Twelve short years ago, a dear Amish friend of mine that I affectionately
call "my little brother" showed up at my door. I had been to his farm in
December of 1998 to discuss teaching special needs children with his
sister, who is also a special educator. She invited me to come to her
schoolhouse some time, and while we were there we went to the barn where
the boys were milking and I saw beautiful little puppies in a crate on the
ground. They were Jack Russell Terrier pups, and I was instantly in love.
The family was selling puppies, but we already had a few dogs, so I knew
Craig would not want another one. Yet, here suddenly in my kitchen was my Amish friend with a tiny puppy
cradled in his arms. He explained that he had hired a driver to bring him
on the one hour trek to our farm because his dad was going to shoot this
puppy. The puppy had been born with a congenital defect in both front
legs. She could only crawl, could not sit, and could not stand upright on
her front legs. Her little tail just wagged and wagged when I picked her
up, as my friend begged me to take her so that she would have a chance at
life. I can't say that Craig was very happy, but it was hard to resist this tiny
little life. A few days after she came to us, I took her up to Viroqua to
be examined by a veterinarian. He looked at her only briefly before
stating, "You need to put her down - she will scrape her legs open
scooting across the ground and will not learn to stand upright to walk. Surgery is out of the question. A pup like this will, most likely, have
multiple anomalies". I thanked him kindly and told him I would seek a second opinion. I drove
down the street to another veterinarian in town. She did a thorough exam
and told me that my little Cookie would be normal in every other way
except for her legs. Surgery would be an option - to go in and break the
legs and then pin them, but it would cost about $3,500 and there was no
guarantee that the pins would hold. Everyone there at the vet clinic fell
in love with Cookie, and one receptionist even told me that if I did not
decide to keep her that she would love to have her. That was 12 years ago. Since that time, Cookie and I have been
inseparable. She has gone with our family on trips to California, South
Dakota countless times, Florida, and has been on a million car rides with
me to run errands. Her favorite thing to do in the summer is go out in
the boat to sand bars, where she runs up and down the beach and bites at
incoming waves. She can walk, she can run, she can swim. Most of all,
she loves to be in my arms, and I feel quite empty when she is not there. I had one of the biggest scares of my life in 2005, when Cookie decided
she was invincible and began chasing a horse that was running along the
fence line. I shouted at her but she would not retreat, and before I
could get to her she got kicked in the head and lay, lifeless, on the
ground. I picked her up out of the dirt and she was not breathing. I
began shrieking and groaning and sobbing beyond control. I remember that
there was someone at the house that day to look at horses available for
adoption, and they stood, watching helplessly as I carried Cookie to the
house. At one point, before I got to the steps, I slumped down on my
knees and cried out to God, "Oh please, don't take my Cookie - please dear
God, help us" over and over again. Still, no life. I went into the house screaming and my foster children came upstairs from
the basement to see what had happened. I screamed at them, "Cookie is
dead, ohmy God, Cookie is dead". The sobbing and wailing continued and my
family did not know what to do or say. I stumbled back outside with her
in my arms, dialing the cordless phone. Craig was on the other end, en
route to Washington state with two horses that had recently been adopted. I sobbed into the phone, and Craig just had no words - what could he do or
say from 2,000 miles away? The tears continued to roll, and I thought I felt Cookie begin to breathe
again. I saw a fly buzzing around, and suddenly Cookie's eyes flew open
and she snapped at the fly!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! How could this be????? She was
back! I was overjoyed, and amazed at the goodness and mercy of my Father
God in heaven. Cookie was my little miracle pup. You would think that living with a disability would have been hard enough,
but Cookie had more challenges ahead. In May of this year I noticed one
of her eyes swelling up, then tearing. On Mother's Day of this year our
entire family went camping at The Natural Gait. Of course, Cookie, Tina
and Peanut all came along. I noticed Cookie becoming increasingly
detached and not wanting to move much. I looked at her eye in horror,
realizing it had swelled even more in a short time. She must have been in
tremendous pain, so on Monday we went immediately in to see Dr. Knight. He
diagnosed glaucoma, and we began aggressive treatment to save the eye. Unfortunately, it was too late, and Cookie's eye is no longer. Dr. Knight
also explained that when glaucoma strikes one eye, the other eye will
often become inflicted. I have been very proactive in continuing to treat
the good eye with drops. Again, it didn't matter. Last week, we traveled
to the vet again and he gave me the worst news I had had since May - she
had glaucoma in that eye and it could not be saved. I have been helping Cookie and pampering her. I have gone to bed crying,
holding her in my arms and telling her I will continue to be there for
her, and that she will not lose her love for life. I have put her on
pillows in the kitchen and fed her her sandwich treat every night. I have
made sure she can find the water dish, and have carried her outside to go
to the bathroom. She has been so brave, and such a sport about her loss
of vision. She still wags her little stubby tail every time she hears my
voice, and I am keeping an upbeat attitude when I am around her. Last
night we went out to eat, and I asked Cookie if she wanted to ride along. I swear she looked right at me and her ears perked right up, tail in the
air. I carried her to the truck, and she sat in the back seat to the
familiar rumble of the truck's diesel engine. I really can't see life without Cookie, nor can she see it without me. Call me selfish, but I can't give up. The vet told me she is healthy in
every other way, however cruel life has been to her. So we will continue
to be there for each other until the end. I have cried a thousand tears
for her, but realize that life is what it is, and we will make the most of
it. The most awesome, inspiring thing is..........she is still happy. And.....I promised her that next year she will "see" the sand bar again,
and we will feel the sun together and dip our feet in the water and she
will lie in my arms as the fishing boat chugs along the back sloughs of
the Mississippi, and we will be grateful that God put us together! Sue
call "my little brother" showed up at my door. I had been to his farm in
December of 1998 to discuss teaching special needs children with his
sister, who is also a special educator. She invited me to come to her
schoolhouse some time, and while we were there we went to the barn where
the boys were milking and I saw beautiful little puppies in a crate on the
ground. They were Jack Russell Terrier pups, and I was instantly in love.
