Ruby and Mariah

After we euthanized Jezzie, our seventy-pound Australian Shepherd, adopted nine years earlier, my husband Ralph decided he wanted another Aussie. I found one online at the Wenatchee, Washington no-kill shelter. We drove from Lakewood, Washington across the mountains to see her in person.

Named Meghan by the staff, she was about forty-five pounds, estimated to be two years old, and had been found behind a large rock in the wilderness with her puppies. It was evident she had been fully trained, but by a cruel human, most likely a man. We took her outside in a fenced area to interact with her. Sad and depressed, she hung her head even when petted. Meghan responded to me but hung her head submissively in front of Ralph. Since she had given birth some months ago, Meghan needed to be spayed prior to our adopting her. Her puppies were old enough to be weaned and the attendants said she was weary of them. She was dainty and beautiful with black and white spots, and with eyes and nails that were split in colors. One eye was half blue and half brown; nails were black but several had the color vertically split, half black and half white. The staff assured me the split color in the eye was not blindness, just a trait.

Wanting to see the other dogs, I selected a different row of kennels and there was a golden dog, wiggling so hard to get attention, it seemed she was winding herself up like a top. 'Kita' was the name on her kennel and when I stopped before her, she exuded sheer love and joy. She was part Rhodesian Ridgeback and part Akita. The ridge on her back was visible and she wrinkled her forehead, brown eyes flecked with gold willing me to love her. Her barrel chest, face and head, as well as a double coat of fur was the Akita part. Ridgeback showed in her floppy ears, longer mid-section and golden coloring. She had been given up because she pulled hard on the leash and the original owners had no fenced yard. I was shocked by this. I was not going home without her!

I left the hallway, returned to the lobby, and told Ralph there was another dog he must meet. Unbeknownst to me, he had already expressed interest in the same dog and told the attendant that.

We adopted both Meghan and Kita that day. We took Kita with us because she was about three years old and already spayed. Meghan would have to be spayed and we would come back for her after the surgery.

Once both dogs were with us, I had to discover their "true" names. For days I observed them; Meghan the Aussie could run like the wind. Ruby did pull hard on the leash she was so full of exuberance, joie de vivre. Once fitted with her perfect harness, all was good.

At the old game farm across the street behind our house (now state property with a fish hatchery), we let them race each other off-leash. Meghan, lower to the ground, was faster than sixty-pound Kita, who was very competitive. Finally Kita figured out how to beat Meghan; she laid her ears back, stretched her body to the fullest and she sped by Meghan.

Soon after, their real names came to me in an epiphany. Meghan was Mariah for her ability to run like the wind. Kita was a lazy name in my estimation, selected just because she was part Akita. She was an absolute sweetheart, a gem, and the name Ruby fitted her; she answered to it immediately. After beating Mariah in the race, Ruby became the leader with Mariah following; Ruby the big sister, protecting Mariah from dog interlopers or occasional coyotes which lived at the game farm. Mariah trotted back to us if she saw a coyote, but Ruby chased them (with us calling her back). I believe coyotes must have come after Mariah and her pups in the wilderness, and she wanted no part of them now.

Our front yard was huge and unfenced, yet they needed more room to run. We took them to the airforce base wilderness areas and let them exercise off-leash. It became a daily routine of loading them into the canopied truck and driving to base for our daily exercise. Mariah's excitement for these rides to base overwhelmed her, and she would bark in the back of the canopied truck the whole way there. Ruby peacefully laid down or looked out the windows, patiently tolerating the barking.

They both leaped off the tailgate and raced off when we parked the truck for their daily jaunt. Sometimes Mariah would jump out the window with the tailgate not yet down, she was so excited. We both learned quickly to hold a hand up to stop her from doing that. She was my husband’s dog now, bonded with him; Ruby bonded with me. He would hide from the dogs while I walked them away from him. Once hidden, he would whistle, and Mariah would take off, nose to the ground, searching him out. Ruby only participated if she felt like running; she usually just looked, as if to say “Nah, I’m staying with Mom. Mariah can find you.” Ruby was my protector also; she put herself in between me and unknown dogs. I had no fear of answering our front door with Ruby at my side, one of my fingers in her collar.

