Priscilla in April on the last day we spent together. She was almost 13 years old and crippled by arthritis but was as happy and sweet as ever.
Priscilla showed up in my life about 12 years ago. I was convinced I saw a fox running around our neighborhood. The “fox” appeared on our street more than once and a couple of days apart. I was a bit worried it might manage to get into the backyard where our two year old 70 pound mutt Tweedles was hanging out.
Then a few days after her first sighting, we saw her again during a thunderstorm and realized it wasn’t a fox at all but rather a little red chow mix with some pointy ears. My brother brought her home to get her out of the storm and after a bit of coaxing, my mom let her stay until we found her owner. A couple dozen “FOUND DOG” posters later, we gave up on finding her owner and Priscilla became part of the family.
For a stray/runaway, Priscilla was amazingly well behaved, especially compared to the strong-willed Tweedles. Someone had taken care of her before we found her because she was already trained to sit, lay down, shake and stay.
Priscilla and Tweedles hit it off from the start and the two would roam our backyard together for the better part of a decade. Squirrels, possums, raccoons, snakes, cats and rats were no match for the two. Priscilla was a natural hunter; when she saw a squirrel or cat her ears and tail pricked up and her body froze. She’d slowly creep up on her prey before launching into a sprint. Sometimes, she’d catch it and she and Tweedles would corner whatever it was and they’d work together to subdue it. If the animal got away or up a tree, Priscilla would bawl until she lost sight of whatever she was chasing.
Since Tweedles was always worried he was missing out on something, we had to let Priscilla inside each night to eat. She and my mom — who was happy to have another female in a house with four males — bonded and Priscilla would often be allowed to sit with us during dinner. Almost nightly, my mom would scold Priscilla for begging while we were eating — which she managed to accomplish with nothing more than a sad stare — but she’d always breakdown and give Priscilla a few bites.
As much as she enjoyed life in the backyard with Tweedles, Priscilla never totally lost her wild streak and whenever a door or gate was left open, she would bolt out the door and sprint down the street headed straight for the marshes near our house. When she took off, it was a footrace between her and me to see who could get to the end of the street first. If I won, I could cut her off and get her home. If she won, which she did on multiple occasions, she was gone to the marshes until she came home an hour or two later with paws covered in mud. My mom would sit on the stoop by our front door waiting for her. When Priscilla would return my mother would scold her while feeding her treats at the same time, relieved that she came back.
If she couldn’t takeoff and head for the marshes, Priscilla would settle for just going on a walk. In general, she was one of the calmest, even-keeled dogs you’ll ever see. Grab her leash, though, and her eyes would light up and she’d go crazy: crying in excitement, hopping in place, running in circles, running to the gate then running back to make sure I was still coming. She would get so excited she couldn’t sit still long enough to get the leash clipped on. The second the gate was cracked open, she’d squeeze her body into the opening, pushing the gate wide open and start sprinting down the driveway, not slowing down until she’d made it halfway down the street. When it was Tweedles’ turn to go for a walk, Priscilla would cry and cry and run back and forth to opposite sides of the yard to watch for Tweeldes to return.
After managing to get them both out of the truck without getting away and not getting tangled between their leashes, they could've given me a good pose together at least once!
While Tweedles was big and loud and clumsy and a wild troublemaker (aka the perfect guy dog), Priscilla was basically his opposite: mild-mannered, quiet and well-behaved. When Tweedles started to act up, Priscilla would let him know. If he decided to bark or jump on the back door to get our attention, she’d jump on him, nipping at his ears and back legs. It didn’t usually faze Tweedles, but Priscilla did her best to keep him in line. For the most part, though, she never challenged Tweedles’ alpha dog role in the backyard realizing my mom spoiled her precisely because of how different she behaved in comparison with Tweeds. If Tweedles tried to steal her bone, she’d growl but ultimately let him grab it without a fight. If Tweedles butted in while someone was paying attention to Priscilla, she wouldn’t vie for our attention but was content to wait. And that’s the way things went in our backyard my whole teenage life — Tweedles and Priscilla kept the varmints away, Priscilla tried to keep Tweedles out of trouble and Tweedles had a mind of his own.
