August 3, 2005
Panda
Within the last hour my beloved pet, Panda, an Australian Shepherd, died.
She died lying next to my bed, about 30 minutes after I had last hugged her. Panda, so named because of her black and white markings so much like the pattern of a cuddly Panda Bear. She was almost nine years old. A beautiful, kind, devoted and very smart dog.
Pardon me pholks, but this is hard. But it's something I have to do.
Kathy and I knew the end was near. An hour before Panda's final breath, we had made plans to have her put down the next day. If she would make it, that long. We didn't know.
Although diagnosed with inoperable cancer more than nine months ago, Panda had been hanging in there, alert and active. Within the last two weeks, it was apparent that time was running out. For about two days she would not eat, would not take medicine, even hidden in a favorite treat or a piece of cheese.
I have to write this right now. I have to give my best four-legged friend ever, the most timely and heart felt thoughts before they fester into something l know will have even more trouble dealing with. This is part of my way of handling a broken human heart.
Panda is still lying next to the bed, wrapped in a sheet awaiting transport to a place where she will be cremated. Her ashes will be taken to the family ranch 150 miles away. A place she loved and spent several wonderful years before Kathy and I, and Panda, returned full time to Woodlake.
Like any true pet owner will say, our dog was the best. She was beautiful, and, in fact, had papers to prove her blood lines; although Kathy never registered her. She was given to Kathy as a Mother's Day present by Kathy's daughter, Laura Armstrong. Except for a crooked back tooth and a slight over bite, she would have been a show champion, according to breeder from whom she was purchased.
Despite my reluctance to have a dog in our home, Panda grabbed by my heart when we first met. It was at the park in Woodlake where I was playing in a softball game. Laura and Kathy brought the present to the park. Within minutes, I was on the ground playing with the dog. It was Kathy's present. It only took minutes for Panda to become "our baby girl." She was smart, and in months to come became a topic of awe from those who met her. She learned commands, both verbal and hand signs. Over the years I would brag to everyone that my dog had a vocabulary of about 60 words. She did everything we ever taught her, except retrieve. She would chase a ball or a stick but seldom brought in back to our feet. She could jump a stick or cane from a standing position, she would jump on command, roll over, sit, speak, play dead, say hello (shake) and go to whomever she was told to. She was amazing and never ill-tempered. It took quite a while for her to learn to bark and that became a good thing. She was a watch dog, alerting us to visitors, but never vicious. Strangers though, were not enlightened to her habit of immediately loving everyone that paid her any attention.
When she was in public and when company came, Panda was a heart breaker. A loving dog, A loving friend, and loving, warm and cuddly, 45-pound girl.
She was accidentally bred by a straying neighbor's dog at the ranch. She lost her puppies, and soon was fixed.
Several times she was lost and once while en route from the ranch to Woodlake, escaped in the parking lot of a fast food place in Merced. After nearly an hour of frantic searching we drove by a city park six or seven blocks from the eatery and found our beloved Panda sitting on the lawn of a small park. Kathy and I cried for joy.
Another earlier time she wandered away near the ranch and after placing "Lost pet" posters, we got a call that someone, another true dog lover, had taken her home and kept her until Kathy and I could be found.
Our Panda IS GONE.
We probably will find another great dog. She won't be another Panda. She will be her own dog. She will be loved. She won't replace Panda. No dog ever will. In about an hour we are taking Panda to be prepared for her final departure.
I will cry again.
Kathy will say her good-byes.
Writing this column about Panda will help with her loss. At least a little.
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