There’s A New Angel In Heaven Tonight

Cleo came into our lives very unexpectedly in 1997. We had two dogs then—Caesar, who was three, and Augie, who was not quite two. We were content with two dogs. They entertained each other, they were great company for each other, and we could handle two without too much trouble. We were not expecting or planning on having a third.

We were getting ready to leave for a vacation, and made arrangements to board the boys with the woman who trained them. When I called to make the arrangements, she told me that she was glad that I had called, that she was going to call me, and that she had a beautiful year-old female golden retriever who needed a home. Susan and I both agreed that we needed a third dog like we needed large holes in our heads and we said no, thanks.

When we dropped the boys off at her house, she said, “You have to at least meet her.” She went downstairs, got her, and within thirty seconds, the three dogs were attached at the hip, playing and running and chasing. By the end of our vacation, we didn’t have the heart to separate them, and she came home with us. That first night, she was a total spaz—hyper, and into everything. She kept us up most of the night. Then, the next day, she went into heat. That was a real joy. We looked at each other and wondered if we had made a mistake. Fortunately, she settled down quickly.

Her original name—given by her first owner—was Brandy, but it definitely didn’t suit her personality. We changed it to Cleopatra, Queen of the Scioto, or Cleo for short. She was definitely a queen bee, and it really fit. Within a couple of days, she knew her new name. The boys loved her, and after Caesar died and we got Nero just over a year ago, she quickly became his favorite playmate/chew toy.

Cleo thought that she was a ferocious watchdog. She would bark at anything bold enough to stray its way into the yard, be it leaf, squirrel, or stray piece of paper. It was her job to protect the house, and she did so, tail wagging the whole time. The neighbors next door got a tiny, adorable Cavalier King Charles puppy—who weighs maybe four pounds—and Cleo, the ferocious 84 pound golden retriever, would bark at this tiny interloper. We always laughed about it.

At the same time, she was a sweet girl, very loving and very gentle. Almost from the moment we brought her home, she was my baby. She only wanted to be with me, to be loved on by me, and to be near me. She had this silly toy—literally a ball with legs and feet—and it was her baby. She took it everywhere with her. Her favorite thing in the world was to fetch ball with feet, and I had made the mistake of teaching her to bark to tell me to throw the ball. Needless to say, there was a LOT of barking around here.

The poor baby must have come from a puppy mill—we know almost nothing of her pedigree—because she had nothing but one health problem after another. Fourteen months ago, she had surgery to remove a stage three mast cell cancer tumor from her side, and we knew then that we were on borrowed time with her. We made sure to enjoy every minute with her, to play with and love her as much as possible, and to cherish this time that we knew we shouldn’t have.

That borrowed time ran out yesterday. During the night on Monday night, she apparently had a stroke. When I tried to get her to go outside yesterday morning, she had a lot of trouble getting down the steps, and she lay down in the back yard. This was a girl who always had a weight problem because she would eat anything not nailed down, and the idea of her not coming in to eat worried me. When I got her back inside, she refused to eat, which was very unlike her. Not realizing anything serious was wrong, I went back upstairs, and she eventually followed me up. When I went back down for my breakfast and to let them out, she was noticeably limping and having trouble, and I had to help her down the steps.

When Susan got home from work yesterday afternoon, she noticed that Cleo was showing the same signs of stroke that her own mother had shown—weakness, sagging facial features, lethargy. She called the vet, and we took her in. We left her over night for observation, and Susan brought her home this afternoon. The vet wanted to see if she might improve in her own surroundings, so she brought her home, but her condition had deteriorated. Susan practically had to carry to get her to move. She wouldn’t eat, and she was exhausted.

Finally, we made the decision that we dreaded. We knew she was on borrowed time, and the poor thing had had so many surgeries that the last thing we wanted for her was for her to have to suffer. We had decided that if it came down to keeping her a little longer or ending her suffering, we were going to end her suffering. So, we made the inevitable but necessary decision and I carried her to the car and she went for her last ride. We held her and petted her as she shuffled off this mortal coil. She left us quietly and peacefully and is now in a better place. Once again, she’s playing with Caesar, young, healthy, happy, and frolicking.

There’s a new angel in heaven tonight. I miss you already, Cleo. And I will see you again some day. Wait for me.