During my junior year of college, Tweedles passed away a couple of months before his 11th birthday. It was one of the most devastating days of my fairly charmed life. I can’t imagine, though, the hole in left in Priscilla’s life. With Tweedles’ passing, our backyard became a lot lonelier place for Priscilla. My mom had already left the house the year before and I had taken off for college a year or two before that.
The first time I came home after Tweedles died, Priscilla was there and stood with me as I wept over the loss of my dog. I don’t doubt that she knew exactly how I was feeling and felt exactly the same. Tweedles was her best friend and for almost her entire life the two hadn’t spent more than a few hours apart.
But Priscilla got a new friend around the same time that Tweedles left and I like to think that it helped fill the hole that Tweedles’ death left in her life. My dad’s newborn daughter, Lily, would for Priscilla’s last three years give the little dog a new purpose in life and a playmate.
Priscilla was great with my little sister. Lily would hand feed Priscilla when her hips got too bad to walk.
Priscilla was amazing with Lily from the start. As soon as Lily was able to move around, she took an interest in Priscilla who sat still and tolerated Lily’s typical baby antics: pulling fur, tails ears, even some playful slaps. Priscilla took it all in stride never getting angry with the baby. When she had taken all the abuse she was willing to endure, she’d slowly get up and walk away. As Lily got a bit older and started to play in the backyard, Priscilla’s maternal instincts kicked in. As Lily ran around the backyard, Priscilla would keep an eye on her and follow her around the yard. If Lily wanted to swing or play on the swingset, Priscilla would camp out in the shade underneath the slide to make sure Lily didn’t hurt herself. When Lily moved to the other side of the yard, Priscilla would trail her, always keeping an eye on her.
I tried to make sure Lily took a liking to Priscilla so she would give her some attention and loving when I wasn’t around. I used whatever influence I had over my little sister by spoiling Priscilla whenever I came home and encouraging Lily to do the same. I think it worked and even after my dad brought home a puppy as a Christmas present for her, Lily would play with Priscilla (at least when I was around) even as the new puppy barked for attention. I might have subverted my dad’s purpose in getting Lily the puppy while Priscilla was still around but I felt better knowing Lily would give Priscilla some of the attention she deserved when I was away.
She never got tired of pig ears.
After Tweedles left, Priscilla seemed to suddenly age quickly. I really think part of it was that she missed her friend; her life was a lot less fun and a lot lonelier without him. While Priscilla always cried at the gate when we came home, her cries seemed more desperate, more sorrowful after Tweedles died. But as Lily got old enough to start giving Priscilla some attention, Priscilla started to perk up.
I really think Lily made a difference in Priscilla’s life and gave her a little extra motivation to keep up the fight. Last May, when I came home from school, my brother told me Priscilla wasn’t well. She had lost a lot of weight and her red blood cell count was low. But with a steady diet of beef liver and a lot of attention both from me and Lily who was two and becoming more and more attached to “Lila,” Priscilla got better and by the end of the summer, she looked as healthy as ever and seemed to be a lot happier dog than right after Tweedles’ death.
While she looked healthy, her age was still apparent. Our walks around the neighborhood, over time, turned into walks halfway around the neighborhood, then to the end of the street, then halfway down the street, as arthritis began to attack her joints. By the time I came home for winter break this past year, her hips had deteriorated to the point that Priscilla could only walk with a limp. The doctor told us her arthritis would only get worse despite the supplements and painkillers. When I came home for spring break, she could barely move. But she still limped across the yard to keep an eye on Lily and me.
Two weeks ago, I was back home for my dad’s birthday. While my dad had warned me, I wasn’t prepared for how badly Priscilla’s joints had deteriorated. She could barely move, her back legs completely unable to support her weight. She shook while laying down and could only walk with a towel wrapped under her belly supporting her weight. Despite the awful trial she had to endure, she was still as sweet as ever. Lauren and I were playing with her in the backyard when I went to the other side of the yard to grab her brush. Undeterred, Priscilla stood up on her two good front legs and tried to drag herself across the yard to keep track of me. While she could no longer run around, she seemed to take pleasure watching the new puppy chasing sticks — her eyes kept track of each stick as Lauren or I threw it across the yard.
