I had never been a dog-lover…until a little black lab puppy named Babe took my heart by surprise.
We were hiking the wooded trail that runs between the river and the railroad tracks. With me were Sebastian, my daughter’s two-year-old collie mix, and Babe, a five-month-old black lab puppy I inherited when my son went off to college. As we hiked, I could hear the train coming in the distance. Without warning, Babe took off like a shot, racing up a hill, around a corner, and right into the path of the train. I screamed her name over and over to no avail. The train raced past and I knew I’d lost her. Sickened with fear, I rounded the corner, expecting to find my mangled pup. At that instant, she came bounding down the hill and into my arms. For the first time in my life, I understood the joys of losing my heart to a dog.
That was 1993, the year my youngest child went off to college. My nest was empty, and I was taking it hard. I often escaped to the woods, where Babe and Sebastian were my companions in grief. They knew just how to comfort me without giving me advice and without chastising me for not getting my act together.
Sebastian is no longer with us, but Babe follows me everywhere. Our leather couch is Babe’s throne, and I am resigned to calling her “Princess.” She knows to get off her throne when she hears the mix-master running, because she will inevitably get to lick the beaters. She knows that even though I would rather lick them myself, I will give them to her, because she owns my heart. She knows she is spoiled. What she doesn’t know is that it is she who has spoiled me.
I did not realize just how much Babe spoiled me until I almost lost her a second time. One winter Sunday, while strolling along the trails, Babe suddenly made a dash for the lake. It was frozen over, and I didn’t think much about it…until I heard the crack. The ice in the middle of the lake broke beneath her weight, and she fell into freezing water. As she frantically struggled to get out, I attempted to go to her, but the ice would not hold me at all. Gripped by fear, I automatically implemented the Seven Rational Steps To Follow In An Emergency:
Step 1: Hold your breath and tense up.
Step 2: Allow the feeling of full-blown panic to sweep over you.
Step 3: Become Hysterical
Step 4: Cry
Step 5: Run into the street and stop all traffic.
Step 6: Ask someone to call 9-1-1 .
Step 7: Run back to the scene of the accident.
I followed these seven steps faithfully. The 9-1-1 operator told the caller that she would “see if someone would come out for a dog.” I shouted back, “If someone is not here in five minutes, I am going after her myself!” In three minutes time, we had no less than four police cars and one ambulance on site. Flashing lights and sirens attracted a growing crowd. Ten minutes later two fire trucks pulled up, the firemen already outfitted in wet suits carrying a blown up rubber boat. Firemen and policemen strung a rope across the lake, so they could pull the boat across the ice. When the firemen got to Babe, she was struggling and slippery, but they finally managed to harness her and pull her into the boat. The crowd cheered. I cried. I rushed her to the emergency vet, where she was admitted to Intensive Care for treatment with hot blankets and warmed up intravenous fluids. Her body temperature had dropped five full degrees in twenty minutes. Six hours later, when her vital signs were stable, I was able to take her home. Since that day, I have never taken her for granted.
In a few months, Babe will be ten years old. Her favorite place, and mine, is still the woods, and we have spent countless hours there. To see her there, one would think she was still a pup, but it takes her longer to recover from running. She can’t jump on the bed or couch the way she used to. She takes longer climbing the stairs. She sleeps longer in the mornings. Sometimes I watch her sleeping and I wonder if she is dreaming of her puppy days when the world was fresh and new.
Babe has seen me through tough times, and so many of my memories are tied up with her. She brought me joy when my children went off to college and she brings me joy today as I sit writing about her. She is my friend when other friends desert me. She makes me laugh when I feel like crying. She is my companion when I am home alone. She helps me enjoy the simple things in life. If I live to a ripe old age, I will have to face many years without Babe. I do not know how I will do that. She has been evidence of God’s grace in my life. I know that when she dies, my life will never be the same. I also know that when I die, I will know I am in heaven if the first thing that greets my eyes is the sight of my beautiful black lab, Babe, bounding toward me with all the energy of a youthful pup. I will hold out my arms and catch her as she leaps into them…just like I did on the day of the train.
Note: Babe died in June of 2005. We now have Gabby, another black lab, and Heidi, a cream-colored lab. I still miss Babe.
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