My brother and sister-in-law rescued Callie from the pound in Florida. She was one day away from her demise. While the other pound dogs ran to be petted, Callie did not. She shivered in her cage.
She came home with them and for the longest time was afraid of men. Poor Callie what kind of damaged life was she subject to before that?
I was fortunate to meet Callie on my visits to Florida. We’re a dog-loving family. Callie was always a tad cautious with me but never the less I was able to take her for walks and give her cookies when others could not get near her.
When my father died and we went to Ohio, Callie came too. She was a welcome hiccup in the day to day chores of dealing with death. I still remember her racing in the snow and the look of sheer joy on her sweet face.
I would sing her the Callie song:
I love my Callie, my little Gallie. I love my Callie, my little Pallie. I love my Callie, my little Callie. Please don’t take my Callie girl away.
Callie tolerated my singing.
And like with all our beloved pets, we cannot fathom that they will leave us. Callie suffered weak rear legs, coughing, and loss of bodily functions. One of the most difficult decisions we pet owners have to make is when to put our friends down. They at least can die with dignity unlike our parents who are kept alive in negligent nursing homes.
During my May visit to Florida, I was thrilled that Callie still wanted to walk around the block and still came to me for treats.
Run free at the Rainbow Bridge dear Callie. I loved you so.