"We long for an affection altogether ignorant of our faults. Heaven has accorded this to us in the uncritical canine attachment." ~George Eliot

She's only four years old.  We got her as a puppy from a local shelter.  When we went to look for a dog that Saturday morning, she got my attention right away.  She was shy, and she seemed very concerned about why we were taking her out of her crate.  Her story was a sad one - she (along with her brother) had been dumped in a field on New Year's Eve at the tender age of three months old.  When some well-intentioned people tried to rescue her, she bolted and had to be trapped.  I was hooked and we adopted her, naming her Annie.

Because of her rough start in life, trust has never come easy for Annie.  She trusts me, as well as Jeff, but everyone else has to earn it the hard way.  If you've ever been to our home, you know what I mean.  No matter how many times you come here, she will greet you at the door with a snarl and much barking.  Eventually, she will decide you are ok, and she will be your friend - until the next time you come, then you have to win her affection all over again.  The only exception to this rule is people who bring "her kind" to our house - Becca and Caleb are always ok because they bring her best buddies Ranger and Brinkley with them when they come!

I took her for training to try to get her over her trust issues as soon as she was old enough.  She learned to sit, wait, walk beside me, and obey other commands, but the trust issue has never improved much.  She won't even take a treat from any other human.

In spite of her trust issues, Annie has had a good life here with us.  She loves going on walks, sunbathing on the patio, sleeping on the couch completely covered in a blanket, chasing her ball, trying to catch squirrels, and barking at anyone who dares to walk down the street in front of our house.  She waits on the back of the love seat each evening when I tell her Jeff is coming home, and then she fusses at him when he comes in as if she just can't believe he would leave her for a whole day.  She knows what it means when we ask her if she wants to go to Andy's, and she loves their puppy cones.  She also enjoys going to Lake Tyler to check on the sailboat, and she's even gone sailing a few times.  She gets very excited when I say "Ranger" or "Brinkley," and she will look expectantly toward the door, hoping to see her friends come bounding in.  She sometimes arranges bits of her food on the mat under her food bowl which we affectionately refer to as "paw art", and she loves her crate - she will go there when she feels insecure.  She's had a full, happy life, and is one of the most obedient dogs I've ever had - she thrives on pleasing us. 

Like I said at the beginning, she's only four years old.  She should be enjoying her little doggy life for at least another 10 years.  But last week I noticed swollen glands in her neck and took her to the vet. I assumed she just had an infection of some sort that would be easily treated.  I was shocked to learn that she has a very aggressive form of cancer.  Annie is only four years old, and she will not live to see five.  In fact, she may not even make it through February.

We've faced this before - end of life decisions for a beloved pet.  But never like this.  Never this young and full of life.  In the past week, I have marveled at the fact that Annie is dying but she doesn't even know it.  If the vet had not shared the medical realities, I wouldn't know, either.  She continues to live her best life, enjoying all of her normal adventures like nothing will ever change, and there is beauty in that. 

I don't know the source, but I once read a quote that said, "what a beautiful world it would be if people had hearts like dogs."  How true!  What if I enjoyed every little moment to the fullest, and what if a walk around the neighborhood and observing all the wonders of God's nature invoked the same wonder in me that it does in Annie?  Imagine how it might help if I could silently snuggle up with someone I love in a moment of hurt when words fail me?  What if I, like Annie, could focus on living my best life TODAY?  Probably the most important thing I've learned from Annie is that trust is precious, is something that is earned, and it should be treasured and protected.  And once trust is violated, it is hard - if not impossible - to get it back.

Until now, it's been hard to believe that Annie is dying.  Other than swollen glands that I can feel while petting her, she has been her usual, happy, playful self.  But yesterday, she seemed to be a little bothered, sticking a little closer to me than usual, and not really wanting to join me on my daily trek to the mailbox - formerly one of her favorite things.  I know that very soon, she won't be bouncing into the kitchen with me in the morning to get her daily treat, or chasing her ball, or excitedly greeting Jeff when he comes home from work.  Instead, she will look at me with her eyes of trust, expecting me to do what is best for her.  And when that time comes, we won't betray her hard-earned trust.  We won't let her suffer.

Dean Koontz wrote, "Dogs lives are short, too short, but you know that going in.  You know the pain is coming, you're going to lose a dog, and there's going to be great anguish, so you live fully in the moment with her, never fail to share her joy or delight in her innocence, because you can't support the illusion that a dog can be your lifelong companion.  There's such beauty in the hard honesty of that, in accepting and giving love while always aware it comes with an unbearable price."  Yes, Annie's life will indeed be too short.  But today I will enjoy life through her eyes, and I am thankful for that.