Play fighting, the "sisters" would charge each other, rise on hind legs, mouths wide open, teeth clicking together. Ruby's fierce growls mixed with Mariah's high-pitched yelp when Ruby was too rough. As the years passed, Mariah got tired of being body-slammed by her adopted sister in the front yard, so she just ran to the porch where Ruby would not slam into her.

A few times when playing with her, Ruby's teeth caught my forearm (without breaking the skin), and when I yelped in pain, she immediately licked my arm, her forehead wrinkled, understanding she had hurt me, and sorry for it. She was so loving and never picked fights with other dogs. I was shocked when one boarding kennel wouldn't take her because she was part Akita. That last thing she wanted to do was fight!

We loved to cut up dog food rolls and hide them in the front yard for the dogs to hunt. Mariah always won that game; Ruby tried hard but she didn't have the experience of fending for herself in the wilderness that Mariah had. Ruby also didn't know how to hold a bone between her front paws to chew, so she wasn't interested. Mariah would gnaw on a bone for a while and then hide them in the yard; she loved being outside. Ruby laid on the stoop and banged the slider door for me to let her in, wanting to always be near me.

Picking blackberries was a yearly ritual for Ralph and me. We had to find the ripe wild Himalayan blackberries, ones within reach and easy to get to without getting jabbed by their large sharp thorns. Mariah would sniff them out and daintily pluck them off the stem, her lips pulled back. She was an expert at blackberry picking and relished them. Ruby would not eat any even if I held one in my palm and coaxed her.

Another difference was that Ruby feared nothing and Mariah was afraid of men and loud noises such as fireworks and thunder. She would jump on my head if I was in bed when fireworks were going off and she got physically ill from the noise. Mariah didn't like our cats, and when Simba tried to snuggle, she would growl and move away; Ruby just laid quietly and let the huge cream Angora male cat lick her ears, with the ridge on her forehead wrinkled as if saying 'I better not move, he might scratch me good.' Simba adored Ruby and frequently they snuggled together.

Once we took the dogs to try sheep herding since Mariah was, after all, an Australian Shepherd, known for herding abilities. I went first with Ruby, and she herded a couple of sheep without any prompts from me, running in tightening circles around them. I left the corral for my husband to enter with Mariah and her turn. She just herded him; she wouldn’t leave his side! The sheepherder told me to get Ruby in there with them, to teach Mariah, but that didn’t work either. The Aussie was just heeling next to “dad,” while the Akita-Ridgeback was herding the sheep. I couldn't stop laughing because Ralph, being competitive, was annoyed that his herding dog only herded humans. Mariah didn't need a leash, she heeled without us giving the command.

One day I came home and looked out back for the dogs. Ruby was not in her usual place on the slider door stoop, but Mariah was lying in her gravel space by the hedge. I called to Ruby and looked all over the yard. The back yard was wide with an eight-foot hedge and the street behind us was one of the main streets to our subdivision, super busy with traffic. Across that street was the game farm where we took them on walks. She was not in any area of our fenced backyard. Then I saw the front gate had been left open. "Damn the yard crew! They must have not hooked it yesterday!" I had put the dogs out, but the wind must have blown the unlatched gate open and we had assumed it to be secured. I closed it and started calling for her in the front, heading toward the game farm. I frantically yelled her name over and over, turning onto another street. Heading the short distance toward the game farm, about a block away from it now, I called her name again. Here she came, running across the street from the game farm entrance, loping to me, tongue hanging out, grinning with joy. She had missed me, and seeing the gate open, figured she would find me in our familiar place.

I crouched down and hugged her tightly. "Good girl! You came right home. Don't go out without me, you scared me!" She licked my neck and my arm in love and relief to have found me. We kept the dogs in when the yard crew was there, but Ralph fixed the gate issue by putting a latch lock on it and again instructing the yard crew they must lock it when finished. It never happened again.

HOWEVER....

