Bebe

You belong among the wildflowers,

You belong on a boat out at sea…

Far away from your trouble and worries,

You belong somewhere you feel free.

Our dear Bebe  passed away on Monday, February 2. Eric used to sing that song to her, because we felt like on some level she was always longing to run free. When she died,  I imagined her bounding away across a beautiful open field, her tail flying out in the breeze, until she finally disappeared into the distance.

Especially at the beginning, she was like a polite houseguest who never bothers to unpack her suitcase, because she knows she'll be going home soon. Some part of her was always waiting. The first month or so, she'd camp out near the front door all day, and if you opened it, she'd bolt. A couple of times in the short 22 months she was with us, she spotted a youngish tall guy (different guy, same general appearance) across the street and pulled toward him with all her strength; once she even popped her collar to get there. The joy and excitement on her face just broke my heart. I think she was always looking for dad.

She had a real thing for the railroad tracks and we used to joke that she was a hobo in a former life and wanted to ride the rails with a little knapsack over her shoulder. We had only had her for a few days and she was still sporting an E-collar the first time she got out & hotfooted it. My poor hubby set off in pursuit still in his PJs, shoes untied, and nabbed her just as she was speeding past the stop sign and heading for the tracks & MoPac beyond.  If not for the wind resistance created by the E-collar, we would have lost her then and there. Eric toted her home. He looked like a thundercloud but Bebe had a delighted expression on her little face, like that was the best fun she had had in ages. The other time she escaped was when  painters left the back gate open. She took off across the yard and down the access trail by the railroad. I was at the other end of the house and heard Eric shouting and ran out. The painter told me the dog had headed down the street with Eric after her, so, seeing nothing, I jumped in the car and drove off in the wrong direction (typical). I returned home in great distress, having found  nobody. No words can express my relief when I came back indoors and found Bebe contentedly lying in front of the sliding glass doors with her typical post-escapade self-satisfied look. I still can't believe we got her back. Eric had chased her for a while, but when he stopped running after her, she turned around and trotted back to him.

Bebe was collected as a stray in San Antonio with a horrific injury, likely from being hit by a car; one front leg had the skin and fur peeled right off, with the tendons exposed. The shelter released her early so she could get medical attention. When she came to us she still had her leg all bound up and was wearing an E-collar, as she didn't care for the  bandage and kept trying to remove it. She was also storm-phobic, which we discovered on that first night. In her panic, she went running around the house three-legged,  knocking things over with her E-collar, panting, looking for a way out. Finally I took off the E-collar and figured I'd just watch her. Some hope! Naturally I passed out just long enough for Bebe to rip off her bandages. I woke up to find her with the tape hanging off in tatters and the leg a bloody mess. I made an hysterical 6 A. M. phone call to Suzette, who was forced to "talk me down"-thank you, Suzette!!  It so happened that this all occurred on the day I was supposed to start my pharmacy tech practicum at a local Walgreens, but I postponed it by a week so that we could take Bebe to Hiway 620 & get her taken care of. (Later I decided that Bebe was just trying to tell me that retail pharmacy was not the job for me, because when I did start working at the Walgreens, I hated it.) Anyway, she was a big hit at Hiway 620, where she spent a couple of days getting leg wraps, hydrotherapy, and other spa treatments. I always loved the way she was so good with vets. She seemed to know they were trying to help her and you never met a more tractable dog. She would offer her mangled leg and just stare into space while it was examined. She was the most stoic dog I ever met, and for a Golden, that is saying a lot.

The leg healed up great. The ankle joint wouldn't bend but to see Bebe pursuing  squirrels and attempting to climb trees, you'd never have known anything was the matter. She was a smartie. She ran in straight lines and did not try to "cut" on the unbendable joint.  The T-storm phobia didn't get better, though. One time she even cleared the back cyclone fence in the middle of the night after a loud crash of thunder and wound up in the opposite backyard, where she fell into the swimming pool. Poor Bebe! After that we never let her outside in stormy weather for potty breaks without a leash on. Anyway, we tried this and that. First we gave her Xanax. This rendered her glassy-eyed but that was about it. After that we tried Rescue Remedy, which seemed to help a little. We also bought "Through a Dog's Ear," a CD of soothing music: classical pieces played at a tempo so slow that I don't know how the pianist stayed upright for the recording—there's time to make a grilled cheese sandwich between each note and the next. We'd put it on at dinnertime and give the dogs a Kong, since you are supposed to make sure the music is associated with pleasant events. Soon Eric and I were facedown in our lasagna while the dogs happily enjoyed their treat. Well, at least we know it works on people!  Ultimately the only thing that really helped Bebe was for me to get up and bring her into the  guest bedroom. I'd put up all the breakables, open the blinds, turn on the outside lights so she could see what was happening (storms were much worse for her at night), close the door, and just let her run around the room. Eventually she'd jump on the bed, get between my body and the wall, and fall asleep.

