Blind Teddy

 It seems a lifetime ago.  

We had said goodbye to our Bouvier dog, Biserka, whom we had brought home and loved after her years at what, in retrospect, was probably a breeding bitch for a puppy mill.  She was not an easy keeper, she was neurotic, she was beautiful, and we worked with all her manic insecurities.  We loved her.  Most of the time.      

I told that Spouse o' Mine: 
"No more dogs: no more heartache."
I didn't want any more sadness of losing our amazing canine companions.  
No more heartache.

We live in a really rural setting.  Less than three months after burying noisy and rambunctious Biserka, and experiencing more and more visits closer to our house than we appreciated by raccoons, possums, and coyotes, that Spouse o' Mine said to me:

"You need to start thinking about getting another dog."

Well, that's all it took as encouragement.  Just nine words, and I was out of the starting gate.  It took a few months, but I happened onto an ad from a city SPCA group to adopt two senior dogs, a "bonded pair", one of whom was blind.

What's not to love????

I went to meet them.  I adored them from the get-go.  That Spouse o' Mine was all-in.

They were delivered to us here in rural Kansas, by two volunteers driving a really small car.  Lucy & Teddy were really large dogs.  Large Breed Dogs.  It was like a Shriner Circus Car full of canine hyperactivity!  The two elderly pups were so exuberant upon their arrival, they jumped in the front seat on top of the two SPCA volunteers and just could not contain their excitement.  I still laugh at this memory.  The two piled out of the car and immediately began exploring all our acreage.  Blind Teddy followed his Seeing Eye Dog, Lucy.  Late that evening, after dark, I heard a haunting howl emanating from our front porch.  I scrambled outside to see what was happening.  The two new members of our household were both howling, echoing  to the coyotes down a quarter-mile in the creek.  So haunting, yet so perfect.  

Six years have come and gone.  We lost Blind Teddy just a few years ago, on his own accord. 
I had gone out early one sultry summer morning, hoping to get our lawn mowed before the heat set it.  It was barely sun-up.  I looked around the yard for Blind Teddy, so that I would not startle him while I mowed.  I walked down our drive, and saw a fresh poop on the gravel.  Hmm..., I thought.  Blind Teddy was nowhere to be found, so I moved on to the barn area.  Not in the barn aisle, not in any of the stalls.  But then I saw him: asleep in what we call the Dog Yard.  It's a small fence-in area for those rare times (company's coming!) when we want the large dogs contained.  There Blind Teddy lay, fast asleep.  I walked over to give him a pat.  Pat-pat.  But...
Blind Teddy wasn't snoozing.  Blind Teddy was dead.  

How does that work?  He did a final poop on our drive, walked his blind self into the barn, through one stall, and into the Dog Yard, and then he lay down and took his final snooze.

I was so pleased that this is how Teddy's last day was.  I hope he felt as happy.