Doggie is dying

My mom called me yesterday just to chat, or so I thought. Then she says,"Did you get my email about Wickette?" I was about to say Wickette is our 7 year old German Shepard but then I starting counting and I realized she is 9 closer to 10. I'd been thinking she was far too young to die but large dog breeds don't tend to live much longer than 10 years so I guess it's not so unusual after all. Anyway, mom goes on to tell me Wickette has a very aggressive cancer and there is nothing the doctors can do but make her comfortable. She will probably only live a few more weeks at best.

I've never had my own dog. When I was born my parents had another German Shepard by the name of Jamie. When I was 5 we had to move out of our house and into an apartment that was too small for Jamie Dog so my parents paid to have her shipped to Texas to live with my Grandmother who had a big house and yard for her to play in. Unfortunately not 2 weeks after we sent her to Texas there was a thunderstorm. Jamie was terrified of thunder. My Grandmother thought it would be a good idea to put her outside in the storm. Jamie ran away and was never heard from again. I was devastated.

We wouldn't have another dog again for 11 years. We lived in apartments until I was 16 when we finally bought a house of our own. Almost immediately after we got our house my parents came home with a dog from the pound they named Brandi. Brandi appeared to be a German Shepard, collie mix of some sort. She was very sweet but she had some behavioral problems so my parents found her a new home with a dog trainer friend of their's.

When I was 18 and a half I ran away to Colorado. Well I don't really know if you can call it running away being I was an adult and all but I didn't tell anyone I was going. I just packed my bags and hitched a ride in the middle of the night with my boyfriend. A few months later my mom got a little pure bred, all black, German Shepard puppy that my Dad named Wickette. I was so mad. All my life I had wanted a puppy and my folks decided to get one the moment I left town. Argh!

So I moved back to Oregon about a year later in March of 2000. I had missed most of wick's puppy hood but she was still young and spunky. I loved her instantly. We'd go on grand adventures in the woods and to the lake. She loved to swim and she'd dive right in the water after that ball. I taught her a trick where I'd make my finger a gun and I'd yell out bang and she'd fall over and pretend she was dead. Sure at the end of the day, she's not my dog. She's my mom's dog. But I love her as if she were my own.

When I got off the phone with my mom I just sat and cried for a while as my cat, Ben, tried desperately to comfort me with kitty kisses and head butts. I'm going to miss my doggie.