On May 30th, just over a month ago, we lost our Sadie.
Sadie came to live with us the day after Christmas, 2002. She was 8 months old, and I found her when I wandered into the large dog section of our local Humane Society. We were initially there to scope out this beagle that Dad was enamored with, but my mom and I weren't convinced. It was cute, I guess, but it was floppy and boring and I already knew our pet bird (a free-flying budgie named Buffy) would harass the heck out of it. So - I wandered off.
The big dog room was my first stop. I remember thinking to myself that I'd just go and look - Dad had said he didn't want a big dog, and Mom tended to agree - but I figured it couldn't hurt. I mean, it wasn't like I'd find the love of my life in there or anything, right? So, I pushed open the door, took my first step inside, looked down to the left... and there was Sadie. She was staring straight at me.
I'm pretty sure my exact thoughts were something along the lines of "ears."
She was really, really thin, a puppyish skinniness that made her ears, bat-like for all of her life, stick out from her head as if she was about to take off. I stared at her for a second, because while out of the corner of my eye I could see a dalmatian and a big St. Bernard, I had never seen a border collie before and had no idea what one looked like. To me, this dog looked like a wolf. And she would not stop staring at me.
"Hello," I said, not sure what else to do. "Who are you?"
She didn't reply - that habit wouldn't form for another ten years or so - but instead, never looking away, she slowly tipped herself forward, flattened the side of her head to the ground, and started wagging her tail.
I went to go get Mom.
I remember Mom saying "Oh my" when she saw Sadie - then named Judy - and kneeling down to get a better look at her through the cage bars. Where other dogs only ever held your gaze for a few beats at a time, I remember Sadie being almost unnaturally still (something that proved hilariously inaccurate later), her eyes always fixed on one or the other of us. Mom was sold, but then we looked at a piece of paper fixed to her cage. It was a warning sheet.
"Nips."
We looked at each other. It would be hard enough to convince Dad that he should leave behind the boring beagle to get a big dog like this, but with a warning of "nips"? So, we came up with a plan. Mom went to get Dad, and I took up position in front of the sign. Dad never saw it.
He figured it out pretty quickly after we got home. But from the second she walked through our door, all of Sadie's herding instincts were just part and parcel with this dog who, even as we watched with slight apprehension as she bounced back and forth between the loveseat and the couch with energy that left us full of awe (and alarm), we knew we'd never let go. And she decided on us, too. We'd had to go speeding back to the house to pick up cash because Dad hadn't figured we'd actually get a dog that day, and they were closing early because it was still technically a holiday. We made it back with about five minutes to spare, and they had taken Sadie into the office to wait for us. As soon as she heard our voices in the hallway coming back for her, she went nuts. She was ours from the second we saw her, and we were hers as soon as we came back into that office.
I know it must sound strange to people who've never had a dog, or who don't have dogs that they obsess over and make the focal point of their lives, but Sadie was probably the most popular member of our family. She was with us for half of my life - I had just turned 16 when we got her - and she acted as if she were a very, very fuzzy sister. We went on road trips together, we played together, we stole each others' food (okay, that was more one-sided than anything), we yelled at each other, we pranked each other, we laughed, and we took lots of selfies where we made the exact same face. Sadie wasn't just a dog, not to us. She was something else. Sometimes, that something else was a big pain in the neck, but that was who she was. We loved her for all of it.
Thank you to everyone who listened to me go on and on and on and on and on about Sadie. That won't change because she's gone - she'll never really be gone. However, now I ask that you prepare for me to go on and on and on and on about Mr. Chesterton. He's a good chap - I think we'll keep him.
Plus, LOOK AT THAT BOW TIE!
Sadie and I back in high school after we'd finished banging around the living room.
Sadie came to live with us the day after Christmas, 2002. She was 8 months old, and I found her when I wandered into the large dog section of our local Humane Society. We were initially there to scope out this beagle that Dad was enamored with, but my mom and I weren't convinced. It was cute, I guess, but it was floppy and boring and I already knew our pet bird (a free-flying budgie named Buffy) would harass the heck out of it. So - I wandered off.
The big dog room was my first stop. I remember thinking to myself that I'd just go and look - Dad had said he didn't want a big dog, and Mom tended to agree - but I figured it couldn't hurt. I mean, it wasn't like I'd find the love of my life in there or anything, right? So, I pushed open the door, took my first step inside, looked down to the left... and there was Sadie. She was staring straight at me.
I'm pretty sure my exact thoughts were something along the lines of "ears."
About the same time as the previous picture. I was probably 18, so Sadie was 3.
She was really, really thin, a puppyish skinniness that made her ears, bat-like for all of her life, stick out from her head as if she was about to take off. I stared at her for a second, because while out of the corner of my eye I could see a dalmatian and a big St. Bernard, I had never seen a border collie before and had no idea what one looked like. To me, this dog looked like a wolf. And she would not stop staring at me.
"Hello," I said, not sure what else to do. "Who are you?"
She didn't reply - that habit wouldn't form for another ten years or so - but instead, never looking away, she slowly tipped herself forward, flattened the side of her head to the ground, and started wagging her tail.
I went to go get Mom.
Casual family conversation.
I remember Mom saying "Oh my" when she saw Sadie - then named Judy - and kneeling down to get a better look at her through the cage bars. Where other dogs only ever held your gaze for a few beats at a time, I remember Sadie being almost unnaturally still (something that proved hilariously inaccurate later), her eyes always fixed on one or the other of us. Mom was sold, but then we looked at a piece of paper fixed to her cage. It was a warning sheet.
"Nips."
We looked at each other. It would be hard enough to convince Dad that he should leave behind the boring beagle to get a big dog like this, but with a warning of "nips"? So, we came up with a plan. Mom went to get Dad, and I took up position in front of the sign. Dad never saw it.
