The Kindness of a Fox Red Lab that came to nurse our souls.
This post was not planned, but Daisy’s sudden departure from our lives was so unexpected that nothing is going as planned.
I have had many dogs in my life, some I rescued, a few were foisted upon me, but one rescued Dennis and me. And that would be the Queen of our house,
DAISY FLORENCE.
DAISY FLORENCE,
DAISYFLORENCE
I have loved a lot of dogs,
My first dog, aside from ones I had at my parents’ house, was a Schnauzer that channeled dictator energy. The dog had been kind of foisted on me. We had friends, a gay couple who were obsessed with Schnauzers, and their Schnauzer had puppies; we were chosen to receive a puppy. I do not recall entering this sacred lottery, but I loved our friends, and the kids were so excited that soon I was the recipient of a Schnauzer puppy.
It was so bossy and loud, I just have no idea who that dog thought he was. It picked fights with any other dogs and just generally gave off an air of superiority. I did love him, though, because I love all animals and because of his unabashed self-confidence. He got a really bad haircut once. I do not know what the groomer was thinking, but it was like it had long, curtain bangs on the bottom. Yikes. Kyle was so upset, he cried. My son can be dramatic. Franklin came home and hid for two days. I respected him for his vanity.
The neighbors complained about that dog a lot. Franklin and I had a love-hate relationship, and I know in my heart two things for sure: he judged my lack of organizational skills, and he felt Germans would do everything better than I did. He was probably right. I have been to Germany; it is a wonder of efficiency and craftsmanship.
Then came a series of dogs that I saved.
I adopted a mixed puppy from the pound for my daughter on her 9th birthday; she named him Elliott. Her dad and I were going through a divorce, and that’s all she wanted. What kind of Ogre would say no? Since we already had the schnauzer that thought it was Hitler, I was not keen, but I would have adopted a giraffe if she had asked. Elliott, with his incredibly sweet nature and gentle soul, proved to be a balm for all of us during those incredibly painful divorce days. But that damn Schnauzer bossed his poor butt around constantly. I had to feed them separately, or Elliott would have starved. I can still see Amanda on her bed, her little pink glasses on, her nose in her Harry Potter book, Elliott plopped beside her, blankets curled around them. He was better than therapy for my sweet little girl.
Then came Buster the dog. This was an act of mercy on my family’s part. We were out at my husband’s parents’ farm when the most pathetic, decrepit dog tried to get in the van with us to go home. We asked around and found out his owner had developed cancer and had gone home out of state to be with family to die. She asked a neighbor, a big dick head, to care for her dog. His idea was to give him a box to live in and drop off food when he thought of it.
The next day, we went back and got Buster. He was starving and so matted that the groomers called and started to reem me out, thinking this was my dog, saying his hair was beyond saving, and that my dog was starving. When I told her the situation, she changed her tune and was much nicer. The best thing we could do is shave him, put salve on his sores, and let it grow back in. We didn’t have Buster for too long; he was quite old when we got him, but at least he had a warm place to sleep, food, and people to love him for his last months.
I looked for a picture of Buster but could not find one. It is probably for the best. He wouldn’t have wanted to be remembered for those last years. My mother-in-law said he had been a beautiful dog in his glory years, so let’s just say this is what he looked like then.
Then came Huebert. God Lord, Hubert. Now God sent this dog to teach me patience, which I didn’t think I needed, but apparently I did. When Katie and Kyle, Dennis’ daughter and my son, who are four months apart and whom we call the step-twins, graduated high school and went away to college in the same month, Dennis and I lost it. I adopted two kittens, and Dennis went to Bassett Hound rescue and found a dog.
Dennis grew up with a Bassett Hound, and he was feeling nostalgic. Remember, I said we both went a little loopy; he picked out a 17-year-old Bassett Hound with a weight problem. He told me we were going to drive an hour and a half away “just to meet the owner,” who couldn’t take care of Hubert anymore, and no decisions were to be made rashly, since I am the one who does all the work. I am such a sucker.
