Tribute to an old friend...

Haven't posted much up here for a bit, but that's not for a lack of anything happening in my life. Quite the contrary. As any "Type A" personality person can relate to, it's just been one long stream of "things to do". The other day I actually tried to imagine what it would be like to not have something to do, and to just sit, and watch TV or sit on the porch and read a book. After about 30 seconds of that, I started to feel guilty that I was actually taking time to think about this stuff and what I could have done with those 30 seconds I just wasted!!!! LOL!!! Actually, I'm not THAT bad. But...close.

Well--hate to start this blog entry on a downer but I have to tell a little story. Back in 1997, I being married for only 2 years, living in a condo in Placentia, began to worry a little about my wife. She came from a very large family (9 bros and sis's), so needless to say, it was a noisy household. To get married and move away from that was a big change. But on TOP of that was the fact that I worked 24 hr shifts 10 days a month, usually more because of overtime, and I was not sleeping at home during those shifts. Worse would be if I got a 48 or 72 or even a 96 hour stretch. It was a little hard. On top of that, The Warden's whole family moved to Gig Harbor, Washington with the exception of one brother who stayed back.

Trying to think proactively about this situation, and having grown up with dogs my entire life, I went to the Orange County Animal Shelter and started looking around at dogs. They have their shelter pretty organized--the big dogs in one section, the small ankle biters in another, the vicious and mean quarantine area in another. Pretty cool. I especially liked the quarantine area because you could actually look face to face with some truly terrifying dogs. Well, this day I went down to nose around I wasn't seeing anything note-worthy. I decided to go to the quarantine section, and nothing was there to entertain me (like the one time the pit bull that saw me had a freaking fit and almost chewed his way out of the cage--or so it seemed--what a whack!). As I was about to leave, I checked one more area that is "off the beaten path" so to speak. Saw a goat, a rooster, a HUGE tortoise (no lie), and then...a Rottweiler. Just hanging out in her cage. She was laying in the back area. I walked up to the cage (I remember this like yesterday), and kneeled down. She didn't move but her head was up and her ears were "up" (as much as Rottie can do that). And I smiled and said, "Hey there...". She lumbered up, and immediately I noticed two things. One--she obviously had had a litter of puppies within the past 6 months or so, and two, she was pretty dang skinny.

She slowly walked up to the door, and in my customary way, offered the back of my hand. Felt that cold nose through the bars take a sample of my knuckles, and then....she sat down and leaned up against the bars of the door to her cage and looked up at me with THE SINGLE most pitiful but strangely BEAUTIFUL brown eyes (with EYE BROWS!!!!) that I had ever seen. If dogs could talk, she was saying, "Please...just be nice to me." I read her tag...her name was Dixie...age approximately 1 year, maybe 2. Brought in by family and reason for leaving the dog at the pound--"Unable to continue care for dog". WTF DID THAT MEAN?!?!? So after I had a long talk with Dixie and made sure I scratched her ears ("Both sides please, Ryan") and scratched her chest ("Ryan, I believe you are going to be owner someday if you keep THAT up!"), I got a worker and asked about the non-reason given for leaving Dixie at the pound. She said that typically when a reason is given like that it means that the people are either moving and can't take the dog, or they are having money problems and can't afford it. So I made sure it didn't mean "Has killed small babies and will rip your throat out if given half a chance". She laughed and said, "No no no...if that was the case, we'd have her in that special section over there", pointing at the ever-entertaining quarantine area. AHHHHHHHHH...so she's ok then. "Well...you risk anytime you want a dog that you're getting someone else's dog, so you don't know what you're getting personality wise." And with that, broom in hand to go do her crap-cleanup-detail, she left. I went back to the cage, and there was Dixie, still sitting at the door, looking at me. Big. Brown. Eyes. Must not look. MUST NOT LOOK. Big. Brown. Eyes. DAMN. So, defying any semblance of normality, I actually leaned down and looked right at her, and I said, "Look, I'm going to go home, but I'll be back tomorrow to come say hi again. OK?" And I left.

And then I came back the next day.

And then the next day after that.

The fourth day, I broke the news to The Warden. "Honey, get your shoes on--no need walking around pregnant and barefoot making my dinner--let's go out." OUT??? WOW!!! The Warden got all excited. WE'RE GOING OUT. "Where we goin' baby?!?!?" A surprise...

...which really didn't go over too well when I pulled into the Orange County Animal Control parking lot. "They have a restaurant here?" Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeah...so I had to explain my surprise. I got the patented Warden response--13 years of this--there's an art to it...but her response...

"Turner...what did you do???" How many times have I heard THAT?!?!?

