"LOSING CASEY"

Pet lovers know the pain of losing their beloved animal and the solace of memory.

 “LOSING CASEY”

Pet lovers know the pain of losing their beloved animal and the solace of memory.

         The first time we lost Casey, our “rescue” border collie mix, she was an energetic puppy bounding over fences to explore our neighborhood.

         The second time we lost Casey, she was older and more fearful. A sudden thunderstorm frightened her, and she squeezed through an opening in our back fence, escaping into the frantic night.

         Both times we found her, and she returned happily home.

         But the third time we lost Casey, we couldn’t save her. We had to say goodbye on December 27. After 16 years as our beloved pet, she was blind, lame and in constant pain. We made the humane decision and put her to sleep. Right to the end, she was loyal and loving.

         Each holiday season since her passing is bittersweet. Like all pet lovers, we have our rituals and remembrances. But they don’t fill the void she left. Our kids told us to just go out and get another dog. But how do you replace an extra-special pet, one that was pretty close to perfect? We decided to wait until we moved from the house where we had lived with Casey through two decades. We didn’t think it was fair for another dog to try and compete with all those memories in that home.

         What made Casey so special? She wasn’t “Rin-Tin-Tin” or “Lassie”—rescuing people from burning buildings or making fantastic leaps to escape danger. Though she was one of the fastest dogs I ever saw. My wife and I loved watching her play with our three sons in the snow, darting with remarkable breakaway moves.

         Casey’s real value was her gentle spirit. She was obedient to a fault, never ransacking our kitchen garbage can or chewing on furniture. She wouldn’t enter our living room unless we gave her permission, and even then she moved timidly.

         Casey had high border collie IQ. She understood so many phrases: “going for a walk,” “getting the paper,” and, of course, “Are you hungry?” Her dark eyes would brighten as she bolted for her food dish.

         Thunderstorms were her nemesis, and we would often find her cowering in the upstairs bathtub. During one terrible tempest, Casey squeezed into bed with my visiting mother, who was sleeping in a first-floor bedroom. Mom tried to nudge her off but to no avail.

         Our Casey stories bring smiles and a measure of comfort. But they can’t compare to all those times when we came home to that warm-hearted dog always overjoyed to see us. We sure miss you, girl. (P.S.: After moving last year to North Carolina, we found a new “rescue” puppy named Lucy. This Dachshund mix has some big paws to fill!)

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