I WAS NOT A DOG PERSON: A TRIBUTE TO THE DOG THAT HEALED ME
When I was a young girl, a German Shepherd attacked me. I was walking home with my mother and sister when a very large dog jumped over a wall and pounced on me, flattening me on the grass. Just as the dog opened his mouth to take a bite out of my neck, his owner jumped the same wall and pulled him off me like a Ninja.
I was lucky. But what happened that afternoon was enough for me to swear off dogs for the rest of my life. For nearly three decades, I wouldn’t go near them. I was terrified of the big ones and not even remotely charmed by the little ones.
Then came the curve ball.
In November 2002, I met the man I would later marry. That same week we met, he rescued two dogs: a seriously neglected and abused mother and son. She was 4, a German Shepherd Chow mix. He was 1 and part Pit Bull. They lived on the cement in an urban Los Angeles backyard, were never walked, hardly fed, and routinely yelled at and hit with a broom.
To me, Cody and Fred were huge and terrifying. (My husband didn’t change their names). Cody had a lot of fear herself. You couldn’t sweep when she was in the room and she was afraid to walk past you. Out in the world, if you rubbed her the wrong way, she could get a little scary. She didn’t trust men and wasn’t used to being walked, so she’d sometimes growl and act out, especially around certain men. But she fell for my husband and his best friend (and roommate) immediately.
For some reason, she really liked me too. Even though I didn’t pay her any special attention, and felt intimidated around her, Cody insisted on lying underneath me wherever I was with her head on one of my feet. After some time passed, she took to sometimes laying her head on my lap to test me. She did it so much that I slowly stopped being afraid of her and started walking her while my husband walked Fred. I definitely liked her more, but it would be years before I would initiate any other type of contact.
Years.
In 2006, Fred died. Cody was despondent without him. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I would not believe it. For the first time, I understood a dog’s ability to relate and love in a way that had never before struck me. I started asking my husband (then boyfriend) to bring her over to my apartment when he visited me. I’d take her on walks by myself and worry about her meals and vet visits. My husband was stunned when I planned a vacation to Lake Tahoe that included her. There, she swam for the first time, hiked, went boating, and was more joyful than we had ever seen her. She was truly in her element.
I didn’t know it then but I was in love with her.
Jose and I got engaged on that trip and moved into a new a place a block from the beach with Cody. She thrived. Her coat was super shiny, she looked healthier than ever, and her spirit was lighter. Sometimes on our walks if a man got too close, I’d see that other side of her again. But she was protecting me and I was grateful.
A couple of months after we settled down, my husband convinced me to get another dog so that Cody would have a companion. We took her with us to the pet adoption so she could help us choose. My husband immediately spotted the one: a little blond Basenji-Mini Pinscher mix with a penchant for cuddling. He quickly took residence on my lap and when I let him go, he went and snuggled up to Cody.
Pancho was only 10 months old and Cody loved him instantly. He’d lick her eyes and play with her as if she was his momma. She let him climb on her back, jump on her head and attempt to steal a ball from her. They were the most perfect big and little duo I’d ever seen.
The four of us traveled all over California together. They were in snow, in the mountains and woods and many lakes; they fished and hiked with us. From the coast to the desert, to San Fransisco and San Diego, they happily went anywhere we’d take them.
I became a complete and utter dog mom. I celebrated their birthdays, constantly bought them special treats and toys, and wanted to be with them all of the time. We were the best foursome.
As time passed, Cody’s age began to show. She slowed down and needed help getting up, especially from the hardwood floors. We bought her boots, area rugs for the house, and a special harness to help us pull her up. Eventually, she began struggling with dementia and both of her back legs gave out because of nerve damage and arthritis.
That didn’t stop us. My husband built her a cart so that she could still be out in the world. It was a sight to see: the slow gait of her front legs in front of her while she sat back happily on the cart. People stopped us constantly to cheer her on and celebrate my husband’s love for her.
We vowed to help her in any way she needed as long as we were sure she was enjoying being here with us. We’d bring her food and water bowls to her so she wouldn’t have to get up. We let her take over the couch. For a while we tried to share it but “Old Lady,” as we started calling her, ruled so I started sitting elsewhere to give her more room.
I was often reminded of the last years of my grandmother’s life and how much I cherished spending her last month with her in a hospital room. I started marking time. Would Cody make it to her next birthday? Christmas? My birthday? Could we take one more trip?
It was like that for two years.
She was amazingly resilient. The ocean air and the little dog’s adoration seemed to keep her going. We took two great summer trips last year for which I am so grateful. She couldn’t hike but she enjoyed fishing on the boat and sitting on the porch and just being in the woods and outdoors.
Cody turned 16 in November and we celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas together. After the new year, we saw more signs of slowing down. She no longer barked or wagged her tail but she ate well and still wanted to go on walks and play in her own limited way with Pancho. So we soldiered on.
A few weeks ago, we started to see different signs. She was afraid to be alone and was increasingly needy even when we were with her. She was crying more frequently and sleeping most of the day. Then she started resisting her wheels and she stopped sniffing the grass and flowers. She lost weight, even though her appetite was healthy.
It was hell to come to the decision to say goodbye to our sweet girl but it seemed it was the only loving thing to do. On April 10, as my husband would later write on a neighborhood memorial poster, Cody traded her wheels for wings.
To say that I miss her is a severe understatement. I still expect to see her every morning. I hear her cries, I see her face everywhere inside my house and in the neighborhood. I want to still take care of her. I can still feel her soft, silky fur running through my fingers. There are so many wonderful memories.
They say pets become like children. I suppose that’s especially true for us since we don’t have kids. But Cody was also one of the great teachers of my life. She taught me that fear can unequivocally be conquered. When we met, I didn’t want her near me but years later I wound up laying next to her on the floor when I could not figure out how else to stop her cries. I went from being afraid to let her rub her face on my lap to regularly holding her mouth open to push pills down her throat.
Cody also reminded me that, while aging is inevitable, it can be done with grace and dignity, even when you need a lot of help from those you love.
But the most important thing I learned from my sweet Cody is that love and patience wins every time. For years, Cody sat underneath me waiting for me to figure out how wonderful she was. When I finally did, she loved me completely.
Cody knew what I needed to learn: love is love. It doesn’t matter if you have two legs or four.