Let me tell you guys about Sallie.
Fourteen years ago, as I was finishing up my sophomore year of college at UNC, I ventured over to the Orange County Animal Shelter in search of a dog.
Because every undergrad with an underdeveloped prefrontal cortex needs another living creature to nurture and sustain.
I was immediately taken…by her brother, a brown Lab-looking puppy. I excitedly asked if he was available, but apparently everyone else was also gullible to his puppy face, and he was already claimed. I returned to his cage and a tiny black blur caught my eye. This critter of a dog was rolling around, biting her brother’s belly and having the time of her life. I took a closer look. This one looked a little naughty. And like a lot of fun.
I asked if she was available.
I called my parents. My dad agreed to help sponsor her adoption if, and only if, I named her after an old bulldog that used to wander over to our old house and visit our family dogs when I was back in high school.
Sallie was her name.
The freshly minted Sallie (a Lab/Chow, definitely no Bulldog in there, but whatever, Dad) promptly got scheduled to be spayed while I finished up final exams. I headed back to the shelter a few days later, picked her up, promptly drove to the beach, and we started a fourteen year journey together.
Over time, Sallie moved with me (seemingly) countless times, stood by my side through various boyfriends (and some major heartbreak), undergrad, my first “real” job, grad school, meeting Paul, losing my dad, one TBI, having a baby, and back to school again.
When I had my TBI almost four years ago (what has happened to time?) and returned home from the hospital mute, Sallie was very confused. I don’t think she really understood what was going on and why I suddenly couldn’t speak to her. Our other dog Sadie has always been very sensitive and empathetic, and she immediately picked up the feeling that something was wrong with me. It was so odd to watch their different reactions.
Sallie was always the rock, the mostly unflappable one, in our animal family – she didn’t always make the brightest choices (if I could interview my college boyfriend, I would have him report about the time he had to jump into the lake by the apartment I lived in during my junior year – Sallie decided to run and jump into the lake one day in hot pursuit of some geese…then refused to come out). Then again, I didn’t always make the brightest choices in how I trained her (I use that term so, so loosely). There are so many things I would change if I could, but I think if you are in any relationship for long enough, you probably feel the same way as time passes (also, Shelley, I’m thankful you didn’t kill Sallie and/or me after she ate your phone…and your glasses – and yes, I still feel guilty!).
I have more memories of Sallie than I know what to do with, save for using them to pad my heart and hopefully try and soften the blow of what feels like a gaping loss.
We sat with her yesterday as she drifted off. When the vet gently confirmed that she had passed, I leaned over her and heaved tears into her fur. The last time I did as such was the day my dad died, and the feeling of grief and loss was second only to that moment.
And I thought – I have shared the worst moments of my life with Sallie. And in those moments, Sallie’s companionship and understanding made life bearable. And that makes Sallie was of the best things to ever happen to me.
It is hard to accept that she is gone, but experience tells me that these hard, unforgiving days will soften in time.
I am grateful to have called Sallie my best friend, one of the loves of my life, who rescued me far more often than the one measly time I adopted a tiny black fur ball from the animal shelter.