gerisullivan | Willow, AWS, 1994

There are no words. There aren't enough words. There certainly aren't the right words.

The best picture of her ever taken hasn't yet found its way into my files. If it ever does, I'll post a link to it here. Until then, please imagine a Browndog — an adult American Water Spaniel — standing in the tall grass of early autumn, backlit by the morning sun. She looked glorious, and utterly happy.

Willow came to Toad Hall as a puppy, in the spring of 1994, right as Will Shetterly, Emma Bull, and crew were starting to shoot War for the Oaks. Her first walks on a leash were the block and a half to the duplex where they were shooting an interior scene. Life with a puppy was…challenging. Much more demanding than expected, and complicated by early skin problems that delayed the timing of puppy obedience class longer than was good for her.

Six months later — still pre-obedience class — she ate the kitchen floor. Really, and remarkably thoroughly. She tore the vinyl flooring to shreds, leaving large swaths of sub-floor exposed. While she left enough piled up that Jeff couldn’t get in the back door when he came home from ReinCONation 4 to let her out, most of the floor ended up in her stomach.

Projectile diarrhea followed a day later. She jerked in surprise when it first shot out, looking around in consternation and wonderment. She didn’t know that could happen! Frankly, neither did I. It didn’t slow her down, though. She was back at the remnants of the floor the next night, when I left the house to have dinner with friends.

Dan Steffan immortalized Willow’s consumption of the kitchen floor on the cover of Idea #9. I still have the square of vinyl tile Aussie fan David Russell sent to her with his letter of comment, so she could have a taste of flooring from Down Under. We let her chew away at a corner before adding the square to the Puppy Hall of Fame.

This was the dog who chewed through her leash on the way to her final obedience exam, then shocked her owners and instructor alike by coming out at the top of her class and taking home the blue ribbon. Her Hall of Fame also includes the plastic snap-buckle from her first muzzle; she ate all of the digestible canvas the rest of the muzzle was made of. Hey, at least she left our shoes alone.

It seemed like she was never going to grow out of "puppy on" mode, though it appeared less frequently after she developed epilepsy a few months after she turned six. She’d all but fly around the back yard when she was on.

Willow was typical of her breed — descriptions regularly include the keywords intelligent, sneaky, loyal, independent, and stubborn. Oh, yes. Indeed. She was also atypical: this was an American Water Spaniel who disliked being in the water from her earliest days. House-breaking was impeded by her early-morning resistance to setting foot on the grass until the morning dew had fully evaporated. Later, her bladder grew strong as she waited to go outside until after the rain stopped. The only swimming she ever did was the shortest distance to the shore the one time we tried to introduce her to what was supposed to be her native environment.

She learned to tolerate baths, and a good number of other things, too. She obeyed at least some commands, but old age was the only thing that enabled her to be civilized when a visitor came into her house; my efforts to teach her that failed.

This was a dog who was always a challenge, demanding and needy even before the epilepsy and other health problems took their toll. A good piece of that can be attributed to insufficient training, of course. I succeeded with some lessons, but not with several others. Nor Jeff, though he was always much better about seeing to her daily walks and other needs. Willow was a strong reminder that I make a much better friend and adopted aunt than I ever would a child's parent. My life and temperament just don't have the consistency needed for 24x7 physical care and guidance. At this point, I doubt I'll try to raise or keep another dog, much as I delight in time spent with Joe & Edie's Black Lab, Baskerville. Seems I make a better doggy “aunt,” too.

Still, for all of that, Willow had many charms, and we came to understand each other reasonably well. Her favorite thing was to be with her people, her pack. She’d accompany me on late-night runs to drop off files at Picas & Points, then happily go for off-leash walks in the park behind the business, coming quickly to my call in the dark. Much as she loved heading out on a walk or for a car ride, she was always good about coming back into her yard and house when it was over. Home was home, a good place to be. It wasn’t a prison or too-well-known place to escape from in favor of the great unknown. She learned the difference between her toys and other items on the floor, and would leave the latter be. She loved going to the kennel — a place where they never said “Willow, no bark!” And she loved coming home again at the end of each stay, voice horse, and energy high.

She grew to be a good watchdog, differentiating everyday sounds from those that ought to be checked out, and barking in the appropriate direction. Hailstorms confounded her watchdog sensibilities, as the sound came from everywhere, and “up above” most of all. She’d run around the house, looking for the door to “up above” to bark at. But she quieted with reassurance that all was okay despite Mother Nature’s unwelcome racket.

Willow went to live with

galacticvoyeur when he and I split up in 2001. Jeff made sure I knew it was always okay to visit, and I took care of her several times when that was a help. Even after I moved out of state, I had access to Willow and Jeff kept me updated on her condition. Once, I ended up doing the same for him, when mine was the first phone message he returned after a camping trip during which Willow had been kenneled. She'd had a health crisis that was a nightmare for all involved. Seeing her during my impulse visit to Minneapolis in November went well beyond my expectations. The tumor that was diagnosed last summer kills most of its victims within two months; I was surprised she was still alive four months later when I made it to town. It was clear then she didn't have long to go, but…she was still happy to see me. Dogs are like that; it's one of their most endearing, most heart-breaking charms.

Jeff called earlier this week, letting me know that he made the appointment. It's time. Oh, yes. Indeed.

10:00 am. Friday. Minnesota. Today. Now.

I am glad for her — Jeff's given Willlow a much longer life that I expected she'd have given the health problems that plagued her. Under his care, she's bounced back repeatedly, regaining her enjoyment of walks to the park, pieces of Jeff's morning toast as a lifetime member of The Breakfast Club, and other delights of her doggy existence. I am glad that her end is peaceful, rather than in status epilepticus (constant seizures), which she'd been through a couple of times, or from bleeding to death internally, which was the tumor’s likely end. I'm glad she's with a human who loved her. I wish that more than my heart were there with her, too.

Willow!