In Loving Memory
Sadie-Pie passed away on October 30th, 2005. She was healthy and hearty near to the end and died peacefully, surrounded by her pack.
|Wearing my ribbon!|
This is my page. It is all about my adventures, Sadie the Great.
Born on November 3, 1988 to an especially beautiful Golden Retriever and well-formed, intelligent Shepherd (probably Australian), I was a precocious puppy, quickly showing the charm & grace for which I would later be famous. Not much is known about my early, traumatic years. Forced to live with inartistic inferior individuals, my first years were a gypsyish montage of truck stops and low people. Naturally, a sweet girlish dog such as I was defenseless against the wiles of seducers. When the inevitable happened, I was abandoned at a well known home for unwed mothers, the San Francisco Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Naturally my beauty kept me from staying long in those grim surroundings, but once again I found the power of my charming visage a two-edged sword.
I was adopted by careless, heedless folk, who objecting to, and insensitive of, my interior art projects banished me from their rude hovel to the backyard immediately. Ah alone. Is there more of a hell on earth for the gregarious than a wretched, single existence from 9 to 5 in a dingy, uninteresting backyard? Utilizing all my skill and cunning I was able to escape once, twice, three times before those who adopted me returned me as unfit to the SF-SPCA.
My return to the SF-SPCA depressed me terribly. Being on display for prospective adopters was horrible. Again and again people passed my lonely cell. Sometimes with a shallow compliment, often with no word at all. My sensitive, artistic, temperament suffered the agonies of the damned. The good keepers of this charitable institution tried their best to assuage my suffering, but we artists, ah we suffer....
There I languished for an astonishing two months.
One grim day as I waited patiently in my cell, I heard voices. It was another group of potential adopters. Exiting the private part of my cage I entered the public part with my most winning smile, wagging my tale submissively. The larger part of the group passed by my cell toward the others, but one woman paused at the cage door peering at me and smiling. She spoke a few compliments and left my cage, moving toward the other cages in the cell block. Disappointed I lay down, trying not to cry as once again my hopes were dashed.
Moments later I was shaken out of my depression as one of the keepers reappeared with a leash. I was going for a walk! The keeper led me to a small room - where to my surprise and joy the woman waited. I immediately rolled onto my back to do her honour. What happened next was a blur. The next clear memory I have is being outside with the woman and walking away from my prison. I pulled as hard as I could even though I didnít know where we were going. The woman growled and yanked the leash a few times, but as sorry as I was to blister her hand with my leash, I felt it very important that we get to where we were going as soon as possible.
After a brisk walk we arrived at a narrow old-fashioned apartment house. The woman (henceforth known as Mom), opened the door of our apartment and unleashed me. It was long and narrow and full of wonderful smells. Now I entered into one of the happiest times of my life.
As I settled in, Mom & I got to know each other. Naturally I cleared her apartment of potentially dangerous objects. Nasty pillow things, vicious baskets, a particularly mean set of headphones. The most satisfying was a dreadful doll that Mom referred to as an-teek. It took a week before I was able to get at the doll and neutralize itís potential danger, but when I got it, I got it good. As a reward, after I killed all the dangerous things lurking in our apartment, Mom got me my very own room! It was just the right size for me to curl up in.
Our lives went along joyfully for many years when we entered into the most beautiful part of my life, Mom got me my very own Dad! He's really neat and knows how to wrestle and stuff. We also went to live in a much better apartment than the one weíd been in. The new one is sunny and large, and best of all has a deck. The only thing wrong with our new home was there was a CAT there! I offered to run it off for them, I even tried several times, but Mom and Dad wouldn't let me.
|My friend Ebony|
As time went by, I learned to appreciate, even cherish Ebony. I quickly learned that she carried knives and that she was not adverse to being bathed by me as we sat quietly on the sofa with Mom in the evenings. I never quite accepted her being able to sit on Mom's lap, but I adjusted. I even got used to the fact that Mom and Dad fed me icky little pebbles and Ebony got meat-candy! Then bad things happened. Ebony started smelling funny and ignoring me. She stopped eating! She even ignored the people-tuna that Mom and Dad bought her. Then one day Mom and Dad took her away. They came home without out her and they leaked and howled a lot. I looked and looked for her but she never came back. I don't like it when the pack isn't complete.
I finally got used to Ebony being gone. It was great being an only dog. I didn't have to share Mom and Dad with anyone. I even got to sleep on the bed! Then Shadow happened.
One day, just like any other, Mom and Dad went away. When Mom came home she smelled funny, but I'm used to that, Mom insists on talking to other dogs. I don't know why.
|With my pal Shadow|
Oh well, after I got her whacked into shape she's turned out ok. She likes to play a little too much even for me, but she's an ok kid. It isn't fair the way Mom and Dad spoil her, but she knows better than to try anything on me. And who else can I have lovely noisy romps around the flat with just at bedtime?
Several years have passed since I started this page about my modest life, and lately much is happening to me. I keep getting bumps and while they don't bother me much, Mom and Dad get all upset and take me to Dr. Bannow to have them removed. I like Dr. Bannow, but the removals bother me. I don't see why I can't just keep them, I don't even know what "massed cell grade two tumour" means anyhow. And what's an oncologist?
I still enjoy ball, but I can't play as long as I used to. For some reason my back starts to hurt after a while. I am sure it is because they only ever take me out once a day for ball. If they take me out more often it wouldn't hurt my back as much. I am sure of this. And some of that meat-candy they used to give Ebony couldn't hurt either. Or if I can catch the mouse that keeps eating the vegetables and flowers on our deck, that would help too.
So that's our life here.
|At the beach!|
My first real brush with death was at Ocean Beach in San Francisco. I was romping on the beach when a saucy sea bird practically dared me to chase it, so I did. Right out into the ocean. Unfortunately it was a trick. The water was much deeper than I expected, and the surf a lot stronger than it looked. I was pulled under when I tried to swim back to shore and washed about 40 feet along the beach before I was able to come up for air and struggle to land. Mom (who had been right behind me) was way down the beach running and yelling my name. Iím a bit nervous about waves now. Anyhow, swamps smell better.
My second brush with death was a week later. I was really sick one evening and had to be rushed to the emergency vet. Mom says itís because my mouth bypasses my brain on the way to my stomach. Thatís silly.
|Playing ball - there's nothing better!|
Mom fed me well right from the start, but I found out after we started living with Ebony that she's actually been feeding me the second rate stuff, cats get the good stuff. Then for some horrible reason, that puppy also got really good food! Now that she's bigger, Shadow gets different food that isn't as tasty. As a matter of fact it tastes a lot like the stuff I used to have to eat before I was put on this really awful "seenyore" food. I also like small rodents (although Mom is kinda weird about this) and worms and flowers. Fresh grown tomatoes and berries on the vine are good too. Actually, the world is full of edible stuff.
A really good book is THREE STORIES YOU CAN READ TO YOUR DOG by Sara Swan Miller. It is absolutely true to life. Mom makes funny gulpy howly noises when she reads it, but she that seems to be her compensation for not having a beautiful tail to wag. My all-time favorite is a great book with great pictures called BOODIL MY DOG, by Pija Lindenbaum. Boodil's life is obviously patterned after mine, everyone remarks on that, except I'm prettier, and I like to chase the ball, and I don't have much trouble eating, but that part about the after dinner romp is pretty accurate stuff.
I've been a good dog and would like to return to the dog index page.
Contents Copyright ©2009 by Christine Pascoe.. All rights reserved.