Queen Sheba has left the house

It would be impossible to count the number of sports stories yours truly has written during my 52-year career, but this is not one of those. This is about our pets that are such an amazing part of our hectic lives.

Growing up on a ranch and farming operation you learn to deal with the death of animals. I’ve seen lightning kill cows, seen them die during calving and other natural causes.

I remember our best cow horse Old Joe dying after getting a swine flu vaccination. Those of us who showed livestock knew when the OYE was over where our animals were heading when we loaded them on those trucks. You never enjoy those instances, but that’s part of the life cycle.

On the farm our dogs seemed to leave the house and go off to live their last minutes or hours. Rinny, one of dad’s best Border Collie cow dogs, just vanished one night and never came home. Dad found her remains days later.

From a young age I can remember my pets, including the first, Honey my faithful Cocker Spaniel. Honey was always by my side and was quick to protect me. I remember one of our neighbors passing me on the sidewalk and seeing my red socks. He reached down to pull up my pants leg to see them better and Honey started barking and getting between us.

After Honey it seemed there was always a dog in my life. We ended up by accident with Shag, who was a fixture in Apache. While visiting sister Nancy Tate in rural Cache, Shag had showed up and with other pets, she told us to take him.

Sister Martha White and I sat in the back seat with Shag between us. We stopped at Underwoods in Lawton and mom and dad went inside to eat while Martha and I sat in the car with Shag. We had cracked the windows to get some air into the car, and when Shag smelled that amazing barbecue he started drooling and didn’t stop until we reached our home in Apache.

Shag led an amazing life and entertained so many fellow Apache residents. We knew when we left the house on Sunday morning all dressed up that Shag would beat us to the First United Methodist Church. He was there to greet those attending and laid outside until services were over. During the school year he was the “only dog allowed on the grade school campus” where he made sure no other dogs dared touch a single paw on the school grounds.

Once Brigitte and I got married in 1971 we had a parade of dogs starting with Barron, Pup-Pup, Pistol Pete, Kodiak, Mason and finally Queen Sheba.

Mason was a beautiful sable and white Husky male. Everyone loved him including the neighbors who wanted a Husky. They bought a female and soon there was a litter of four cute bundles of fur, one that was the same color as Mason.

We sold our pick of the litter to friends but that little feisty female had caught my eye. Father’s Day came and Brigitte brought me that bundle of fur as a present.

That was 17 years ago and it began a life centered around that pup. Sound familiar? It’s the life so many of us find ourselves living with a faithful pet.

The “Queen” ruled the house and as soon as her powerful legs could propel her to our bed, she became a companion at night for many years.

On one of those nights she suffered a seizure and then another. We made an early morning call to our trusty veterinarian, Dr. Holly Wilson, who immediately said we needed medicine to control the seizures.

For the rest of her life we had to make sure those meds were in her system twice a day. It affected our schedules, but that’s what we do for our pets.

That was just a start. As she got older she became frightened at two things we have a great deal of in Lawton: the thunder and lightning of the many storms and the booming blows of freedom that sound off regularly at Fort Sill.

More meds helped with that issue but still there were many late nights when thunderstorms hit Lawton that we spent hours awake trying to calm the Queen down.

In the past three years Sheba developed a herniated disc in her back but still she found the strength to jump on our bed and crowd Brigitte’s legs to the edge of her side of the bed.

But in the last year or so she just couldn’t make it up on the bed but was still active, so much so that we couldn’t catch her in the backyard one afternoon when the crew came to spray the yard.

Soon she needed another medicine, but that’s what we do for our pets.

One thing she always loved was greeting Brigitte’s tax clients, saying hello with her big blue eyes and cold nose. A few customers were scared of dogs and she’d get kicked out of the office.

Often when that happened, she’d lay on her side on the kitchen floor and bark under the door.

In the last few months she started to get doggie dementia but through all her issues, she always would come to the bedroom, nuzzle that cold nose against Brigitte’s arm and want out.

Those once-powerful back legs slowly started to give out more often and this week we reached a point of no return. How does one sleep when the dog you’ve spent 17 years with is crying in pain?

You don’t, you stay up and try anything to get through the night.

Tuesday morning, we had to say goodbye; it was time. Sitting there on my Hoveround looking straight into those big blue eyes was excruciating.

This morning there was a strange quiet when I woke up, no tags on the collar making that familiar noise coming down the hall. No Sheba stretched out across the dining room blocking my exit to the kitchen for that first Dr Pepper.

In recent weeks she’d wanted out more times than we could even count and at times it seemed she wanted out or in right in the middle of us doing something important. But even though we often complained, when the Queen wanted attention, she received it.

Today I zipped through three stories for the Thursday Constitution in short order. There were no interruptions to let my loyal dog out, just breaks to dry the tears.