We met her when she was just three weeks old. Just a teeny tiny little thing. She was maybe a couple pounds and half the size of her brothers and sisters, the runt of 11 puppies. I knew I wanted her just knowing that much about her, like Wilbur the pig in Charlotte's Web. We also picked her for her sweet nature, her small size, and her beautiful markings. A perfect looking Bernese Mountain Dog: feet dipped in white to match the stripe on her face and her fluffy white chest, silky black body, and touches of red-ish brown painted in just the right places around her legs, face, and tail. She instantly stole our hearts. We had second pick of the girls of the litter and I had been eyeing her for a few weeks on the breeder's website. I knew I would love her as soon as I met her in person. I knew she was different than the rest.
In April we brought her home. We had been waiting in anticipation and we had been prepping our "first born" three-year old, Delilah, and explaining to her that she was higher in the pack than Mabel, but would be sharing our attention from now on. Delilah took a day or two to warm up to Mabel, but she let her snuggle with her that first night in our house. Soon she started teaching her the ways of dogs: how to sit, stay, and how to best earn treats and snuggles from the humans. Mabel was a great puppy, but health was not on her side, even from the get-go. She had a bacterial infection, probably from the dirt on the breeder's premises, that caused several "run-out-the door-as-fast-as-you-can-before-the-dog-shits-all-over-the-floor" kind of nights. Actually those nights happened off and on for about two months. We were exhausted.
Then there was the crate training. Mabel would cry and cry and cry and cry. Off and on, all night long. Our vet compared her to his ten-year old who actually slept in his bed still because "they gave in too easily." We would not give in. She would learn to love her crate. And she did...after a lot more sleepless nights.
Eventually Mabel grew out of sleeping in her crate and of course she was allowed to sleep in our room with her older sister. Thus our carpet turned from a faded off-white to a grayish blackish color. We thought Delilah (a golden retriever) shed a lot. We thought we knew what "hairy" meant. Oh boy, were we wrong. Mabel did another kind of shedding. We had been fairly warned, but it was one of those times where only "seeing was believing." I swept up so much hair each week, it looked like a small dog had strapped a bomb to itself and then completed a suicide mission in our house. We probably could have gone into business making yarn and knitting sweaters. I would curse and shake my fist and loathe the dog hair that swirled on our family room floor. It would embed itself in the carpet stairs and start reproducing itself and growing up and into the walls only to return through the kitchen faucet or corners of the bathroom floor. It was everywhere and there was no way to get rid of it all.
As we got used to swimming in dog hair and eating bits of dog hair and even pulling tiny dog hairs out of our eyes, we grew more and more in love with Mabel. She was spunky and sweet, not as calm and logical as Delilah, but sweet none-the-less. She loved being with her people and we loved being with her. I held her like a newborn often in my arms and would watch her sleep on me on the couch. Even at 75 pounds, Greg would hold her, curled in a fetal position like a big, giant, hairy baby. And Delilah didn't care so much about the order of the pack. Mabel got treats first, went out the door first, and ate all the dropped food off the floor first.
Little did we know, she was teaching us things. Things about life.
Soon she was house-trained and sitting and lying down on cue and listening like a good dog should. And then we broke all our rules. After all, she was the second child. She weaseled her way onto the couch and onto the bed and under our feet in the kitchen while cooking--things Delilah would never have gotten away with. She was a very well-behaved dog. So what if we let her have a few luxuries here or there?
She went to work with Greg and Delilah every day. Then Greg started working from home. Then Greg started working in Denver. Suddenly she wasn't with her people anymore. She was home alone with Delilah. By this time she had graduated from her crate, and she was lonely. We started coming home to little chew marks in a corner here...a corner there. Then a corner by the stairs. Then--what?--drywall? Really!? Then the baseboard. Then more drywall. Then the door handle of the glass slider. And so on and so on. Most of her marks are still there. Yeah-they're pretty bad. I used to be furious about them. I used to bug my husband to fix them. I used to want them gone.
Now I'm glad they are still there. They are Mabel's marks that she left for us.
Maybe she wanted us to stop and remember her. Maybe she wanted us to know where she had been. Maybe she knew we would smile when we looked at that chewed up strip outlining her window, her favorite spot, the place where we said our final good-byes.
