My Super Dog

I was not Pokey’s first owner. In fact, I wasn’t even her second. She came to me through my daughter’s ex-boyfriend. The young man had named her Pokey after dog in the Little Golden Book, "The Poky Little Puppy," because of the similar coloring, although that dog had more white than black. The two young adults broke up and I got his dog! Those youngsters had too many cares of their own to be bothered with owning a pet. I had already been walking Pokey every morning and feeding her, so I considered her mine, and with the way she nuzzled me and perked up when I came home, I’m quite certain she considered me hers.

Pokey was a mixed breed Border Collie and Black Lab. She was exceedingly smart and full of energy, often running ahead to look out for danger or things of interest when I let her off leash. When she wagged her tail, her whole hind quarters got into the action. She was quiet, so when she did bark, it was an alert that caught my attention.

I live in Cottonwood, Arizona, not far from Sedona. It’s a breath-takingly beautiful area, unless you have a problem with blue skies and wonderful weather.

But it is desert, so everything has thorns or teeth.

When I walked Pokey, she would occasionally step on a goat-head, which is a type of burr with very sharp thorns sticking out in multiple directions. They are so nicknamed because if you hold them in a particular manner, they look somewhat like a goat’s head. When she got one stuck in her foot, Pokey knew to stand still and hold up whichever foot got the burr. She waited patiently for me to pull it out before continuing our walk.

One of my favorite Pokey stories happened when I was walking her one evening. It was just starting to get dark, and some young skunks appeared in the ditch. Pokey’s eyesight was failing because of cataracts by then, so she didn’t see them. The skunks seemed intrigued with her black and white coloring, so they followed us, even when I picked up the pace. They were practically shrieking, “Mom, come back!” Eventually, they lost interest and sauntered away into the scrub. Luckily, they didn’t leave us with a stinky reminder of the encounter.

My husband, Paul, was quick with the dog treats, so Pokey started gaining lots of weight. I started affectionately calling her “Porky.”

Sadly, the weight took its toll, and she wasn’t as excited about walking. Pokey ended up with diabetes. I told Paul, “No more treats,” and I started walking Pokey twice a day, without fail. I also gave her insulin shots every day religiously. She started getting back into shape.

One morning, while I was on a road trip with a friend, my husband wasn’t answering calls or texts, which was very unlike him. I sent my daughter to check in on him. He had had a heart attack and passed away at the age of 59. I rushed home to deal with the aftermath, feeling guilty that I hadn’t been there. When everyone left me alone that night, I sobbed with my head in my hands. With her internal sense of empathy, Pokey nudged me with her nose, knowing I needed consoling. She let me hang on her and gently tapped me with her paws, as if to say, “I’m here for you.”

Just under two weeks later, Pokey collapsed and started having seizures. Her body convulsed uncontrollably; her legs and head thrashing on the floor. I spent the whole night with her, stroking her and speaking soothingly. Her veterinarian was out of town, so I took her to another doctor the following morning in the nearby city of Camp Verde. He gave her some valium. I didn’t know they gave that to dogs. It calmed her down and the seizures stopped. I was so relieved. Unfortunately, when it wore off later at home, the seizures resumed. I took her to yet another veterinarian, who said there was nothing she could do for Pokey. I made the heart-wrenching decision to let her go. I wanted to be there for Pokey just as she had always been for me. My daughter went with me and stayed strong for me, comforting me with a warm, firm hug.

My super Dog is now pain-free in doggy heaven. Maybe she had a reunion with her skunk brethren!