So I take her to the cage where Dixie lived. She perked RIGHT up. VERY happy to see me, but not like hyper-hump your leg-slobber happy. Her personality was very clear to me. She WAS happy...but reserved if you will. Definitely happier than when I first saw her 4 days ago. And she knew me for sure. She demanded I give her a nice chest scratch. I complied. She's a Rottie. What do you want??? The Warden will never admit this, but there was an immediate affection present between these two "ladies". And then...the impossible happened...she actually said, "Well...you want to get her?"

And the rest as they say...is history. We brought her home to our quaint little condo, which was right across the street from the massive Tri-City Park. Let her smell around, get used to everything. And then...after sufficient sniffing, I believe The Warden and I received what can only be called a "Sign of Approval". Dixie lauched herself into the air, did a half twist, landed on her back, and started doing the "Dixie Dance" as we later coined it. She was rubbing back and forth on her back and making that little "ruhhhhhhhhrrrr" sound. And I swear...call me nuts...but she was SMILING. We were off to a great start.

What followed was two moves, and our first baby, Sarah. Dixie was with us the entire time. She would have been in the dang delivery room had she had her way. Dixie and Nyleen established a really solid relationship because I believe that Dixie knew, or figured it out, that when I was away at the Fire Department, she was The Protector. And Nyleen would tell me stories about how she was literally protected by this moose of a dog. And boy did Dixie love Sarah. I have a video of her hanging out with Sarah in our garage of a house we had in Placentia. Sarah was in a bouncy seat deal, just banging away, making all kinds of noise (she's a Turner--rock on sister!!). Dixie was either laying right next to the bouncy seat completely oblivious to the racket, or she'd stand up and walk around and sometimes stick her nose right in front of Sarah's face and out would come the tongue....SLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLURP!!! We didn't actually like that but Dixie had to sneak a few in. Of course, Nyleen would run off to get disinfectant and bleach and surgical gowns thinking that Sarah was going to surely contract some "Rottweiler disease". LOL!!!

Women.

Well...I guess I have to get to the point of this tribute.

We had our second kid, Michael Ryan, and our small house (another one--we had downsized from 2400 sq ft and a backyard to 1300 sq ft and NO YARD). The Warden now was overwhelmed with kids and dog. There was only one thing to do. And off Dixie went to go live with my brother and my dad up in Pasadena at the family estate (LOL!). There she'd have a backyard, two guys that would love her to death, and a safe house. I wasn't happy, but I had vistitation rights...hahahaha...so, it was the smartest thing. I'm grateful my dad and brother stepped up to help out. Very cool.

Yesterday, I was swimming in the pool in our complex with my daughter. My wife and boy were at home. My cell phone started to ring, but I missed the call by the time I had swam over to get the phone. Something about making sure I was keeping an eye on my 6 year old sort of slowed me down. About 2 minutes later, my phone rang again. It was a fellow supervisor from work. I picked up--it was my buddy Chris Funk. "Hey dude, you need to call your brother asap." Thinking the worst of course, I just blurted out, "Oh crap--what's wrong?" And Chris didn't soften the blow any, and he didn't have to. I don't think Chris knew about the set up I had with my brother and Dixie. "He said he had to put his dog to sleep." My stomach sank. I said thanks and called my bro. And the story came out...

Apparently a few days ago, Dixie started really limping badly, favoring her rear left leg. We knew she had some hip dysplasia issues...but this was different. Yesterday, he said she was crying and not putting ANY weight on the leg. He rushed her to the Animal Hospital. Tests, xrays, exam...diagnosis was bad. Big tumor on the leg--bone cancer. Adding everything up--age of the dog, she was miserable, etc--it was time to say goodbye and put her down. I asked my brother if he was with her and petted her and was by her. And he said he was. So that was comforting. I guess the process of putting a dog to sleep is relatively "easy", and Rob described to me that she just laid her head down and closed her eyes. And then that was it.

Not to sound bitter but I wish I could have come up. Dixie really like McDonald's french fries. Maybe she would have liked to have a last little bite. And I could have looked into those big brown beautiful eyes (WITH EYE BROWS!!) and told her how much fun I had with her, and how much she meant to me. Like I said earlier, I've had dogs all my life, but Dixie was really pretty dang special. Probably because she was truly MINE--and not something my parents got.

Thought I'd post a pic from a few years back that probably best shows what a happy dog looks like. I know some people can't relate to it--and that's fine. Dogs are just animals. I get it. But if you're one of those that think that dogs maybe are a step higher than "just animals", take a look at this pic, and tell me what you see. I know what I see. I see a goofball dog, and I see a smile on her face...and I see those eye brows...and those big brown beautiful eyes that were once really sad...but look incredibly happy as she pretended that really, it WAS OK to be 100 pounds AND a lap dog.

I'll miss you Dixie. A whole bunch. Stupid dogs...they're not supposed to make grown men's eyes leak.

Dixie Turner

1997-2007