There’s an empty spot in my heart today.
Cruella – a sweet, dainty 35-pound Dalmatian that thought she was a lap dog – is gone.
Only one wagging tail and inquisitive face greeted me when I returned home Tuesday.
I found Cruella sprawled on the patio unable to move. A few hours earlier, Cruella and her sidekick Deville were nuzzling up to me as I got ready to go for a jog. My heart hit the ground. I thought perhaps she had broken a leg. Convulsions, though, triggered fear that she had been poisoned especially when I noticed Deville wobbling around her.
A quick trip to the closest veterinarian hospital led to a dose of cold reality. Cruella in all likelihood had a stroke or related neurological event. Through all of the gentle probing by the staff to find out what was the matter, Cruella never let go of her trademark sweetness. I heard what the veterinarian was saying but I was convinced that Cruella would do just fine. I took her home sure that the 5-year-old Dalmatian may have just been sick or had just a slight stroke and would be better with time.
It wasn’t to be.
The hardest thing I’ve had to do in a long time was carrying Cruella so she could take one more ride.
She didn’t complain and kept nudging my hand while much of her body wrapped in a blanket was limp.
Just 30 months earlier Cruella and her brother Deville had bounded into the same vehicle on their trip home from a Dalmatian rescue operation in rural Turlock.
I was hoping to get two Dalmatians assuming one would keep the other company when I was at work. Cynthia thought I was a tad nuts. When I found out they had a brother-sister that they hoped would go to the same home, I asked to see them.
I fell in love at the sight of the first spot. Their energy level was off the chart. The first walk in rural Turlock almost took my arm off. There was no doubt Cruella and Deville were perfect as they were happy-go-lucky, high energy, and curious about everything.
The Dalmatian rescue folks warned me that they didn’t like cats. I was to find out the hard way that was indeed the case.
The first walks I went with them around the neighborhood were a bigger workout than going to the gym. It was having a combined 120 pounds of perpetual motion trying to see everything and do everything at once. It took the better part of a year until I was able to walk with them without struggling to slow them down.
Yet if a kid – or someone else came up and asked to pet them – they’d switch to angelic mode and barely move a muscle.
The first time we came across a flock of birds on the lot next to McDonalds on East Yosemite they went bonkers. They pulled so hard that I actually was forced to lean backwards almost to the ground to keep control. I was eventually able to break them of that habit. But what I was never able to get them to do was to completely chill around cats.
One time we were a half a block from home after a four-mile walk. I was relieved that we had passed the favorite hideout of a neighborhood cat without Cruella or Deville going nuts. Then without warning, Deville starts barking and jumps up on his hind legs and Cruella – never one to let her brother have all the fun by himself – followed suit.
I looked for the cat while trying to get them calmed down and back on all fours. This went on for about 30 seconds until I realized what had caused the commotion. They had spotted a neighbor’s concrete cat figurine in a flower bed.
If Deville led, Cruella followed.
Life will go on but it won’t be the same.
Deville without Cruella is like Fred Astaire without Ginger Rogers.
Cruella – a sweet, dainty 35-pound Dalmatian that thought she was a lap dog – is gone.
Only one wagging tail and inquisitive face greeted me when I returned home Tuesday.
I found Cruella sprawled on the patio unable to move. A few hours earlier, Cruella and her sidekick Deville were nuzzling up to me as I got ready to go for a jog. My heart hit the ground. I thought perhaps she had broken a leg. Convulsions, though, triggered fear that she had been poisoned especially when I noticed Deville wobbling around her.
A quick trip to the closest veterinarian hospital led to a dose of cold reality. Cruella in all likelihood had a stroke or related neurological event. Through all of the gentle probing by the staff to find out what was the matter, Cruella never let go of her trademark sweetness. I heard what the veterinarian was saying but I was convinced that Cruella would do just fine. I took her home sure that the 5-year-old Dalmatian may have just been sick or had just a slight stroke and would be better with time.
It wasn’t to be.
The hardest thing I’ve had to do in a long time was carrying Cruella so she could take one more ride.
She didn’t complain and kept nudging my hand while much of her body wrapped in a blanket was limp.
Just 30 months earlier Cruella and her brother Deville had bounded into the same vehicle on their trip home from a Dalmatian rescue operation in rural Turlock.
I was hoping to get two Dalmatians assuming one would keep the other company when I was at work. Cynthia thought I was a tad nuts. When I found out they had a brother-sister that they hoped would go to the same home, I asked to see them.
I fell in love at the sight of the first spot. Their energy level was off the chart. The first walk in rural Turlock almost took my arm off. There was no doubt Cruella and Deville were perfect as they were happy-go-lucky, high energy, and curious about everything.
The Dalmatian rescue folks warned me that they didn’t like cats. I was to find out the hard way that was indeed the case.
The first walks I went with them around the neighborhood were a bigger workout than going to the gym. It was having a combined 120 pounds of perpetual motion trying to see everything and do everything at once. It took the better part of a year until I was able to walk with them without struggling to slow them down.
Yet if a kid – or someone else came up and asked to pet them – they’d switch to angelic mode and barely move a muscle.
The first time we came across a flock of birds on the lot next to McDonalds on East Yosemite they went bonkers. They pulled so hard that I actually was forced to lean backwards almost to the ground to keep control. I was eventually able to break them of that habit. But what I was never able to get them to do was to completely chill around cats.
One time we were a half a block from home after a four-mile walk. I was relieved that we had passed the favorite hideout of a neighborhood cat without Cruella or Deville going nuts. Then without warning, Deville starts barking and jumps up on his hind legs and Cruella – never one to let her brother have all the fun by himself – followed suit.
I looked for the cat while trying to get them calmed down and back on all fours. This went on for about 30 seconds until I realized what had caused the commotion. They had spotted a neighbor’s concrete cat figurine in a flower bed.
If Deville led, Cruella followed.
Life will go on but it won’t be the same.
Deville without Cruella is like Fred Astaire without Ginger Rogers.
