I had taken coffee and newspaper to the patio and thumbed through the paper while trying to keep Beau, the feisty Maltese from lapping coffee from my mug.The ad pulled at my heart. Five year old female German shepherd Free to right home. Call for interview.Two days later Radar the shepherd that was brought back from her master's stint in Germany interviewed us. She joined our family the following week, and we were thrilled to have been chosen. Her master was unexpectedly assigned to an indefinite time of service in Afghanistan.
My wife keeping her eyes on Radar, gasped, covering her mouth in surprise.Tears filled her eyes as she said, "Can you see from the rear view mirror . . . " I adjusted the mirror and my eyes met Radar. She was sitting, head pointed toward the window, muzzle in the air, smiling. How that girl loved to ride, to go, to see. Was it a miracle?
Radar was five when she spent her first night with us. She came into our room several times during the night seeming to be restless. Our daughter reported the same story. We attributed it to loneliness, unease, and figured she would settle down in time. We were mistaken on all counts. Radar kept the same watch over us for six years. She followed a rigorous schedule surveying, inspecting and checking every room and all occupants throughout the night. During the daylight hours, she cat-napped close to the front door.
Six weeks earlier her eyesight had gone and her veterinarian attributed all of her symptoms to old age. No matter how closely we watched after Radar, she bumped into furniture, ran into walls, and missed doorways. The only way we kept her from executing her watch schedule at night was keeping her in our room locked inside her kennel.
The morning she had the seizure my wife and I were able to be by her side. We notified the clinic that we were bringing her in.
The news I dreaded was given. Radar's brain had detached from the stem. There was no option to choose.
I held her in my arms as she lay on the table. We communicated without saying a word. Her sienna eyes never left mine as the doctor emptied the syringe and left us alone. She thanked me for taking her in. I thanked her for loving and caring for me and my family. I told her I wished I'd taken her with me more often.
Oh, I knew Radar loved to go with me, but I never knew how much it meant until her last ride.
Words Get in Your Head
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