We got to the Bassett Hound Rescue event. I got out of the truck and walked towards all these adorable Basset Hound puppies. Most were tri-colored, little Hush Puppy dogs, tripping on their ears, so adorable. This might not be so bad, I thought. I asked if anyone knew where a dog named Hubert was. There seemed to be a delicate silence. One lady with a forced cheerfulness pointed to the center of a circle of slightly older dogs, and there in all his glory was a completely bleached out, colorless, obese, Bassett Hound, Hubert…
I looked at Dennis and said, “Wheel away, go wheel away, quick.” It was too late; the owner was an older lady who had spotted us. I found myself in a a vise like hug, while she told me we were an answer to prayers because her son, whose dog it was, was in Iraq, and they didn’t know when he would be home. Her health was declining, she couldn’t walk him now, etc. Long story short, within half an hour, I was driving home $100 lighter for the pleasure of adopting a dog I did not want, that smelled like fish. Did you know Bassett Hounds smell like fish? Dennis says he didn’t, but I’m not so sure.
Huebert pooped while walking and couldn’t get through the dog door because of his extremely low-hanging “man dog parts.” I couldn’t shut the dog door because Elliott used it all the time, so I was constantly having to go and pull Huebert, who was stuck by his willy, through the dog door by lifting his willy. He drove me crazy with extra work, picking up his poop, fiddling with his willy, trying to get the fish smell off him, good grief, I did not need this. But when he woke up and couldn’t walk, and of course I had to take him to the vet to be put down, I held his paw and cried like a baby, and was mostly glad for our time together.
Then came Daisy Florence, my first proper puppy, whom I picked out, and Dennis and I both wanted.
About 13 years ago, we thought Dennis could really use a service dog. He was working with special needs students at the High School near us. He could really use help opening doors, picking up his cell phone, picking up anything he dropped, and alerting for help when he got in trouble.
We were lucky enough to get to the point where we got an invitation to go down to the Canine Companion training place in Florida. If you don’t think dogs are angels among us, go there. Puppies everywhere, all kinds, but mostly labs and goldens, learning to pick things up, open doors, some are learning to sense seizures, some are learning to be seeing-eye dogs, it’s bloody miraculous. Dogs with jobs, amazing. If you get chosen, you live at the facility for two weeks to train with your dog.
We were quite humbled by all the people there, hoping on a wing and a prayer to get a helper dog. Lots of kids, lots of returning vets, Iraq, and Afghanistan produced many mangled, brave, wounded warriors. It takes a lot of time, training, and money to get one dog ready to go home to a worthy recipient.
We went home and received a letter that Dennis qualified. Now, we just had to wait for the right dog in a graduating class that would fit his specific needs. He needed a tall dog that could respond to verbal commands and work on the left side of his chair. Four classes came through, and there were no good candidates. In the meantime, Dennis’ health was declining. Teaching at school was no longer an option. He loved working in the severe behavioral disorder classroom and did not want to quit, but he was falling asleep in class, and they could not wake him up. Dennis was forced to walk away from his second career that had turned out to be his calling.
Once Dennis was not working, we decided to remove his name from the list for a Canine Companion; he really didn’t need a dog when he had me 24/7. I am not sure how that makes me feel, but there it is. Memories of all those veterans valiantly trying to rebuild their lives, and all those kids just trying to have some sort of normalacy plagued our consciences. It wasn’t just the right thing to take Dennis’ name off the list for a canine companion; it was the only thing to do.
A couple of months later, one of Dennis’ best friends was over when out of the blue he asked, “Do y’all want a lab puppy?” We are dog people, yes, yes, we did! picked her out of a picture of squirmy, yellow fur balls.
We had no idea what destiny was bringing.
A month later, after Thanksgiving, we picked up Daisy Florence, Daisy for my Oma’s favorite flower, and Florence after my mum’s hero, Florence Nightingale, and brought her home.
Daisy was a yellow lab when we got her, but she quickly revealed herself to be an uncommon fox red lab. She was also hell on wheels for the first two years of her life. But she arrived just on time.
