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Pippi, the best dog I ever had, died today.
On June 18, 1996, I returned home from the Oakland SPCA with a small six-month-old bundle of fear, fur, energy, and love. I named her Pippi, after Pippi Longstocking, because Pippi Longstocking was the strongest girl in the world and this puppy clearly needed a little spunk and strength. She was a mix of doberman, lab, and probably something else. Her first few months of life had been rough and she was afraid of everything and everyone, including me. It took a fair amount of time and patient coaxing to get her to come out of hiding under a chair.
I was starting law school that fall and had a lot of free time then and all during the next three years of school. Unless I was in class, Pippi could be found within three feet of me. Over these three years she slowly learned to trust me and then other people. She went from being afraid to go outside to loving long hikes in the hills. While I studied, Pippi napped at my feet. We went for walks nearly every day. We went backpacking and car camping, and she considered this the best thing ever.
Pippi was full of energy and would tear around at incredible speed chasing balls or butterflies or just running for what seemed like the pure joy of running, but at heart she was a very somber and serious dog. I don't think she ever completely got over her early mistreatment, and she always strived to figure out what I wanted her to do. I don't think she ever knowingly misbehaved. I never had to raise my voice to say no to her. As long as I could get her to understand what I wanted she'd do it.
After I graduated, I got a job in a law firm, had little time and lived in a small apartment on the peninsula. My mom was retired and living by herself in a large house. It made sense to give Pippi to my mom. Pippi never really got the message though. Even though she spent nearly all day every day with my mom, whenever I visited Pippi would ignore my mom and stick by me.
A few years ago I moved back to Oakland, just a few miles from my mom and Pippi. I got a less time-consuming job. I started taking Pippi on walks in the hills regularly again, and brought her along when I went camping. The bond between us was still strong. Pippi was often at my house. She had a prominent place at my wedding. She greeted me and licked the salt off my face when I finished my solo 24 hour race.
Early this morning I got a frantic call from my mom that Pippi had had a seizure of some sorts and my mom wasn't strong enough to lift Pippi into the car. I went over to my mom's house as quickly as I could and we drove Pippi to the emergency vet. They got an oxygen mask on and an IV going, but a little while later Pippi's heart stopped. CPR couldn't bring her back. Turns out Pippi had a cancerous tumor in her stomach that started bleeding during the night. Even if Pippi hadn't died this morning it would have been soon, so it's probably better that it was over with quickly.
When she was a puppy I helped her get over whatever horrors she had faced in her first days of life. Pippi repaid that a thousand times over. Whenever I felt low, I could go spend time with Pippi and feel better. Whenever I was stressed, her happiness at just being together in the moment would force me to see life's simple pleasures. Whenever I felt bad, her soft furry presence would cheer me up. When I'd stop by my mom's house, Pippi's wiggly, squeaky-bark excitement at seeing me made me feel loved. Now she's gone and it's more painful than I thought the loss of a non-human could ever be. I feel dumb, because she wasn't really even my dog any more, but it hurts. And I miss her.
On June 18, 1996, I returned home from the Oakland SPCA with a small six-month-old bundle of fear, fur, energy, and love. I named her Pippi, after Pippi Longstocking, because Pippi Longstocking was the strongest girl in the world and this puppy clearly needed a little spunk and strength. She was a mix of doberman, lab, and probably something else. Her first few months of life had been rough and she was afraid of everything and everyone, including me. It took a fair amount of time and patient coaxing to get her to come out of hiding under a chair.
I was starting law school that fall and had a lot of free time then and all during the next three years of school. Unless I was in class, Pippi could be found within three feet of me. Over these three years she slowly learned to trust me and then other people. She went from being afraid to go outside to loving long hikes in the hills. While I studied, Pippi napped at my feet. We went for walks nearly every day. We went backpacking and car camping, and she considered this the best thing ever.
Pippi was full of energy and would tear around at incredible speed chasing balls or butterflies or just running for what seemed like the pure joy of running, but at heart she was a very somber and serious dog. I don't think she ever completely got over her early mistreatment, and she always strived to figure out what I wanted her to do. I don't think she ever knowingly misbehaved. I never had to raise my voice to say no to her. As long as I could get her to understand what I wanted she'd do it.
After I graduated, I got a job in a law firm, had little time and lived in a small apartment on the peninsula. My mom was retired and living by herself in a large house. It made sense to give Pippi to my mom. Pippi never really got the message though. Even though she spent nearly all day every day with my mom, whenever I visited Pippi would ignore my mom and stick by me.
A few years ago I moved back to Oakland, just a few miles from my mom and Pippi. I got a less time-consuming job. I started taking Pippi on walks in the hills regularly again, and brought her along when I went camping. The bond between us was still strong. Pippi was often at my house. She had a prominent place at my wedding. She greeted me and licked the salt off my face when I finished my solo 24 hour race.
Early this morning I got a frantic call from my mom that Pippi had had a seizure of some sorts and my mom wasn't strong enough to lift Pippi into the car. I went over to my mom's house as quickly as I could and we drove Pippi to the emergency vet. They got an oxygen mask on and an IV going, but a little while later Pippi's heart stopped. CPR couldn't bring her back. Turns out Pippi had a cancerous tumor in her stomach that started bleeding during the night. Even if Pippi hadn't died this morning it would have been soon, so it's probably better that it was over with quickly.
When she was a puppy I helped her get over whatever horrors she had faced in her first days of life. Pippi repaid that a thousand times over. Whenever I felt low, I could go spend time with Pippi and feel better. Whenever I was stressed, her happiness at just being together in the moment would force me to see life's simple pleasures. Whenever I felt bad, her soft furry presence would cheer me up. When I'd stop by my mom's house, Pippi's wiggly, squeaky-bark excitement at seeing me made me feel loved. Now she's gone and it's more painful than I thought the loss of a non-human could ever be. I feel dumb, because she wasn't really even my dog any more, but it hurts. And I miss her.
