Big Dog.  Heidi Ho.  Heidi Bat Dog.  Heidi Mad Cow.  Heidi Boom Boom Mancini.
Uber Goober.  Heidi Bo Peep.  

This was a dog of many names, with many "jobs" in this family.  She was the first canine to join our family, so no matter how many we added, she was always the alpha dog, and she knew it.  We moved into our house on Nokomis Circle on October 31, 1999, and we went to Operation Kindness to adopt Heidi on November 20, 1999.  I don't think we had even unpacked all the boxes, but we knew we wanted a big dog to enjoy our fully fenced two-acre yard.  And enjoy it, she did.  Heidi took great delight in patrolling the fence line along the road - all 300+ feet of it.  She especially liked it when any loud truck, particularly one with a diesel engine, came our way, as she felt those were in particular need of warnings from her.  She also liked to bark at any neighbors brave enough to walk down the street in front of our house - maybe she was just being helpful by encouraging them to pick up the pace and hence burn more calories.  And she took her job as squirrel-deterrent seriously, too.  Any time a squirrel ventured into our yard, Heidi would take up her post under the tree where the little critter was hiding, and she would stay there for hours on end.  Sometimes barking, and sometimes just watching and waiting.  There were many times when I would see Heidi in position, and I would look up to see the squirrel, which would sometimes send acorns crashing down in Heidi's direction in hopes of scaring her away.  When that happened, I would lead a very reluctant Heidi inside and keep her there for at least half an hour, in hopes that the squirrel would have the good sense to take advantage of her absence to skedaddle out of our yard and into one that might be more hospitable.

But of all the ways Heidi amused herself, hunting in the meadow seemed to be her favorite.  Are you familiar with the word "gambol"?  It's one of those words that usually no one except poets use.  But in Heidi's case, when she was in the meadow, that's the word that came to mind.  The American Heritage Dictionary defines "gambol" to mean "a playful skipping or frolicking about" and that's exactly what it looked like Heidi was usually doing in the meadow.  In the summer when the native grasses grew tall, we would sometimes see only the tip of her tail as she tracked small prey.  Then when she found something, we knew it, as we could watch her leaping, almost bounding across the meadow.  She looked something like a little black sheep jumping over hurdles, the way you might envision if you were counting sheep to go to sleep at night.

Doesn't she look like a fierce protector?

When we adopted Heidi, the good folks at Operation Kindness told us that she had been in terrible shape when she was first rescued by one of their volunteers.  Such bad shape that she spent six weeks at Rutherford Veterinary Clinic being treated for a variety of problems before she was well enough to go to the shelter for adoption.  One of those problems was hip dysplasia, which we were told is fairly common among larger breed dogs.  Though they warned us that in later life she would have symptoms much like those of arthritis, Heidi showed no sign of slowing down until this year, when we had that first really cold weather in the second week of November.  She was limping, and occasionally whimpering at night when she went to bed, so we took her to the vet, who said he had seen three other dogs that day with similar symptoms.  We all thought it was just the cold weather causing Heidi's hip to hurt.  So the vet prescribed a strong non-steroidal anti-inflammatory for a week.  That didn't seem to make much difference, so we tried a second drug.  That one didn't work at all, and Heidi seemed to be declining, moving more slowly and crying more often, so we got another prescription of the first drug, and prayed for milder weather.  During the first days of December, Heidi didn't move any more than was absolutely necessary, and Tim helped her many times when she was having trouble getting up.  On Tuesday, December 5th, Heidi didn't want to eat, not even a treat from our dinner plates, and when she went to bed that night, she whimpered, so we decided we would take her back to the vet in the morning to see if he could offer a stronger pain medication.  But shortly before midnight, Heidi let out a long, mournful wail, which brought us out of bed and straight to her side.  We stroked her gently, hoping that we weren't causing any more pain, and uttered words of love and reassurance.  We thought it was going to be a long night and were counting on the morning and the vet to bring relief.  But at about ten minutes after midnight, Heidi simply stopped breathing.  We were in complete shock.  Hip dysplasia can be a painful disease, but not a fatal one.  We had no idea that she had any other problem.  Wednesday morning, we took her to the vet for cremation, and talked to him about what might have happened.  He said that she might have had an undetected tumor in her lungs, or she might have had a stroke.  Either way, even if we had known about the problem, he said that the likelihood that we could have treated it successfully was slim.  The only thing that might have been better if we had known she had a life-threatening problem is that we could have prepared ourselves emotionally for her death.

So once again, death came quickly for one of our canine family.  And once again, we are glad for Heidi's sake, just as we were for Pixel's, that she didn't suffer too long.  (Click here if you aren't already familiar with Pixel's story.)  But our broken hearts, which hadn't even begun to heal from Pixel's death, have been assaulted again, and we feel the loss sorely.

Once Heidi's ashes are returned from the crematorium, we will scatter them across the meadow that she loved so dearly.  The bluebonnets are already starting to come up - right now they're just tiny sprouts of green to remind us that even in the harsh landscape of winter, life goes on.  By spring, those little bits of green will erupt into a glorious carpet of blue in the meadow, and shortly after that, the field mice and rabbits will once again be making their homes in the meadow grasses.  But next spring, there will be no Big Dog to hunt the small game.  We like to think of her gamboling across an even bigger and bluer meadow in her new hunting grounds, over the Rainbow Bridge.

Heidi, in a playful moment.

Here, Heidi admires the bluebonnets.  But in truth, she liked the meadow best once the grasses grew tall and the hunting was rich with small game (mostly field mice and the occasional rabbit).  Thankfully, we don't think she was successful in her hunting very often, but she loved the chase.

A Big Dog and her human - it was love at first sight.

Our Family: Pixel (in Lynnette's lap), Heidi, Zippy (in Tim's lap), and Jonah