Evidently no one knew Woody was mine. Not even Woody. That might be because everyone has always known I’m not an “animal lover.”
After years of wondering where my fear of animals came from – the dogs, the cats, the ducks….even the gigantic farm horse at the stables in San Antonio – my mom enlightened me. I had to be at least 24 by then, and had two children. The answer?
When I was 18 months old my mother lost me. I hadn’t gone far, just a couple of houses down from ours. When she realized I had slipped through the screen door she ran onto the front porch where she heard my screams. Following the cries, she found me – surrounded by a pack of dogs. From my position, sitting on the sidewalk, the dogs must have looked huge – looming over me like gargoyles at the top of an old building.
Mom said I never liked animals after that. Who would? When she told me the story my mind flashed back and I swear I could almost see those monsters hovering over me. That story explained why I had never been fond of any of the menagerie that came and went throughout the years of my childhood – dogs, cats, ducks, chickens, rabbits, a skunk, a raccoon, even a Shetland pony at one time. And we lived within the city limits!
Regardless of how big, little, fluffy or cute they were, I could never understand the love others had for non-humans. Until I met Woody.
Woody was a pound dog, saved by my nephew, Brian, when he was just a pup. After taking a job in a new city, Brian had to leave Woody with my sister, Kay. Just until he got settled, Brian said. Kay lived in a beautiful two-story home in Houston, along with her 3 daughters and their 2 small house dogs. By the time Woody moved in, although he was still young, Woody had transformed from a small puppy into a huge hound. He had lived with Kay and the girls for over 8 months when I stopped over for a visit. Kay worked all day and the girls either had jobs or were finishing school. By the time we met, Woody had come to believe he was a house dog – a small house dog.
To this day I have no idea why, but it was love at first sight. When Kay told me she and the girls were going to have to find Woody a new home because Brian wasn’t going to be able to take him after all, I jumped at the chance to make him mine. The only problem was that Kay’s house was a 9-hour drive from mine in Midland – and I was flying. We decided that she would keep him until we could make arrangements to get him, and I flew home.
Describing my husband, Scott, as shocked at the idea I wanted a dog would be a real understatement. Although I was never an animal-lover, he has always been. He figured Woody must be something really special for me to want him so badly. We ultimately made a deal with Brian to pick up Woody in Dallas at our son, Nathan’s house, after the annual A&M/tu football game. Brian had to leave before our arrival, so he left Woody in his huge dog crate on Nathan’s back porch. I was excited to see my dog again and the others couldn't wait to finally meet the wonder pup.
Woody, on the other hand, was not as excited to make the change. The dog I loved at first sight had turned into Cujo once he was forced inside the crate. (We later found out he was claustrophobic.) He finally exited the crate after it was disassembled around him, but he still wasn’t sure about the strangers with whom he found himself. I had to fly out of Dallas to attend a conference, so the task of getting Woody home was Scott's alone. By the time I made it home, Woody had definitely changed. In those short three days, Woody had decided he was Scott’s dog. Regardless of my insistence that he was mine, Woody would not be convinced.
I think it had something to do with the Whataburger combos they shared on the way home.
Over the next six years Woody got bigger, ultimately tipping the scales at 150. He was the best guard dog ever created – and the best big brother. He’d climb up on the patio furniture and sit, surveying his kingdom. His first sister was Maggie, an incredibly hyper black Lab. Then came Gabriela, Gabby for short, who had worn out her welcome at our daughter, Jessica’s, house. Gabby is a beautiful Boxer upon whom was bestowed the gift of boundless energy. She and Maggie stayed in as much trouble as they could possibly find, breaking out of the back yard at every opportunity, looking for fun wherever they could find it. They’d coax Woody out from time to time, but he was always easy to find. After Maggie and Gabby made their escape he’d lumber through the escape hatch, sniff around a little, and head for the front yard, where he would plop himself down, right in the big middle of the porch, where he could not be missed.
Maggie was hit by a car on one of their escapades and didn’t make it. After a little while we inherited the last of Jessica’s attempts at a pet, a long-haired Chiweenie named Chloe. No matter how many other dogs came through the family, though, Woody was the boss - the king of the backyard. He protected us, the family, our property, and his sisters. Our oldest grandchildren scampered through their early years with Woody at their sides - Woody keeping them in line. They laid on him, they ran with him, and they rode him like a horse.
Besides the hip problems he had developed over the years, after a while Woody started having other problems. It became harder and harder for him to get up. He started drinking a lot more water. He dropped a lot of weight. Woody was diagnosed with diabetes.
There was a little while, after Scott began giving him shots twice a day, when Woody seemed to be doing better. But our hopes disintegrated when his health took a turn for the worse. Woody lost his sight and he’d get confused, trying to wind his way through the kingdom over which he had always reigned. Worse, yet, it became obvious that Woody was in a lot of pain. I felt like my heart would stop beating at the thought he wasn’t going to get better.
But I didn't want to be the person who said it.
Scott finally told me he had come to the same conclusion. It was time to start thinking about what was best for Woody. We had drawn out his life for too long, trying to believe our love could make him better. By the time Scott talked to Woody’s Vet, we all already knew what was best.
Luckily, we still have Gabby and Chloe to fill the parts of our heart that Woody left empty. We can tell they know something’s wrong. Gabby was clearly confused when Scott gave her the first dinner bowl after we said goodbye to told Woody goodbye. She looked up at Scott with questioning eyes when he put her bowl down first. She wasn’t supposed to be fed first. Woody always got his bowl first. Her eyes searched Scott’s as she realized Woody wasn’t coming home. We all cried.
Even though Woody didn't realize the fact, he was my dog. He will always be my dog. He’s going to be waiting for me – and Scott – when we pass over to the other side. He’s up there now, I know it. He’s climbed up onto his own cloud and he’s surveying his new kingdom. He’s looking down at us, even now, making sure we’re all right. I’m not. But I will be.