That fall, my son Kyle had just gone back to Canada for school, and I knew he wasn’t going to be moving back. He was where he belonged, but I was emotionally bereft. Kyle has always been such a good, kind son. Daisy’s insane amount of energy occupied a lot of time I would have spent moping; it got me to the dog park two or three times a day, and I made new friends there. It was a good distraction from the empty vortex Kyle left behind.
We hadn’t planned on Dennis walking Daisy, but one day, I was so worn out from trying to tire out that Energizer Bunny puppy and take care of a quadriplegic Dennis, he said, “Hook her up to my chair.” I will walk her. I was worried he would roll on her toes. He said, “It will only happen once.” he was right, and she was fine. And that’s how their relationship began.
Daisy loved those walks so much she would start staring at Dennis and following him around when she felt it was past “walk time.’ And there were many, many days, the only reason Dennis got out of bed was to walk Daisy.
Soon, every day, Dennis and Daisy went for a long walk through town. Most days Dennis would come back and say, “your’e not going to believe who Daisy and I ran into today.” They knew everyone. If I dared to go walking with Dennis, everyone looked around with a disappointed face and said, “Where is Daisy?” I was chopped liver, and so fine with it.
I love to read, write, watch foreign tv shows, and Dennis and I are together 24/7. I also thought I was a social person until I met Dennis; he never tires of talking to people, small talk, deeper talk. I tire of small talk quickly and need to go home and recharge my battery. These breaks away, when Daisy and Dennis held court in town, gave us both what our personalities needed.
As Daisy grew up, she decided she worked for Dennis, but she was my comfort doggie. She loved going for a walk with him, but had two extremely embarrassing quirks. One, she hated other people in wheelchairs and would bark violently and loudly so Dennis could not speak to other people living the roller lifestyle. Secondly, she was a bit racist, and I lectured her extensively on this, reminding her of our eclectic family and friend group. Thankfully, when people of color entered our house, she was fine, but if she saw black people from afar, she shamed our family. Terrible. Dennis had to go the other way.
When Dennis was sick or was extremely discouraged, Daisy would lie on him. Only then. Other than that, she cuddled with me, followed me around, and was my princess. I talked to her, confessed to her, stroked her beautiful red fur, took her out for pup cups, and was the over-indulgent mother. When people commented on her weight, she struggled a bit. I took it personally and often thought they should look in the mirror. I was irrationally proud of her unique color, almost as if I gave birth to her, and ridiculously defensive when some said she must be a mix, not a pure lab, because of it. Me, the same lady who champions pound dogs.
Since her passing, we have received such kindness from friends, family, and neighbors. It’s comforting, but the loss of Daisy has been huge. Daisy found us; she came and gave Dennis and me each something we both really needed. Daisy gave Dennis purpose and a reason to connect with people; she also gave him comfort when he was suffering. Right now, he is feeling lost. His days were planned around when they were going on their daily adventure.
Daisy became my friend and comfort. When I named Daisy, Daisy Florence, it was because I was honoring my mom’s heroine, and mine too. If you look into Florence Nightingale, she will be yours, too. Nurses are healers, and in the past 23 years with Dennis, we have met many gifted nurses on the hospital floors we have been on. When Daisy passed suddenly, I realized she had been nursing our souls for 12 years, in the way only an animal can, unconditionally, without words, in a way there aren’t human words for, therein lies the magic.
As the days have gone by, though, and some of the sharp edges of the shock are softening, the brevity of her life is reminding me of the fragility of all of this, all the good stuff, all the people I love, all the dogs I have loved, even the stinky one, the bossy one, and the ones I gave shelter and love to at the end of their lives. So, I am going to shut down this computer and go hold Dennis tight, and we will feel a little lost and sad together for our fox red lab that left our lives far too soon. Tomorrow, we will start to heal and maybe be a little bit more compassionate because of a Fox Red Lab that stole our hearts.
Back soon, my friends, with Natalyia, my friend from Ukraine.
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