Sugar's Life Lessons

As many of you know, our beloved, crazy, ball-chasing dog breathed her last breath a few weeks ago. The corner where her bed used to be is vacant. We no longer need to be careful as we climb up or down the steps, a favorite napping place for her. The crumbs we drop on the floor will remain there until one of us sweeps them up.

I was surprised by the depth of sadness I've experienced.  As she passed her 14th year, we knew she was approaching great-grandmother status in dog years. I admittedly looked forward to future days of freedom that would come with not caring for a pet. Walt and the kids used to kid me about it. However, when the reality of her final days was before me, I switched my tune. I knew no amount of freedom could compare with this sweet dog who shared our home and our hearts for almost ten years.

We first saw her online. She and her sister were being kept at the Humane Society. Walt met us there since it was close to his work. The paperwork said she was about four years old, weighed 80 pounds (her sister, Cookie, was close to 100), was named Sugar, and came from a family who kept both dogs outside most of the time. From their weight, they were probably given a big bowl of food and not exercised much.

We met her in a play area. She was so nervous from being in a cage with so many other dogs around that she refused a dog biscuit and barely chased the tennis ball we threw to her. Yet, we saw how much she loved the kids. Even though at the time she didn't act like the dog she would become, we somehow knew she would be a perfect fit for our family.

Our process of finding a family dog wasn't as easy as we thought it would be. The first place we went suggested the dog (a husky found on Petfinder) we were considering may not be the best fit for a first-time pet family. We visited all the dogs there that day, some with eager, longing eyes. None of them seemed right.

We then found a golden retriever online and arranged an appointment to meet her. She was being cared for by a foster family. (That should have been our first clue that we weren't the ones choosing her but we ourselves were being scrutinized.) Her name was Abby and was eight years old. She was a sweet dog and the kids enjoyed throwing the ball for her. I leaned down to stroke her golden coat while Walt quized them on the details of  her life. They asked us to think about it and call them in the morning. After a family discussion, we decided to adopt her. I called early in the morning and was caught by surprise that they rejected us. They. Rejected. Us.

The lady in charge said that they were concerned that Walt and I didn't interact with the dog as much as the kids. I had no words to respond. We, who were safely raising three children, were being turned down for a dog? Walt and I were flabbergasted. The kids were heart broken.

Yet, Becca wasn't defeated. She soon found Sugar's picture on Petfinder. Not wanting to disappoint our dog-loving daughter, we decided to at least meet her. God's plan for our family dog was satisfied that afternoon in Bellevue.

Before I knew it, we had filled out the adoption paperwork, paid the $100 fee, and bought a leash and dog dishes. Walt left for work, and I was leading our golden dog out of the animal shelter, desperately pulling her away from the cats near the door, clumsily lifting her up into our minivan. I have to admit, after all the difficulty of trying to find a dog, I was unprepared for her sitting in my van, panting, looking up at me eagerly, wondering with her brown eyes, "Where are we going?" My hands were shaky, my heart pounding, my forehead sweaty as I drove home. What just happened?

It wasn't long before she seamlessly fit into the fabric of our family. Some of my greatest joys as I think back at our young kids were watching them with Sugar. She lived for chasing balls in the park or backyard. She loved going on walks with whomever would take her. She loved the snow! She loved lying close to one of the kids in the backyard on a summer day or next to the fire in our family room on a rainy day. There was not a person she didn't love.

As she grew older, I knew her time on earth was drawing to a close. I tried to prepare the kids for the inevitable. She had started leaking urine. I grew tired of cleaning up messes, some stains I was unable to get out. While I was prepping dinner, she inevitably was underfoot or staring me down for her food. At night, she would pant loudly, needing to be wherever Walt or I was. We hesitated making vacation plans because she needed more attention.

That's why I was caught by surprise at how much I miss her, how many tears I've shed.

Her end was mercifully quick. We took her to the vet on the Saturday morning of Memorial Day weekend because her stomach was distended. We learned she had a mass on her spleen. Since she was 14 years old and had a cancerous tumor removed a few years ago, we knew there was nothing more to be done. By Tuesday, after our neighbor friends, the ones who most often took care of Sugar when we were gone, said their goodbyes, we knew without a doubt it was time to let her go.

On Wednesday morning, Sugar had turned her body completely to the wall, and refused to take any water. I was still waiting to hear back from the vet on what time we could bring her in when Ben and I had to leave for an annual test homeschoolers in Washington are required to take. Ben took a moment to pet her, and as we walked toward the garage, Sugar pulled her head up and looked me in the eye. I suspected she was saying goodbye.

When I returned a couple hours later, she was gone. She had died in one of her favorite places, in front of the fireplace. We didn't have to take her to the vet, which was her least favorite place to go. We didn't have to decide when she would die. She mercifully offered that to us as her parting gift. She died characteristically like she lived, wanting to please us.

I pulled the older kids from school to say goodbye and we all spent a few moments (with a couple of our friends who also stopped by) crying together. Becca was the last one in the room, spending a few moments alone with her sweet puppy (as she like to call her), and covered her still body with a sheet while we waited for Walt to arrive to help take her body to the vet.

The assistant at the vet's office, despite being bombarded with people when we showed up, couldn't have been more compassionate or efficient. And just like that, Walt, Nathan and I drove away to return home, the home where someone would be missing.

As our emotions have settled and our hearts have begun to mend, I consider the lesson of Sugar's short life. She reminded me of what's important in life. Those first few days after she was gone, I would have given anything for one more night where she followed me around the kitchen. As I sat on the couch, relaxing at the end of the day, I wanted so badly for her to come lay at my feet, smelly breath and all, so I could pet her soft fur and let  her know how thankful I was that she came into our lives.

As I look at this last season of parenting my kids, all three in high school next fall, I hope to apply the lessons Sugar taught me. I know there will be things that irritate me, but I hope to embrace each moment, knowing it might be exactly the thing I miss most when they are gone. Teenage emotions are tricky sometime, but for this season, for this time, I want to do the best I can to embrace my kids, to enjoy their highs and comfort their lows. Because the day will come when my kitchen will be quiet, the picked up room will remain clean, when I can choose more of the meals for Walt and me as opposed to what they prefer, when I'll long for the noise and the chaos. If I don't embrace this time now, to abandon my to-do list and take them on more adventures, to put down my book and invite them to play a game, to find the joy in their crazy schedules and the moments to connect, I will regret it later.

Sugar taught me that the very thing I wish I didn't have to do anymore will be the thing I might miss the most.

I found one of Sugar's tennis balls shortly after her death, hidden under a table. It tugged at my heart, another reminder of what we lost. Yet, it also reminded me of what we gained because we opened our home to this dog, a dog who poured out love and loyalty. God certainly wrapped a golden bow around our kids' childhood with this one amazing dog.

Goodbye, sweet Sugar. You were the best dog any family could hope for.