Shortly after we got her she had a couple of unsightly lipomas removed. She had a bad reaction to the anesthetic and nearly died: her pulse disappeared; then, as the staff frantically worked to revive her, her heart rate rocketed dangerously and had to be brought down; then, as she was finally coming to, she had a seizure. By the time we picked her up from Griffith, however, she was looking perfectly cheerful, but Dr Tan definitely had a few new gray hairs. The very next day Bebe went into heat! So much for that "spay scar" several vets said they had seen. When we took Bebe to Griffith to get her lumpectomy stitches out, I told Dr Tan that she'd be putting Bebe under again soon to spay her. Poor Dr Tan! I thought she was going to faint. As it happened our own vet, Dr J, did the surgery using a different anesthetic and Bebe sailed right through. While in heat she was terribly flirtatious and made advances to the most obnoxious dog in the neighborhood, a SharPei named "Buddy." This was the only time I ever saw our Beebers evidence poor taste.

Bebe was not your usual Golden Retriever. She was an oddball and I loved her for it. She was a solemn dog who often had a thoughtful look on her face. We used to call her "Bebe, International Woman of Mystery." It was perfect! In the morning she would jump on the bed for a pet but instead of looking at you and wagging her tail, she'd stare straight at the wall with her typical poker face. However, if you stopped petting her, she'd give a tiny glance to the side and conk you with her paw. You could roll her on her back and pet her and she'd just lie completely still with her paws in the air and that sober expression. It cracked me up. She didn't like to open her mouth for a dental exam, but again, she'd never growl or act ugly. Instead, she'd just lock her jaws and assume her noncommittal air. It was so funny! She was a counter surfer, but only sporadically, which guaranteed that she never had an unsuccessful raid. Several crime-free months would pass, until you had relaxed your guard, and then you would come out to the kitchen to find her finishing up the half-pizza that was supposed to be YOUR dinner! Scolding her never had an effect. She would just give her cool, bland look, as if to say, "What's your problem?" One time she managed to remove the lid from a casserole dish, eat half the contents, and then replace the lid. I never did figure out how she did that. She loved coffee (with cream and sugar, please) and "Bebe, Coffee Achiever!" was another one of her pet names. She'd drink it right out of any unattended cup that was close to snout level.

We suspect that Bebe used to be a yard dog. She liked to hang out in the yard by herself, just watching the world, and she made herself a trench near the foundation. She had several "blinds" under trees where she would lurk and watch squirrels. She was a lot smarter than Mulder and Darla, who chase their prey up a tree and then stand there barking madly. Uh, guys? I think the squirrel knows you are there! Bebe, however, waited patiently until a hapless rodent got close, and then exploded out from her lair and gave chase.

Bebe loved to play keep away and she was a real pro at head fakes and feints. When she wanted to play, she would poke her head just inside the sliding glass door and give a meaningful stare. If you tried to get her to come in, she'd back up, collect a toy, and continue to stare fixedly until you gave in. She would prance up and down like a bucking bronco, shaking the toy furiously. She was so cute! It was very hard to catch her.

In the middle of December, a lump popped up on Bebe's shoulder. The aspirate looked suspicious, so we had the lump removed right away. The lab couldn't figure out what it was, but classified it as benign. However, she never really came back all the way from the surgery, and a couple of weeks later Eric noticed a lump in her abdomen. She had an ultrasound on January 19. There was cancer throughout her body.  She got a steroid shot, and that made her feel much better for a ten days or so; then her appetite vanished again and she began to have spells of back-end weakness and irregular heartbeat. But she kept wanting to go for walks. It was incredible. To see her trotting along, you would never have known how sick she was. Then she'd come home, lie down, and not move for hours.

A few days before she passed away,  I sat on the floor petting her and talking to her. She gazed into my face for several long minutes. She looked beautiful, wise, and, of course, mysterious. I wish I knew what she was trying to tell me then. I told her that we all loved her, but that if she had to go, we would understand. The very day she died, she went on a 40-minute walk. She pulled away in the other direction when we tried to get her to come home. When we talked about it later, we decided that maybe this was her way of telling us that her time with us was at its end and she was ready to move on.

When I read this over, it doesn't really express what a truly wonderful dog Bebe was. I felt such a connection with her. She was very affectionate in her quiet way. When I'd be out in the yard with the dogs I'd sit on the edge of the raised beds. Bebe would run over, bump her head lightly against my chest, stand there for a few moments, and then go off about her business again. Oh, how I wish she were here today, resting her head on my knee as I type. But I like to think that wherever she is, she is running free, and she has found everyone she loved so much in the past. Until we meet again, I will have to make do with that.