One night my husband let Mariah out front for potty time. She had a habit of running back and forth to find her perfect potty spot and it could be ten minutes of waiting. He came back in some time later and said, “I lost Mariah.”

“YOU WHAT? WHAT DO YOU MEAN? HOW CAN YOU LOSE HER IN OUR FRONT YARD??”

“She just took off and it was dark, and I couldn't see her, and she didn't come when I called her...." his voice trailed off.

“Get in the truck, we are going to find her!” I told him. I was so pissed! I kept the window down, looking for any flash of white since she was black and white, continually calling her name. She was mostly deaf now, and I really was hoping she would hear the truck noise so familiar to her. Her meds for incontinence made her drink copious amounts of water, and what if we didn’t find her?? What if she became dehydrated or hurt? She had on her collar with tags, was microchipped, and our phone number was on her tags. She was old, pretty lame, and very hard of hearing (she no longer jumped on me with on the 4th of July fireworks people insisted on setting off). "She is probably to the post office by now!" Twice before, when younger she had had gotten out of the backyard, and each time a neighbor had scooped her up and called us. This time she was gone all night, making our sleep restless with worry.

In the morning Ralph's phone rang. A woman in an apartment complex near the post office, about 2 miles away, had heard her dog tags jingling from her collar. She found Mariah and because our old girl was totally worn out and couldn't manage to climb stairs, she carried her upstairs to her apartment. We immediately went to get her and gave the woman a reward for taking good care of our deaf girl.

Not too long after Ruby came to us, we had a growth on her ear removed. Some years after that there was a growth on her front leg that was removed. Sadly, a few months after that surgery, it began to grow back, but now it was horizontal, enlarging toward her other front leg.

Mariah was not aging as gracefully as Ruby was. Her habit of taking ten minutes to find her perfect place to poop, trotting back and forth, back and forth, no matter if at home or on base, was maddening. The times she began it in the front yard, she trot around the yard, then run across the street to our friend's and do her business quickly; she considered their yard a perfect place. Off Ralph would go with the shovel to clean up behind her. The incontinence meds made her pant constantly and she seemed uncomfortable. She was naturally a nervous dog; she followed us everywhere, her head bobbling when she walked like a horse with a stone in its shoe.

The only good thing about Mariah's hearing loss was that she no longer paced, vomited and jumped on me when fireworks went off in the neighborhood. We decided to introduce hydrotherapy into their exercise and wellness routines. Ruby did well, her float vest on, swimming hard against the jets with the technician next to her. Mariah just floated in the warm water, so we switched her to massage. These girls were our babies and we wanted them comfortable, eating high-grade food, sleeping in comfortable beds, getting regular vet checks, using only the best pet sitter if we went away, and special treatments like hydrotherapy. There was only one groomer that we trusted, in a neighboring town, and she had to keep them in the same kennel because they became frantic when separated.

The founder of the veterinary clinic, Dr. Pete, felt we should talk to an oncology veterinarian, recognized area-wide to get his expert surgeon's advice on Ruby's tumor.

We took Ruby into the exam room and he watched her kind-heartedly, obviously a dog lover. He sat down across from me, her records in his hand, and began speaking to me. "Unfortunately, doing another surgery will not solve this issue. This tumor was not completely removed the first time because it is wrapped all around her tendons. The only remedy for this condition that Ruby has is amputation of the leg. In Ruby's case, we can't do that because she can't fully weight her hind leg," he explained while Ruby huffed and grinned, her hind leg barely touching the floor, toes spinning slightly.

I began to sob, now knowing that surgery couldn't help her any longer and this cancer on her front leg would continue to progress. Hope had brought me to him and now there was none. We would make sure she didn’t suffer in her last days; keep her comfortable with meds, walks, and hydrotherapy, watching for signs of a loss of her quality of life. When the time came that she could no longer hold herself up to pee and poop, we would euthanize her. It was so unfair for her to get this tumor when amputation was the only solution, yet not an option.