When I told Lily we were taking Priscilla to see my mom, Lily got worried that Priscilla wasn’t coming back. I told her she’d be back tonight but I don’t think she really believed me. Lily knew Priscilla was struggling and she seemed genuinely worried that we might be taking her away for good. When Lily next saw me, at my dad’s birthday party, she asked if Priscilla was back home and I assured her we had brought her back.
Maybe smiling, maybe just exasperated.
When I picked Priscilla up to take her to the front yard, to Lauren’s car, so we could take her to see my mom, she seemed to grin as I carried her, happy to be moving, happy to have her weight off her joints. As soon as I put her down, the young stray in her came out and she tried to stand up to take off down the street like she had done so often in the past. It was heartbreaking watching her body fail her ever-young spirit. The car was a fair consolation prize for her, though, and her attention quickly shifted from the street to the backseat when I opened the door. She found a comfortable spot to lie down and as we drove towards my mom’s place, Priscilla lifted her nose to enjoy the breeze coming through the window.
She wasn't content just seeing the lake. As soon as I wrapped the towel under Priscilla to help her walk, she headed straight to it, coming within a few steps before mom intercepted her.
When we got to my mom’s place, Priscilla began to cry, seeing the lake in her backyard. I carried her to the back and wrapped the towel under her to help her walk around. As soon as I did, she made a beeline towards the lake no doubt hoping to get her paws muddy one last time.
The next day was my last in Jacksonville before heading back to school until the end of the semester. Lauren and I went back to my dad’s place to see her one last time before I left. She was sitting by the gate in a nice clump of grass under the shade of a big oak tree. Lauren and I fed her some of the pig ears we’d grabbed for her and Priscilla’s jaws cracked through them with as much ease as over. Lily joined us and the three of us sat there with Priscilla, brushing her, feeding her, spoiling her. She looked as happy and content as I had ever seen her and I told her goodbye feeling confident that she’d be okay, that I’d see her again.
My dad sent me an e-mail early Monday asking me to call him, that he wanted to talk to me about Priscilla. I put it off, not wanting to hear what he had to say, and didn’t call until this morning. He told me what I feared. Her arthritis had gotten worse and she had now lost the strength in her front legs. We had run out of options. He said the vet would probably come to the house today and that it would be painless for her. I spent the rest of the day trying to fight back the tears, trying to find another answer and dreading the call that I knew was coming.
She was always up for a car ride.
Around 9 tonight, I got the call from my brother. I didn’t pick up and his message told me to call him back.
I’m too scared to call Phillip back right now. I don’t want to hear him say what I already know deep down is true. It’s as if as long as I don’t return the call, there’s still a chance, no matter how small, that the vet didn’t have time today or she somehow found the strength in her bones to get up and walk again and that everything’s going to be okay.
Priscilla, I hope you’re somewhere better now. I hope you and Tweedles are back together again and that your hips don’t hurt anymore and that you’re both in a big backyard with no fences and lots of slow squirrels and a big sloppy marsh. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you today and the past five years and I’m sorry I couldn’t do more to help you. I promise you I tried. You were an amazing dog. I can’t imagine a dog being sweeter than you were to my family for the past 12 years and my family won’t be the same without you as a part of it. This weekend, the backyard’s going to feel alien to me without you or Tweedles standing by the gate waiting for me with tails waging. I can’t express how grateful I am that you happened into our lives all those years ago and that you decided to stay with us. You were a great soulmate to Tweedles, a kindred soul for my mom at a time when she really needed it, a patient friend to Lily and you were there to console me and share my pain after Tweedles left. I know I’m not the only one crying tonight. You’re going to be deeply missed. Thanks for being my friend. I love you.
Filed under: Jacksonville | Tagged: Priscilla | Leave a Comment »
Reader Comments: Protect Puppy Privacy
Apparently not everyone’s in love with streaming video of puppies. Here’s an excerpt of my convo with a friend who is less than enfactuated with the newest internet fad:
Filed under: Reader Comments | Tagged: Puppies | 1 Comment »