This is dedicated to the memory of Sadie, "our" first Furkid Shortly after marrying in September of 1994, Bill and I decided we really wanted a dog in our family of 4; 2 humans and 2 horses. We’d both grown up with dogs, and had our share throughout our lives. Now, we wanted one "together." So began our search. Bill called me at work one day from his shop saying a woman he'd known for some years was advertising a Rottie female in the local newspaper. Was I interested? "Sure," I said, and left it at that. That evening Bill came home with this huge black & tan bundle in his car. It was somewhat comical, because this dog was all of 80 pounds, and he drove a little, tiny car. When she began getting out of the car, she just sort of, well, she just “kept ‘getting out’!” As they came up the steps of the house, the Rottie was already doing the characteristic "wiggle butt" thing! She was obviously happy to be going somewhere, and for reasons we had yet to discover. “Wiggle butt’s” name was Sadie. And so she joined our family. Within the first few months, Sadie made it perfectly clear that she wanted to dote on both of us, but would direct most of her energies to Bill. Of course he was usually the one with the food bowl. I was the one who groomed, usually shampooed, and cleaned the slobber off the car windows! We all settled into a fairly happy routine. The woman who had given Sadie to us had also been her rescuer. Unfortunately, Sadie couldn’t stay with her, as a neighbor took great delight in taking pot shots at Sadie with a gun. We never understood how the woman could allow this guy to continue the practice, but we weren’t walking in her shoes, either. February 1998 - We add another furkid - a baby Jack Russell Terrier, Gabby. This little ball of white fur immediately took over the house, demanding attention from everyone, Sadie included. Of course Sadie was glad to oblige. Now fast-forward to Fall of 1999. All has gone rather well, we have finally begun the long procedure of buying land and building a home on it. I work for a trucking company in Durham, NC, and Bill owns his own business, partnering with a friend he had known for several years. We begin to notice that Sadie is drinking loads of water, all hours of the day and night. We find a lump in her groin, and her appetite isn’t good. A trip to the vet confirms that Sadie indeed has diabetes, plus most likely a cancerous growth on her tummy. Not good news, to say the least. We are told to watch her closely, and first get her diabetes under control with shots twice a day. That alone takes over 6 weeks to accomplish. In the meantime, her cancerous growth continues to spread, but inside and not outwardly. As Sadie stabilizes on insulin, our vet tells us that at this point, he doesn't think Sadie will be able to make it much longer, and most likely she will pass away long before the cancer will be of life-threatening concern. The diabetes has taken too much out of her. Do we want to do surgery on her to try to remove the cancerous growth, putting her through stress, pain and possibly ending her life under anesthesia? "No," is our reply. We cannot justify doing that to her. Unfortunately, our veterinarian is right (God bless him). Sadie's battle against diabetes is all uphill, and one she will eventually loose. The cancer will continue to grow, but blindness and deafness will overtake her too soon. The usual questions are asked of the vet, "Is there anything else we can do,” and “Will we know when she has to go," to which he confidently answers, "Believe me, she'll let you know when it's time." Neither of us had gone through this particular scenario before, and neither of us is really prepared for any ending. Sadie continues her physical slide, loosing her sight and hearing. Now when she goes outside, she has to have Bill or me accompany her so she can maintain her whisker - length touch against our leg. It's the only way she can find her way anymore - but she still shows spurts of life, joy and happiness. To add to the impending heartbreak, she’s a real trooper when it comes time each day to administer the insulin. Each morning, at precisely 7:00 she presents herself to Bill, reminding him it’s time for her shot. The scene is faithfully repeated at 7:00 in the evening. Always there’s a smile on her face. The time isn't yet. Sunday, April 30th, 2000. Sadie is having an awful time getting up from the lying-down position. She cannot find her way back to the door from outside without Bill physically directing her with his hands on her head. She shows confusion, and begins to hear things at which she must bark - things no one else hears. There is an unsteady gait. The time has come, as tonight when she slumps down next to Bill's chair, she fails to rise and go to bed at the appointed time. There is no light in her eyes, no wiggle left in her butt. It is with much coaching and coaxing that she is finally directed into the bedroom to her accustomed place - next to Bill's side of the bed. As Sadie falls into her last night of painful sleep, Bill doesn't sleep at all. They both know what's to come, and she's made it clear she's got to go. Monday, May 1, 2000. Sadie shows no excitement in having the lead placed on her collar, and no joy in getting to ride in the Bronco. She lies down during the 20-minute drive to the vet's office. Bill is the only one to accompany her. He has told me this is something he has to do by himself, even though I offer to be there. After all, she had become "his" over the five years we had all been together. Oh, sure, she'd greet me when I came home, but she'd turn herself inside out when Bill came in the room. They were the "gruesome two-some!" And loved? Oh, they loved each other SO much! She put up with his periodic short-tempered words with the same look of love and dedication in her eyes, no matter what. I used to tell Bill he treated his animals better than he did me - but they loved him unconditionally! No human has that capacity. Sadie’s ashes are housed in a beautiful urn, sitting on top of Bill’s desk in his office at home. Sadie never saw the new home and yard with her physical eyes, but she’s still here. Many months after her transition to the Rainbow Bridge, my heart finally broke. It took longer for me, as I was trying for so long to simply be stoic. After all, Sadie’s first love was Bill. As my heart broke, it also broke open. Out poured years of guilt over not treating Sadie with the respect and love she deserved. Going back into my mind’s eye, I could see times when she offered all she had to me, yet I resisted because I thought she had only enough love for Bill. Most animals were focused on one certain human, right? There was little room in their lives for others… That wasn’t so. That wasn’t Sadie. That was only my refusal to see with my heart what she was trying to offer. But her transition to the other side was not in vein! When my heart broke, a long-standing wall came tumbling down! It had taken Sadie’s transition to take down the dam of resistance. Our greatest regrets with Sadie are those centered around the “what if’s.” “What if” we had made sure she had exercised more? “What if” we had watched her diet more closely? We chose to turn those “what if’s” into “let’s do.” Because of Sadie, we now have two additions to our family – both Dobermans. One is a rescue, and the other was going to be hard to sell because of genetics. Both are dearly loved, openly and evenly, and we are trying to avoid future “what if’s.” Everything we lost has once again been found. Sadie is at Rainbow Bridge, and when we finally make our passage, I hope we will find her happy with what we have done in her memory. I know she waits to walk across the Rainbow Bridge next to Bill, her muzzle close to his knee. If I should pass that way first, I’ll hug her massive head, kiss her nose, and be satisfied with a lick from her pink tongue. She’ll still wait for Bill, but she will have seen the flood of love, for which she was directly responsible, that showered the furkids that came after her. I hope she shows me just one “wiggle butt” as I make my way across the meadow.