I Called Her Please, And She Stayed.

I once had a dog, no ordinary dog

and I playfully named her Please.

Little did I know, how appropriate it was,

and she made a better person out of me.

I was 28 in 1993, newly married, and moving across country, to Holbrook Arizona.

Life was changing faster than 1990 fashion, and I was a small town girl from northern Indiana, who hated change. I was struggling. We packed what we had into the car, said our goodbyes, and headed off to a different world.

Several years, before we were married, I had rescued a small dog, that I named, Stay. I got her name from comedian, Steven Wright. He had a slew of jokes about having a dog named Stay and I thought it was hilarious, so it stuck. She became my co-pilot, I took her everywhere with me. She was so small, most people didn't even know she was there. So, of course, she was making this journey with us.

We got to Arizona, and after a few hick-ups, finally moved into the place we would call home for the next 3 years. We had gone out to help some friends build a children's home, on the Navajo reservation. As the weeks went on, I found I had a little too much free time, so I took a job at the local Ramada running the front desk from 3pm to 11. I met quite a variety of people and personalities. One being a man named Jon, that ran the animal control truck. Living just off of the reservation and Interstate 40, there were an abundance of dumped and stray animals to be saved.

The owner of the hotel and I became friends quickly, he allowed me to bring Stay to work with me. She was a great mascot, and loved welcoming the overnight guests.

After several months, we were asked to go to Colorado to help with a youth camp, and take some of the kids from the area along. We decided it was a good idea to leave Stay behind, in the care of our friends. where she would be safe. When we returned a week later, I drove the extra hour to Show Low Arizona to pick Stay up. As I pulled into the drive, my friend Andy met me at the car. Stay was missing, and had been for a couple days. I was sick. I immediately began searching for her.

Their house sat on the edge of a National Forest, and I could only imagine how scared she was, without me. For over a month, I made flyers and drove that stretch of baron, red rock highway, broken hearted and guilt ridden.

I never found her.

About 3 months later, while working at Ramada, Jon, animal control, pulls into the lot - under the canopy. He motions for me to get the door, and in he walks with a box of 4 puppies. He said they had been left outside one of the local businesses, and thought that I might be ready to be adopted. I had no idea what this moment would do to forever change my life.

Sitting in the lobby, was a retired veterinarian. He had checked in earlier, and we had a lengthy conversation about an upcoming presentation he was speaking at the next day, in Flagstaff. When Jon came in with the puppies, he approached the desk to have a look at them, all wiggly and chatty. They were like magnets. I was a little overwhelmed, after the emotional rollercoaster the previous months brought. One of the puppies escaped the box and made her way to my chair, hesitantly, I picked her up.

Like puppies do, she snuggled and wiggled and licked at me - until I was completely taken. This little black and white, chunky, bologna breathed scamp, lost and abandoned, was there to save me. I looked at Jon tearfully and said, "if Larry tells me she is healthy, I would like to keep her." After a brief inspection, Larry said all of the puppies were very healthy.

Larry went on to say, " In my experience, dogs often have a way of finding who they belong to. I believe she found you." Jon took the remaining puppies back to the shelter, where he would eventually find them all homes. Before Larry left, he gave me his number. "in case you need anything, please don't hesitate to call, I am so happy I was here to experience this reunion of spirits."

I took the puppy home, to introduce her to my husband, hoping he would be open to another dog. It was like she knew she was auditioning for an otherwise filled position. She played her cuteness up to 10. "Yes, ok...you can keep her. What are you planning on calling her, I'm sure it certainly won't be anything normal." I thought on it for a moment. As I held her to my face, and kissed her, I whispered into her ear. "Please, stay."

I looked at him crying, "Please. I want to call her Please." He smiled as he nodded, yes. So, Please it was. And she lived up to her name.

The next few weeks were full of joy and hard work, as I began to train her, or vise versa. "Please, come...Please stay...Please, don't do that, Please, be quiet, Please, heal". The name, still makes me smile. Like Stay, she went everywhere with me. We were all over the neighborhood, going on all sorts of adventures and learning new things and developing boundaries. We met all sorts of new people and most of all, we bonded. She was amazing. So smart and willing to learn, she was so loving and incredibly ornery. She was healing parts of me I never thought would heal.

I woke one morning to her getting sick. We all know that sound...I jumped out of bed to get her outside, and realized, she was sick on both ends. This went on for the rest of the day. She wouldn't eat or drink, and she didn't have any energy. I decided I needed to call for help. I called Larry. "Hi, Larry? This is Kelli, I don't know if you remember me or not. You were in Holbrook Az. awhile back, and looked at some puppies at a Ramada...?"

He did remember, and after I told him what was going on, he told me to use a spray bottle to be sure she stayed hydrated. He then gave me a number to call, he said, "I have a friend who has an office in Pine Top. Tell him that I gave you his number, and that Please needs to be seen right away! Kelli, it sounds like parvo, and most dogs don't survive it, especially when they are young." So, I call, and they can get us in, but I need to get there right away.

