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WANNABE STUFF
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APPRENTICE STUFF
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MASTER STUFF
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And for our former harrowing adventures, there's always the archives
Sunday, March 06, 2005
In which we pay tribute to a good dog
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Meg
July 25, 1999 - March 5, 2005
My friend Eileen Stein euthanized her five-year-old sheepdog Meg yesterday. Eileen had discovered a lump in one of Meg’s nipples in December. Meg was operated on around Christmas, and the biopsy confirmed a very aggressive form of mammary cancer. The tumor grew back almost immediately, and a second surgery (this one performed by an oncological surgeon) was necessary to remove it. Meg recovered nicely from the surgeries and appeared well and happy for awhile. But several days ago, Meg began exhibiting signs of discomfort: she wouldn’t jump on the bed, and she would pant and shiver at night. By yesterday she was clearly in a great deal of pain, and she seemed to be having trouble knowing where her back legs were. Eileen and her vet could only assume that the cancer had metastasized to her spine, and the only thing left to do was to relieve her suffering. The time between Eileen’s discovery of the tumor and Meg’s ultimate death was less than three months.
Meg (a daughter of the famous Bwlch Hemp) had been imported as a trained dog from England about two and a half years ago. She had been trained by Shirley Cropper (Jim Cropper’s wife), and right before she was sold had placed in a large Open course out of a field of more than eighty dogs. Meg settled into Eileen’s routine with her characteristic enthusiasm for life and her certainty that only good things could happen to her: she immediately became Eileen’s devoted companion, and she delighted in finding herself living in a house rather than in a kennel. Life in the United States seemed good.
Meg had great strengths as a sheepdog, as well as some problems that she and Eileen were slowly working through. She had a near-flawless outrun, one that could always be depended on no matter what the field or the conditions. (Her outrun was a true pear-shape, and some judges these days seem to prefer big, wide semi-circles. But Meg’s was absolutely correct, an efficient outrun that wasted no time or energy but left her sheep undisturbed.) She often could do a beautiful silent gather, holding the sheep on the fetch perfectly, without the need for any additional commands. She tended to want to head her sheep a bit on the drive, which occasionally took some skillful handling to correct. Meg's biggest weakness as a sheepdog was a seeming fear of sheep who challenged her, or even of sheep who turned to face her before moving off.. But in many ways, Meg’s leeriness of sheep made me admire her more, not less, because she never stopped trying to figure out the best way of doing her job despite her fears. (I’ve often wondered whether courage is lack of fear, or courage is finding a way to cope with the fears that we happen to possess. Meg was courageous because again and again she faced and worked around her demons, simply because doing so was something that her intense desire to be a good sheepdog told her was the right thing to do.) Whatever the outcome of a run, her talent and her good attitude were always apparent on the trial field.
As a dog, Meg was a delight: extremely affectionate, cheerful, playful, and affable. If she couldn’t be petted, she always wanted to be pressing against a person. She had obviously been trained not to jump up on people before she became Eileen’s dog, but she allowed herself the pleasure of running up, turning around, and pushing herself against you with her back rather than touching you with her front paws. She loved to run fast and hard, nipping at the other dogs when they played with a ball or raced around the yard. At base, Meg was a happy, uncomplicated dog, enjoying her life and doing her best when called upon to do something that was difficult for her. She was the kind of dog who made you smile, no matter what else was going on in your life at the time.
The last time I saw Meg was two weeks ago, at Sherry Smith’s fun trial. Meg had the last run of the day, the first time that Eileen had run her since her diagnosis in December. She did a lovely job: a characteristic perfect outrun and beautiful fetch, but she also had a very solid drive and finished strong with a good pen and an outstanding shed, in which she came in immediately when asked to take perfect control of her sheep. She was the picture of health and gave no outward indication that anything dire was about to happen to her--after her run, she dashed off the field and tried to play with Sherry’s guard dog. I can’t remember if I patted her; I fear that I didn’t. It was growing dark; I had a three-hour drive ahead of me; and I was occupied with thoughts of my own dog and the chores that I would have to get done that evening. And so it always is: we never seem to manage to savor the moment because we never know that any given moment could be the *last* such moment. I wish I had patted Meg. I wish I had watched her last run with riveted attention, instead of watching while I packed up to go home from the trial. I wish I had told her what a good dog she was. Above all, I wish she had had a chance to finish up the life that she enjoyed so thoroughly and deserved to have so much.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
in which we heave a sigh of relief, and then do an errand
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It just figures--after a relatively mild and snowless winter, the blizzard gods decide to have a last-minute joke just as we're gearing up for lambing. The weather around here last night was pretty unpleasant: heavy snow, sleet, and strong winds. I spent most of the day dreading my late-night sheep check. (How was I going to make my way from my house to the sheep? Might I actually have to--GASP!--*walk* part of that quarter of a mile?) Luckily (or not so luckily, since I can sound *very* pathetic when it's important to do so) my landlord plowed in the middle of the storm, instead of doing the sensible thing and waiting to mop up at the end the way he usually does. So I had no problem driving up to check on the sheep last night and first thing this morning. They were sleepy and content in their barn during both checks, so I think we're still not getting down to L-day yet. But I figure that status quo is a whole lot better than emergencies: as long as nothing's happening, no bad things are happening. How's that for a daring way to live a life! :-)
I also took Phyl in for her DNA test for CEA, courtesy of our friends at Optigen. The new CEA test, for those of you who don't know about it, has been in the works for years: for the first time, we'll be able to identify dogs that carry the gene for CEA, as well as dogs who were judged normal by an ophthalmologist by are actually slightly affected (it's impossible to determine some forms of CEA unless a dog is examined before they're ten weeks old). Phyl was examined as an adult, but never as a puppy. Naturally, I'm anxious to know the results, because they might affect my ultimate choice of stud when I breed her this spring. But whatever the results are, I promise to post them to the blog. Keep fingers crossed for us!
