stairs to the house, she seemed very weak. So, I had to carry her into the house. I took her to the vet the next morning. The vet drew some blood and told me her blood sugar was over 500. I never had any experience with diabetes and didn’t even know dogs could get that debilitating disease, so I asked her what that meant. “It means if she were a person she’d be in an emergency room”, she told me. She instructed me to give her injections of insulin twice day, in the morning and in the evening. Niña was so good about it, I’d sit down on a chair and call her “Time for your medicine, Niña”, and she’d come over to me. I’d pinch some loose skin and inject her insulin, making sure I didn’t hurt her. Eventually the diabetes robbed her of her eyesight and she went blind. She was such a trooper, she still got around well, knowing from memory where she needed to go. I’d take her for short, slow walks around the property, and she’d sniff and smell the scents of her home, knowing that I was by her side to protect her.
One afternoon I came home from work and she was laying in her favorite spot, under my desk. She was gasping for air, methodically; she didn’t appear to be conscious, just methodically struggling for breath, and she was clearly in pain. I sat down and petted her, calling her name softly, hoping that she knew I was by her side. I had considered that when the time came I’d take her to the vet and have her put down. But I didn’t want to drag her out and struggle to put her in the car, I was afraid I might cause her more pain. She was clearly dying, and while I dreaded the thought I knew what I needed to do for her. I put my hand around her mouth and closed it and covered her nose. She was too weak and subconscious to struggle, and within a few seconds she ceased struggling to breathe. When she peed, I knew she was gone - when you die your muscles relax. I had given her one last parting gift: my love, and peace, peace to chase rabbits in her dreams. But yes, I bawled like a baby, again.
Dogs have been called “Man’s Best Friend”. I prefer to think of dogs as Mother Nature’s gift to mankind. Her gift to remind us that we are all connected. Connected to every living creature and thing in the beautiful world we inhabit and share together. To remind us that we share it together and remind us that we have a responsibility to respect it and not wantonly exploit it. And above all, not destroy it through our greed and stupidity. I remember when I bought my property there was a Mesquite tree next to the driveway, standing tall and proud. I had considered cutting it down for wildfire protection as it was close to the house but decided to spare it. One spring morning I walked up to it, admiring the buds of new spring life. I thought about that I had considered cutting it down and decided to speak to it: “You will be here long after I’m gone” I told the tree, “Live Long and Prosper”. And I felt something, I felt something from that tree, it felt like a feeling of mutual respect, mutual appreciation. That’s when I realized we are all connected with every living thing, you just need to pay attention to see and feel it.
Niña died on this day, April 30, five years ago. So yes, this is my tribute to her memory and the time we shared together. I buried her under the Mesquite tree, with the thought that her body would nourish the tree and become a part of it.
Live long and Prosper, Mesquite tree. My Niña is now a part of you.
