A part of me's missing, Gina.

She was dumped at the Portland, Oregon, pound at six weeks with her twin sister. The pound spayed both and it killed the sister, like performing a hysterectomy on year old child, pure idiocy. I was told about her on Sunday morning while visiting my friends at Eshabeta II Kennels in Arlington, Washington, and the next morning I was at the pound to pick her up.

I had to be very adament with the front office there that this pup was why I was there and would be the ONLY pup I wanted and they finally brought her out, after washing her down and wrapping her in a big towel. Her eyes were as big as pie saucers and she was trembling with fear, all 19 lbs of terrified black fur. We traded looks a moment or so, then as I reached for her she more than met me half way and placed a forepaw on either side of my neck, tucked her head under my chin and stopped trembling, she knew for the first time in her life she was safe.

Over the next nine years we were together 24/7 and she became a part of me, regardless of how I felt she was always there with love and support, magically knowing instinctively what my feelings were and helping improve them. She suffered separation anxiety , only being able to handle having me out of her sight for any length of time after the first couple years, but there were limits to that too. I also didn't like us being separated for any length of time either.

She was never overly aggressive toward anyone, but for some reason she suddenly, at about a year old, took a dislike to small kids, why I don't know, and had to be kept away from them. I also have no clue why she never could see someone on a bicycle without raising Cain, but she was like that from the get-go. As a pup she'd bark at cars behind us at a stop sign 'cause she figured the were too close. She was cautious when a strange dog was near, but never presented a problem. With strangers I'd tell'em to stand still and let her check'em out before ever reaching for her and that also worked and there were no problems, except once. She was in the back seat of my pickup and we were in the tire store I traded with in Great Falls, Montana. She sat there just watching me as I talked with a manager in the work area, until we shook hands and she thought he was attacking me. She exploded into the front seat and tried to squeeze out thru the partially opened front passenger window. My ol'lady was the only reason she didn't break the window I think. She didn't like anyone roughhousing at any time tho, whether it included me or not. Protection is part of the breed.

We slept together and after I got domesticated I made a bed for her alongside my side of the queen size bed and so there was no crowding. If I were on the bed alone napping tho, NO ONE wanted to start to enter the bedroom or they'd get a warning growl, regardless of who it was. Not the first dog I had that reacted that way tho. I just had to let her know it was OK and she'd relax.

She started my mornings with love and ended my days with it too and in so doing she made each day something special. She started losing weight and I couldn't figure why that should be, but she dropped about 20 lbs in a short time and seemed to get confused at times also. I thought the weight loss might've been from constantly being on the road in the pickup for about a month 'cause we were moving from north central Montana to northeastern Washington, but until the last day I had no idea why the confusion (and it eats at me that I missed it when I shouldn't have), she was going blind. Seeing that, we immediately went to a vet in Colville, Washington. The vet tested her eyes and blood, then informed us she had cancer and it was only a matter of a few more months, if that long. Gina laid at my feet and looked back over her shoulder with her trusting/loving look as I had to decide to end her life before it became real painful, a look that I'll never forget even tho I'm missing that part of me. We could've kept her awhile longer, but I felt it wouldn't be fair to her when it started getting painful. The vet, at my insistence, gave her a large shot of tranquilizer so she'd feel no pain as we said “Goodbye.”