If you've ever been in Arizona, you know that everything is forever away. At least, it feels that way, and Pine Top was 2 hours from me. I am now driving the route I drove all those weeks -searching for Stay, with Please lying lethargic in the passenger seat. Sobbing, and making all sorts of promises out loud to God, if he would only save my dog.

I make it to the office and jump out of the car, leaving it running, while I go inside for help and direction. The girl at the counter comes out quickly and collects Please. She tells me it will be a few minutes, and she would be back to get all of my information. As I am waiting, I overhear the tech saying that they have had 7, now 8 dogs arrive today with parvo. When the girls returns to the desk, I ask her about it. She says they will be running some tests on her, but yes, it sounds like parvo. I can no longer contain myself. She comes around the counter and hugs me. After helping me get myself together, she says that they are going to give Please an IV, because she is nearly dehydrated. She says using the water bottle, probably gave her a greater chance to fight it off. They instruct me to go home and come back later in the afternoon for updates.

Since we lived so far away, I decided to wait around. I drive my car down the road to a shopping plaza, and spot a payphone. I park the car and dial home. My mom answers, and her voice is all it takes to start the tears again. I told her, "mom, I don't know what I will do if Please dies. Here we are so far from away, I am alone almost all of the time, I lost Stay, and now here I am waiting to see if this dog would be taken from me too." Feeling stupid that I am going on and on about a dog she had never met, I apologize.

My mom said, "Dear God. You sent this dog to help Kelli, please let her do that." It was silent on the phone for a short time, and then she said, "It's going to be just fine. Call me when you talk to the vet again." We finished the call, and I went back to wait in the parking lot. About 3 hours later, the tech came out to my car, and asked me to come inside.

"We are just amazed at her recovery. We had 8 dogs here today presenting with parvo. Please is the only one that survived. We are going to send you home with care instructions, if you need anything, don't hesitate to reach out." I cried again, and thanked them, all the while hugging and kissing a groggy, yet snuggly, Please.

As soon as I got home, I called mom. Her faith always amazed me. Her compassion filled me with hope. I also called Larry. He said, he was not surprised, that her strength was evident the day he met her.

Over the next couple of years, we learned a lot about one another. Please loved to run, and she was fast, sometimes she ran, even as we told her to stay. She loved people, so much so, we scheduled weekly visits to the nursing home in town, and she ate up the attention, as much as the ones she visited. We loved ice cream equally, but she ate hers faster, and generally got hers free, for being so cute. She learned that the plastic swimming pool was as fun in the winter, as it was in the summer.

We also learned that Arizona grows a nasty thistle, they call bullheads. They have three thistles and they resemble a bullhead, and hurt - as we imagined, a real bull might. She was afraid of thunderstorms, and hid in the shower for protection. She slept at the foot of the bed, until someone moved, and then she was up snuggling, and stealing the covers.

After our 3 years were up in Arizona, we loaded the car and headed home. A different dog sat in the backseat, along with a different owner. I learned so much about love and strength and hope, with all of the souvenirs and memories Arizona imprinted on me, Please was the best gift I never expected.

5 months after returning home, I was ecstatic to learn that I was pregnant. I was worried about what affect having children would have on my relationship with this dog, who had become like a child. But, without fail, she loved Nizhoni, like she was hers, and a year and a half later, she welcomed Wynter into the pack, as well. She would hold their heads down on the floor with her paw, so she could clean them.

My girls grew up with a playmate, who never grew tired of them or playing. She napped with them and bathed with them and chased around the yard or anywhere they went. But our bond never faded. She just extended it and continued to soak us all up with her special love. She loved and loved like we had never been loved before.

18 years later, after diapering her for a year, she came into the living room and laid at my feet. Looking up at me with those eyes that were always so full of life, and I knew.

All those years ago, when my mom asked for this dog to survive, to help me, and boy had she ever! I smiled down at her with tears in my eyes, and knew her job had been fulfilled, multiple times over. And not just for me, but for my girls, as well.

She had gone through some of the biggest changes of my life with me. Major loss, child rearing, first times walking and talking and first days of school and sleepovers.

As long as some days felt, her time with us was not nearly long enough.

I packed her in the car with the girls, like every school day, and we took them to school. She kissed them her last goodbye, and off they ran.

I had a hard time driving to the vet, never taking my hand off of her, wanting her to know just how loved she was. She went without hesitation into the building. The same one I had to drag her into EVERY other time. She was ready, and although I wasn't, I knew it was MY turn to do what was best for her, to help her rest.

She put her head in my lap as we waited for the tech to come in. I felt as if I was losing my best friend, the only one who loved me 100%, with no judgement or expectations. She was not done teaching me. I still needed to learn to say goodbye, and let go. "Pleaser," I said - I was blessed the day you found me, thank you for staying as long as you did. You will always be my sweet girl." With tears falling onto her fur, the tech administered the medicine, and she fell asleep in my lap.

I am crying as I write this.

11 years have passed now, since I said goodbye to her, and I feel the loss like it was yesterday. I can tell you honestly, I would not trade any of the heartbreak. It reminds me that I am capable of loving deeper and more unconditionally than I ever thought possible. The love she gave me from the moment I met her, changed me forever.

Please, the dog that stayed.