The Dog

A couple weeks ago, I made passing reference to the crapping german shepherd.  In our home, she was actually known as Savannah, but also went by Deet, Vannie, Princess Deet, and, occasionally, !#$&%!* Dog.  My Fiancee acquired her as a pup back in the 90's.  Like most puppies, she was a handful, but eventually grew into 90 pounds of dog - at least seven or eight-hundred handfuls.

In her prime, she could run you into the ground.  When taking her for a walk, Mama's usual M.O. was to turn her loose in a nearby field to run crazy for 20 minutes.  Only after that was she manageable enough to take on a brisk walk without arms being ripped from sockets.  She had some energy, get it?

She was also smart and savvy.  When closed in the bedroom, she figured out how to open the door.  By turning the knob and pulling the door inward.  Needless to say, no garbage was safe, particularly if it contained such tasty treats as bloody or snotty kleenex or soiled diapers.  Her appetite didn't stop there, either.  Like all dogs, she loved meat, but oddly had an extreme love of oranges and green beans.

She had an effect on people.  She had a bit more black to her than your average german shepherd, and was a bit larger, too.  People often asked if she was a wolf.  They were always impressed, and usually intimidated.  Cars would frequently slow down and sometimes stop in the street as their drivers would yell "Beautiful dog!".  But she was always calm and friendly, never vicious.

Not that she didn't look out for her family, though.  On one walk, Mama and Deet walked past an unleashed dog, who thought barking was an appropriate response.  Deet only glanced at the dog and kept going.  The dog followed, barking maniacally, and even walking into the street and continuing to bark.  Deet would only glance over at the dog dismissively.  Eventually, the dog got too close to Mama.  Savannah turned, hair raising up on her neck, and growled menacingly.  The dog ran back home, tail between its legs.

She also loved and looked out for the little ones.  If Poodle wandered off while we were playing outside, Savannah would be close by her, keeping watch.  If either of the kids fell down and started crying, Vannie was instantly at their side.  She would tolerate pretty significant abuse from them, as well.  When Poe was learning to walk, Mama instructed him to "go get Deet."  A minute later, he was escorting her into the room - leading her with a firm toddler grip on her upper lip.  But she followed obediently, never batting an eye.

Eventually, time caught up with Savannah.  By the time she hit 91 in dog years, a condition known as degenerative mylopathy started affecting her back legs.  But she was proud and defiant, still insisting on daily walks, though they got shorter and shorter.  She also had trouble with her eyes, necessitating eye drops.  In fact, all told, she had two different eye drops, nearly a half dozen vitamins, her glucosamine for the DM, and prednisone for helping those old muscles and pain relief.   She happily took most of it, right from our hands usually.  The crapping in the house started not long after the daily doses of pharmaceuticals.  The mylopathy was effectively paralyzing her rear end, so she likely couldn't tell she had to go half the time, and the meds and vitamins were playing hell with her kidneys.  Still, they kept her going.

But we only managed to delay the inevitable.  By last week, she couldn't even get up without a lot of help and encouragement.  She could barely get out of the house and take care of business.  She looked defeated, too, her ears drooping and eyes plainly showing her dismay at losing her independence.  We told Poe and Poodle to say goodbye to Deet and took her for her last ride in the car.

The people at the animal hospital were really great - I can't say enough about how gently and sensitively they handled the situation with us.  We sat on the floor with her, holding her, petting her, and watching her life slip away.  And we cried.

God speed, Savannah.