Mabel sure left her mark. She taught us lessons about life. In less than three years she prepared us for babies, for cleaning up lots of messes, and she even prepared us for disappointment. These are lessons that Mabel taught us.
1) Life is so very short.
She died of cancer before her third birthday. Like so many others, people and creatures, who have gone before her...she fell ill and her health deteriorated quickly. During those final weeks, things were different. Each day I hugged her tight, knowing it might be her last. Each day I said good-bye before leaving for work like I might not have another chance. Each day I greeted her with kindness. How different would we act or react if we thought about our days as if they might be the last? Time is so very, very precious.
2) Love. No matter what, give love.
Mabel loved us unconditionally. She loved us even after yelling and screaming about the chew marks in the wall. She loved us even when we forgot to let her out until noon because we were preoccupied with two new-borns. She loved us when we complained about all her hair. She loved us on that final night when we made her snuggle with us in bed one more time. Give others love. Not because they deserve it, but just because. Mabel loved hard and we loved her back.
3) Smile.
Yes, dogs can and do smile. Mable did. Especially for pictures. Smiles are contagious, you know.
4) You can function on less sleep than you think you can.
Mabel gave us practice with sleep deprivation. Her sixth sense must have allowed her to foresee our twins and she knew we needed to practice taking turns getting up in the middle of the night. All that practice sure came in handy. Very handy indeed.
5) Crying is no fun. Hugs are better.
Once I sat outside of Mabel's crate while she cried and cried. Then I started crying. I wanted her to get used to her crate, but I didn't like my little fur baby crying. Again, I had this same experience with my twins at nap time and bed time in their cribs. Mabel was building up my stamina so I could handle all the crying. And let me tell you, between two babies there was plenty and plenty of crying.
6) Don't Complain.
Mabel persevered through her illness like a champ. She didn't whine or cry. You could tell she was pretty miserable by the look in her eyes, but she was hanging on for us. She knew complaining wouldn't help anyone or anything. Man, I need to work on this one.
7) Let some stuff go. It's not THAT important anyway.
This was the dog hair. I did my best to vacuum and sweep and roll and brush it all away, but it was EVERYWHERE. So I had to let it go. Once I had my babies, it was a similar issue. I had to let go of dirty-dishes, and unfolded laundry, and messy piles. I focused on what was important--on my babies and let some of that unimportant stuff go. I'm sure they won't remember that sink of grimy dishes or the overflowing laundry, or the hairy, hairy curtains.
8) Wonderful things come in small packages.
Mabel was the smallest puppy of her litter, but I don't doubt that she had the biggest heart of all of them. My babies were premature and weighed less than five pounds each. They are the joy of my life and the cutest little beings around. I'm only five feet tall, myself. It's the little things in life that bring happiness. Enjoy a quiet moment, a sunset, a colorful meal, a sweet note from a friend. Find gratitude in everyday things, no matter how big or how small.
9) Grief and loss is part of life.
Losing Mabel has been really hard. Unexpected and heartbreaking at times. But it's also good. I feel as though it is making me grow, making me stronger. I hope and pray that I never have to watch a family member deal with cancer and I can only imagine what that is like. But I have learned through this that grief is normal and it is inevitable. And it's ok to feel however you feel. Death is so hard because it's so, so final. And grieving takes time. Lots of time.
10) Finish what you start.
I'm now convinced that Mabel was sent to us on a mission. She served an important purpose. She taught us how to love unconditionally. She taught us patience. She taught us determination. She was by my side all through my pregnancy and often kept me company during my month-long bed-rest. And she used to pop her head up every night when I would get up with the babies, wag her tail, and smile at me. She prepared us for sleepless nights and busy schedules trying to balance home, work, and keeping a clean house. She helped us get ready for children. She was there every step of the way.
Life sure isn't the same without Mabel. The house seems so quiet, empty in a way. Her big furry spunk will be forever etched into our memories. She showed us more kindness in her short years than we ever expected. She taught us about life, she taught us about loss, but more importantly, she taught us about love.
Mable Rittner
2-20-11 to 2-1-14
