Just a Dog…

If you are lucky, you will have one just like her.  Everybody says that their dog is more than a pet.  Meanwhile, those without the good fortune to be saved by a dog will unapologetically say that she is just a dog.  

Sunshine was the perfect name for a perfect dog.  We had 4 dogs, but there was only one Sunshine, and she spent 13+ years proving that she was not just a dog.  She came from an abusive background.  She was outdoors full-time.  Her owner neglected giving her attention.  He was perfectly content with keeping her as just a dog.  She lived on a dirt patch, about the size of a short cab pickup truck’s bed.  A makeshift shelter further confined her movements.  The owner would literally throw food into her enclosure and let her eat off the ground.  The water bowl, stagnant with standing, dirty water was her only source of water.  He would curse at her when she pleaded for attention.  She spent six months like this.  She was just a dog to him.  

A rescue organization heard of her conditions she was living in, and sprung into action.  We were not looking for her breed; in fact, we were looking for a Weimeraner when we came across the advertisement for a Weimeraner mix.  Just one look, and you could tell she was an American Bulldog, oftentimes confused with a Pit Bull.  My family visited her at her foster parent’s house.  It was instant love.  Genuine love.  

The foster parents said that many people responded to the advertisement.  They would come, give her a dose of affection, and then walk away.  I can almost hear it now…  “she was just a dog.”  We left that day after a good 2 hours of playtime and affection.  We knew she was the one.  She knew we were the ones.  The foster parents said that when we left to discuss what was already a foregone conclusion, that she whined when we left.  We were the only ones that visited her to evoke that reaction.  Just a dog?  Not in our house she would not be.  She was the youngest of three dogs at the time.  She would run freely in the back yard, happily playing with our other two.  

The first time my Mom saw her, she was afraid of her.  The look of an American Bulldog, the muscular frame, and most importantly…  the reputation.  But Sunshine was not like other dogs.  You could look through her eyes and see how grateful she was to be in a loving home.  

Adopting her was both the easiest and hardest decision we would have to make.  Everybody that thought she was just a dog would point out how violent and vicious those “pit bulls” are.  We fought landlords.  We fought society writ large.  “Too heavy for an apartment.”  “Breed restrictions.”  You name the discriminatory prejudice, and Sunshine was labeled.  We spent a week in a apartment, and were forced to move barely after the ink was dry on the lease.

As Sunshine got older, she would revel in the joy of trying to catch a squirrel that had made its way halfway up a tree.  Even the squirrel, seemingly teasing my dog must have thought “she was just a dog.”  One day, she chased a squirrel that dove under our deck for safety.  She suffered a torn ACL, which would factor prominently in her life.  We happily handed our money to the Lake Forest Animal Hospital to patch her up.  Afterall, she was not “just a dog.”  After fully recovering from the initial torn ACL, she tore the other one 6 months later.  So we went back to the veterinarian and shelled out money.  Why?  You guessed it, she was not just another dog.  

Our family and I would relocate from Charlotte, North Carolina to the suburbs of Seattle, Washington.  We drove across the country, stopping at pet-friendly hotels.  Many hotels do not let you keep pets in their rooms.  With a little bit of introspection, we had a Service Dog badge made up so see would never sleep outdoors again.  Eventually, that did not work as intended.  She was met with skepticism.  Not due to her actions; rather, her appearance.  I would tell my landlord that she was a service dog.  The really clever ones asked what tasks Sunshine would perform for us.  I would calmly and deliberately explain that she was a retired cadaver rescue dog.  Was it a lie?  Yes it was.  Am I proud that I had to lie to overcome the intimidation factor and reassure the landlords that she was a good girl.  Yes, because it is not fair to judge an animal by appearances alone.  

We would have guests over to our house.  She was the only one that did not bark when someone was at the door.  She would win the guests over EVERY SINGLE TIME.  We fought with seemingly every oversight board and company out there.  Few insurance companies would issue us a homeowner’s insurance policy because of her breed and appearance.  

In 2015, I was fortunate to travel to Berlin, Germany for the annual FIRST Security Conference.  Through a series of events that I still, to this day, do not know what happened, I became suicidal.  I missed my family.  I was half a world away and never felt lonelier and more despaired.  I facetimed my wife, and tried to talk through the range of emotions that I was experiencing.  My wife did the best she could to save me from a fatal mistake.  It was not enough.  I needed to see Sunshine, even though she was “just a dog.”  Sunshine and another dog, Bear, saved my life that day.  Do dogs see who is on the other end of the Facetime call?  Unequivocally, Yes.  Sunshine pierced the veil as if she was right there with me.  She looked into the phone on the other end, and told me that everything was going to be okay.  It was not my time.   

Sunshine was about 11 years old when her energy and health began her decline.  With 2 repaired ACLs, she had a painful gait that precluded her from chasing squirrels or horse playing with the others.  At 12 years old, she struggled to walk, as arthritis and old age began to catch up to her.  It never dampened Sunshine’s spirit.  Every day I would come home from work and I would be reminded that she is not just a dog.  

One is never ready to say goodbye to his best friend.  However, if there is one downside, it’s that she would never outlive us, and that fact is an unavoidable fact of life.  She was 13 years old when she did not seem right.  She resisted eating.  She hobbled from room to room, perfectly content with being by my side.  All was well in her world as long as her humans were there to be saved.  

We brought Sunshine into the vet’s office in February concerned about her eating habits.  They took x-rays and noted that her entire spine was fused together due to arthritis.  Her pancreas had signs of necrosis.  The veterinarians did everything they could.  She was crossing over.  On a Friday afternoon, after 2 days in the vet’s and our care, she crashed.  My youngest son and I were coming home from work when we were told the news.  My wife and oldest son were working still.  She would not make it in time for them to say goodbye.  My son and I did.  She was under heavy sedation when we arrived.  Blanket over her frail body.  We spent as much time as we could before compassion drove the decision to let her go.  The agony of deciding whether to keep her going until my wife and son arrived versus ending the suffering was a torturous one.  My son and I told Sunshine that it was okay to let go, in a feeble attempt to somehow deflect accountability for the decision that had to be made right there, right then.  She slipped away with the help of two syringes, the cocktail that so many pet owners are familiar with.  The first for sedation, the next to allow her to cross over the rainbow bridge.  Sunshine was gone.  We were and are devastated.  

I have friends that do not quite get the bond between a human and a dog.  It saddens me that they see them as just a dog.  Sunshine was named for her sunny disposition.  She wasn’t a “Spike” or a “Butch”.  Her personality matched her name.  Outside of my wife, Sunshine was my best friend.  She always knew when to come visit me.  She would lick my legs profusely, driving my wife bonkers.  If I stooped down to meet her at her level, she would lick my bald head for minutes at a time.  If I was sick, she would curl up next to me.  She did not demand anything, and she gave us everything.  

Sunshine will forever have a special place in our hearts.  Not just my family, but practically every person that had the chance to meet her.  She definitely was not “just a dog.”  She was my guardian angel in 2015, and she continues to look over me and my family…  I am sure of it.  I am not overly spiritual or religious, but if there is a Heaven, it exists on the other side of the rainbow bridge.  Someday we will be reunited.  Someday, if we are half as lucky, we will find another guardian angel just like her.  I will miss Sunshine for the rest of my life.  

Thank you for reading this deeply personal post.