Our Valentine Girl

Our eldest dog, Breeze, will turn fourteen on February 16^th this year. She’s always been our “Valentine,” from the day we picked her up at her breeder’s in North Carolina, and then returned home again to California with her in a carrier underneath under our seat on the plane.

Gulliver, our older Dal and the dog of my heart, had been living solo with us since we lost both our previous two girls. He was an aggressive dog who didn’t like other dogs, (to our consternation), though he adored people and those who visited our home often remarked that he seemed “more human” than dog.

Despite his temperament with other dogs, and ever hopeful, we thought we’d give a pup a try and see if Gulliver would accept her. We introduced them on short leashes and let out a relieved sigh when he merely sniffed her butt in the typical greeting of all dogs, then continued on to her ears and lastly a tender nudge upon her muzzle, already showing both acceptance and affection.

With her sweet and gentle temperament, she fit into our household right away. Because she was on the small side, we called her Peanut. She and Gulliver became true buddies as the years went by, with Breeze looking up to him as if he were her older brother. When he passed in 2010 at the early age of eleven, Breeze was as forlorn as Brad and I. The two of us walked through the door from the vet’s without him and she sniffed us long and hard; not finding him, she immediately got up into the bed to cuddle with me. We hibernated there, under the blankets, in sorrow. Our mourning lasted a long, long time and created an even tighter bond between us.

Breeze went on to become an AKC Bronze Grand Champion and the mother of ten, a number of whom were also AKC titled. She was willing, eager, and happy to participate in the show ring, and was also a great “Little Mama” to her two litters. We kept two of her boys, Cody and Mac, who are eleven and ten.

Now, Breeze’s time is coming to a close. Dals only live to be about fourteen or, if you are lucky, fifteen years. I just learned that one of Breeze’s sisters died a week ago. But Breeze herself is amazingly spry and healthy, with only a heart murmur and arthritis to keep her from racing through the yard with her kids. Nevertheless, she bounds out the kitchen door every morning and barks a joyous greeting to the world.

I hope her time will arrive when she is here at home with us, and that we’ll be able to enlist the aid of a vet who comes to your house for in-home euthanasia. I want Breeze to go to sleep curled in the chair beside our bed, with Brad and me kneeling by her side. I know Cody and Mac will mourn her just as she once mourned Gulliver; they will wander around the house looking for their alpha Mama—just as Brad and I will inevitably listen for the ghostly tap tap tap of our Valentine Girl’s toenails as she makes her way from room to room looking for us.

The loss of our animals (be they dog, cat or parakeet) is heightened by the innocent and unconditional love they heap upon us with every cuddle and gaze of adoration. For some of us, the simple love we share with them can be greater, in many ways, than the love we share with our humans, which can often be so complicated. Sometimes I am told that I write too often about my dogs. I’m not sure that’s true—after all, they’ve certainly worked hard enough to deserve a lot of my attention. And ultimately, to both animals and humans, attention is what love is all about.

Yours,