More recent picture - Dad and Sadie survey the neighborhood.
He figured it out pretty quickly after we got home. But from the second she walked through our door, all of Sadie's herding instincts were just part and parcel with this dog who, even as we watched with slight apprehension as she bounced back and forth between the loveseat and the couch with energy that left us full of awe (and alarm), we knew we'd never let go. And she decided on us, too. We'd had to go speeding back to the house to pick up cash because Dad hadn't figured we'd actually get a dog that day, and they were closing early because it was still technically a holiday. We made it back with about five minutes to spare, and they had taken Sadie into the office to wait for us. As soon as she heard our voices in the hallway coming back for her, she went nuts. She was ours from the second we saw her, and we were hers as soon as we came back into that office.
There's a slight chance I was the one who taught Sadie to carry things because I was too lazy to bring the toilet paper up from the basement and made her do it. It was a trick she soon applied to EVERYTHING ELSE.
I know it must sound strange to people who've never had a dog, or who don't have dogs that they obsess over and make the focal point of their lives, but Sadie was probably the most popular member of our family. She was with us for half of my life - I had just turned 16 when we got her - and she acted as if she were a very, very fuzzy sister. We went on road trips together, we played together, we stole each others' food (okay, that was more one-sided than anything), we yelled at each other, we pranked each other, we laughed, and we took lots of selfies where we made the exact same face. Sadie wasn't just a dog, not to us. She was something else. Sometimes, that something else was a big pain in the neck, but that was who she was. We loved her for all of it.
Sadie "helping" me study.
Family trip to Yellowstone National Park
Car selfie on the way to Waterloo!
Sadie with Zydrate Bear, which she stole from me. Zydrate Bear now lives in my apartment on my bed.
Sadie helping me put together the bed frame I'd bought from Ikea a few years ago.
I have so many selfies like this that it's ridiculous.
Once, when describing my feelings for Sadie, I told someone that the sheer number of people I would kick off a desert island to make room for my dog was astonishing and probably concerning.
The amount of people I would kick off the planet just to bring my best fuzzy friend back? That number is beyond comprehension.
I miss Sadie. I have an album of photos in my phone that I go back and look at almost every day. Mostly I look at the older pictures, but sometimes I slowly tap through the more recent ones. I try to comprehend that only two months ago she was still here, pressing her forehead against mine and still occasionally sticking her tongue in my eye. She wasn't well, but she was here. I used to call the house just to ask how she was doing, and to demand photos from my parents so I could save them and store them in my phone. Most of these photos looked exactly the same - I didn't care. That wasn't the point. I think I just knew that, after a time, there wouldn't be any more photos. That's how it goes.
This is my last photo with Sadie. The vet paid a house call, and the lovely doctor knew Sadie and volunteered to come. I was holding her when it happened. She wasn't scared, she was home. That was important. After, when everyone had left, we all went outside to find a double rainbow drifting over our house, a shock of color in the gray skies. It had just stopped raining.
We can mostly talk about her now without crying, which is good because Sadie frankly did a lot of stuff that was downright hilarious. But for awhile, her absence was overwhelming. I posted about it on Facebook, and I received the nicest comments that I never did respond to - I just couldn't do it. I read each and every one, and read every text message, and I can't thank my friends enough for trying so hard not to let me feel alone. It was a bad time. Every spot in the house was a spot without Sadie, and ultimately that drove my parents to try looking for another dog very quickly. At first, it didn't go so well. They were, essentially, looking for another Sadie, and that wasn't a quest that was ever going to be won.
Then, about a week ago, Dad saw a courtesy listing on a border collie rescue site. It was for a male dog, 9 years old, who had been turned into an animal shelter after he was found on the streets without a collar. When he was scanned for a chip and his owners contacted, they said they didn't want him back. Initially, Dad wasn't too sure about this. 9 is a pretty old age, and we'd never had a male dog before. While trying to decide if they should go see him, Dad wandered outside.
He saw a rainbow.
That very same day, they went and brought home Mr. Chesterton.
Mr. Chesterton is a fine, upstanding gentlemen. And by that, I mean he's a giant clunk who loves absolutely everyone. I was in San Francisco for a wedding when my parents brought him home, and when I finally got to walk through the front door, he tumbled into my lap after zero hesitation whatsoever. Naturally, I immediately bought him a bow tie on Amazon.
We don't know what mix he is. The shelter said he was a border collie mix, but somehow we don't really think so. My parents actually bought a genetics test, so we'll see what he turns out to be a few weeks from now. There are lots of theories. Mom argues he does have some border collie, Dad thinks he might be part lab, Petra thinks he's got some German shepherd in him, Maryna thinks he's a bear, and Tina has decided he's a macadamia nut banana. Brian just hopes Mr. Chesterton is prepared for how spoiled he's going to be.
I think he's great.
This guy is nothing like Sadie, and that's exactly what we needed. There will never be another Sadie. In fact, it's entirely likely that Sadie would have bossed Mr. Chesterton around ceaselessly had they ever met, something she did to dogs she thought were too sweet. But he's such a love, and so good hearted. In the above picture, he heard me crying while typing up some of Sadie's story and proceeded to come and sit on my foot. This guy is a gift, and we're so happy he's here with us. We used to talk to Sadie more than we talked to each other, and now we have a new family member to talk to! If you're in the area, you should come talk to him too. He'll love you.
Thank you to everyone who listened to me go on and on and on and on and on about Sadie. That won't change because she's gone - she'll never really be gone. However, now I ask that you prepare for me to go on and on and on and on about Mr. Chesterton. He's a good chap - I think we'll keep him.
Plus, LOOK AT THAT BOW TIE!
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