The family was selling puppies, but we already had a few dogs, so I knew
Craig would not want another one. Yet, here suddenly in my kitchen was my Amish friend with a tiny puppy
cradled in his arms. He explained that he had hired a driver to bring him
on the one hour trek to our farm because his dad was going to shoot this
puppy. The puppy had been born with a congenital defect in both front
legs. She could only crawl, could not sit, and could not stand upright on
her front legs. Her little tail just wagged and wagged when I picked her
up, as my friend begged me to take her so that she would have a chance at
life. I can't say that Craig was very happy, but it was hard to resist this tiny
little life. A few days after she came to us, I took her up to Viroqua to
be examined by a veterinarian. He looked at her only briefly before
stating, "You need to put her down - she will scrape her legs open
scooting across the ground and will not learn to stand upright to walk. Surgery is out of the question. A pup like this will, most likely, have
multiple anomalies". I thanked him kindly and told him I would seek a second opinion. I drove
down the street to another veterinarian in town. She did a thorough exam
and told me that my little Cookie would be normal in every other way
except for her legs. Surgery would be an option - to go in and break the
legs and then pin them, but it would cost about $3,500 and there was no
guarantee that the pins would hold. Everyone there at the vet clinic fell
in love with Cookie, and one receptionist even told me that if I did not
decide to keep her that she would love to have her. That was 12 years ago. Since that time, Cookie and I have been
inseparable. She has gone with our family on trips to California, South
Dakota countless times, Florida, and has been on a million car rides with
me to run errands. Her favorite thing to do in the summer is go out in
the boat to sand bars, where she runs up and down the beach and bites at
incoming waves. She can walk, she can run, she can swim. Most of all,
she loves to be in my arms, and I feel quite empty when she is not there. I had one of the biggest scares of my life in 2005, when Cookie decided
she was invincible and began chasing a horse that was running along the
fence line. I shouted at her but she would not retreat, and before I
could get to her she got kicked in the head and lay, lifeless, on the
ground. I picked her up out of the dirt and she was not breathing. I
began shrieking and groaning and sobbing beyond control. I remember that
there was someone at the house that day to look at horses available for
adoption, and they stood, watching helplessly as I carried Cookie to the
house. At one point, before I got to the steps, I slumped down on my
knees and cried out to God, "Oh please, don't take my Cookie - please dear
God, help us" over and over again. Still, no life. I went into the house screaming and my foster children came upstairs from
the basement to see what had happened. I screamed at them, "Cookie is
dead, ohmy God, Cookie is dead". The sobbing and wailing continued and my
family did not know what to do or say. I stumbled back outside with her
in my arms, dialing the cordless phone. Craig was on the other end, en
route to Washington state with two horses that had recently been adopted. I sobbed into the phone, and Craig just had no words - what could he do or
say from 2,000 miles away? The tears continued to roll, and I thought I felt Cookie begin to breathe
again. I saw a fly buzzing around, and suddenly Cookie's eyes flew open
and she snapped at the fly!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! How could this be????? She was
back! I was overjoyed, and amazed at the goodness and mercy of my Father
God in heaven. Cookie was my little miracle pup. You would think that living with a disability would have been hard enough,
but Cookie had more challenges ahead. In May of this year I noticed one
of her eyes swelling up, then tearing. On Mother's Day of this year our
entire family went camping at The Natural Gait. Of course, Cookie, Tina
and Peanut all came along. I noticed Cookie becoming increasingly
detached and not wanting to move much. I looked at her eye in horror,
realizing it had swelled even more in a short time. She must have been in
tremendous pain, so on Monday we went immediately in to see Dr. Knight. He
diagnosed glaucoma, and we began aggressive treatment to save the eye. Unfortunately, it was too late, and Cookie's eye is no longer. Dr. Knight
also explained that when glaucoma strikes one eye, the other eye will
often become inflicted. I have been very proactive in continuing to treat
the good eye with drops. Again, it didn't matter. Last week, we traveled
to the vet again and he gave me the worst news I had had since May - she
had glaucoma in that eye and it could not be saved. I have been helping Cookie and pampering her. I have gone to bed crying,
holding her in my arms and telling her I will continue to be there for
her, and that she will not lose her love for life. I have put her on
pillows in the kitchen and fed her her sandwich treat every night. I have
made sure she can find the water dish, and have carried her outside to go
to the bathroom. She has been so brave, and such a sport about her loss
of vision. She still wags her little stubby tail every time she hears my
voice, and I am keeping an upbeat attitude when I am around her. Last
night we went out to eat, and I asked Cookie if she wanted to ride along. I swear she looked right at me and her ears perked right up, tail in the
air. I carried her to the truck, and she sat in the back seat to the
familiar rumble of the truck's diesel engine. I really can't see life without Cookie, nor can she see it without me. Call me selfish, but I can't give up. The vet told me she is healthy in
every other way, however cruel life has been to her. So we will continue
to be there for each other until the end. I have cried a thousand tears
for her, but realize that life is what it is, and we will make the most of
it. The most awesome, inspiring thing is..........she is still happy. And.....I promised her that next year she will "see" the sand bar again,
and we will feel the sun together and dip our feet in the water and she
will lie in my arms as the fishing boat chugs along the back sloughs of
the Mississippi, and we will be grateful that God put us together! Sue