I cleaned the tumor on her leg daily and wrapped it in stretchy colorful bandages. She still ran and played with Mariah. She was happy, loved the rides in the truck and snuggling with me on my chaise lounge in the sun. As we watched these four-footed friends age, we realized we were observing age changes that could happen in us as well. Mariah was 14 and Ruby 15 now, they slept a lot but perked up on walks, their favorite part of the day, smelling new odors and seeing sights outside of the yard. When young, Ruby would lie in the middle of our street while we talked to neighbors; she loved the hot pavement. Now I put a comfortable pad outside and she laid on the back patio in the sun, enjoying her last months. I spent as much time as I could with her, lying on the floor or the chaise, and cuddling with her and Mariah.

Mariah's limp must have been neurological; we have no idea if her early life, or a tumble when she lived with us caused it. It was clear that Mariah was having more difficulty; she would yelp sometimes at nothing or if her neck was touched a certain way. I was carrying her out to the backyard and carrying her back inside, as she couldn’t maneuver the one step. One day I took her out and ran inside quickly to get something; she didn’t want to be alone and tried to move. When I returned to the door, she had dragged herself over a few feet and upon seeing me, she began to cry; I had never heard her cry, but she was whimpering and crying at me. I said, “Mariah, are you crying?” then picked her up and took her inside. Her distress hit me hard and I knew now it was time. She couldn't walk and we had already done all we could for her without extreme interventions. We wanted her to have quality of life and dignity. Our family then made the trip to the vet, Ruby with us, and spent time with our precious Aussie before we helped her cross the Rainbow Bridge, her bonded sister Ruby lying beside her.

Afterward, Ruby would sometimes stand on the front porch and gaze across that huge lawn, her forehead wrinkled, eyes squinting. I think she was looking for Mariah, or maybe she could see her spirit and was waiting for Mariah to come into the house. Certain that I had seen her doing her usual hunt for a potty spot in the back yard - just a quick view from the corner of my eye of her running back and forth, I asked Ralph, and he confirmed he had experienced the same vision.

Three months later I knew it was time for Ruby. She was tired and the tumor was enormous, a small grapefuit. She would still try to run but ended up trotting. She was so happy and loving but the monster blob was sucking the life out of her slowly, tiring her immensely, heavy on her lean body. She began to only eat once per day and I saw she was struggling to hold herself up with the one good front leg to pee.

So in March 2018, I called the vet, said we were bringing her in, and they readied a room for us. We spent time with her in the room first, talking to her, petting her, hugging her. I was strangely more calm when Ruby crossed over. I knew she was OK now and could run freely; she didn't have to try and hang on to stay close by me.

I miss both dogs every day. Mariah’s passing was difficult and heartbreaking; Ruby’s was absolutely devastating, and no canine has joined our house since then. Everyone who knew them loved them, even our cat Simba. Neighbors said if anything had happened to us, they would have taken them. The people who gave up Ruby gave up the best dog ever; one who cheered up sad people and astounded the clinic vets, such that they called her a legend. Those original keepers of Ruby missed so much that we gained by adopting her. Whoever brutally trained Mariah to heel perfectly and didn't care if loud noises frightened her; who didn't care enough to find her and bring her and her puppies home, will never know how sweet and special she was.

On the last day of owning that house, readying it to turn the keys over to the new owners, I took some time to sit on the back stoop and peruse the yard that had a view of Mt. Rainier. Tears flowed as I remembered my dogs and the fun we had with them: snuggling on the chaise lounge, daily walks; hide and seek games; throwing snowballs that Ruby ate; their games of seeking food; animal blessings for St Francis celebrations; racing each other; snuggling down into their beds sighing deeply next to our bed; photos; and memories with friends. All of this and more keep them close to our hearts, those cherished days with our beloved four-legged beings. It is painful to go back to places we took them regularly; all has changed with them gone.

I talk to them in my dreams and meditations. No adoptive dog has "requested" to join us in our home since them, so we take pleasure in the dogs in our new neighborhood: Zeus, an immensive Bull Mastiff, Apollo and Bella, the Dobermans, and small dogs passing on leashes with their owners.