Chapter 3 of “A Life Worth Living – The Story of Sassy”

Click here for more information about this book, its online format, and the introduction…

Chapter 3 – The Power of Persistence

(2001)

We never saw Dr. Avery again. Not because we weren’t happy with his care – quite frankly he may well have been the most caring vet I’d ever met — but simply because the location was too far from our home to be convenient for our regular vet and also because Sassy seemed so healthy.  Meanwhile, Anne, Rose, Sassy, and I continued to grow closer by the day. I like to think that my relationship with Anne would have developed into something special with or without Sassy — that it was just our destiny to be together — but the fact is that once Sassy came into the picture, there was no way I was ever leaving Anne, for my heart now required a daily dose of Sassy’s cheerfulness!

Our first year with Sassy went by in a blur. She grew so fast that it was hard to remember her as the tiny runt we had brought home that cold January day in 2001. Within about six months, Sassy had turned into a little tank of a Yorkie – and while all eight of her pounds might not amount to much for most breeds, for standard Yorkshire Terriers, Sassy was far from a runt now. For most of that first year, Sassy was truly the picture of good health. And she provided us with plenty of moments to laugh about too.

There was the time when she revved up her engines and raced along the carpet towards the floor pillows – intent on finally making that 4-inch jump to the top. Despite trying unsuccessfully every day for months, Sassy never gave up her nightly attempts. Invariably, about an hour after dinner, she’d get down from one of our laps and let us know she needed to go potty. After she’d come back inside, she always felt a little frisky because instead of wanting to lay down again, she’d instead make her way into the kitchen. Then, she’d spy the pillows (her nemesis) apparently mocking her from the living room and she’d start pawing the ground like a bull getting ready to charge (not what you’d expect from a fluffy Yorkie). After a few snorts, Sassy would suddenly take off full steam towards the pillows, and at the last minute she’d leap…and invariably end up splatting backwards.

For months she’d tried and for months she’d never made it. So on a night in early May, 2001, when Sassy started pawing the ground again and snarling at the pillows, Anne, Rose, and I quickly took our places in our front row seats (read: the couches); we watched with a mixture of glee and admiration as Sassy took off – none of us expecting to see anything other than Sassy smack up against the soft pillows and land splat on the carpet – as usual. Even as she began her run, I made ready to go over and pick her up to console her after another ‘good try.’ Yet suddenly…

“Oh my gosh, did you see that?” I exclaimed, jumping out of my seat.

“She made it!” Anne shouted, giving me a high five like we’d just seen The Bucs score a touchdown. “Sassy finally did it!”

“Hooray!” Rose clapped her hands in delight. “I knew you could do it, Girl.”

Sassy had indeed finally done it – and now she proudly stood atop the pillows on the floor. The three of us ran over to her, showering her with more praise – at which point, she promptly rolled over onto her back so we could rub her belly the way she so loved. As usual, she nearly purred like a cat when we did so.

From that day on, Sassy never had trouble jumping up to those pillows. In addition, she began to brave other climbs and jumps too – crawling all over the backs of the couches, jumping up to footstools, and the like. Naturally, Sassy’s daring do’s would not have been considered all that impressive for most dog owners — for instance, one of Anne’s best friends had a Jack Russell who seemed like he had a pair of pogo sticks for legs, regularly jumping up several feet into the air whenever the fancy struck him — but for us, we couldn’t have been more proud of Sassy’s ‘athletic’ accomplishments. Even still, we watched her like a hawk and were quick to keep her from doing anything that might cause her to be injured – as such, we never allowed her to jump off the couch or bed onto the floor and whenever she started climbing on the back of the couch, we tried to get her down. For her part, Sassy ‘allowed’ us to help her down from higher perches, but her stubbornness came out when we tried keeping her from the couch back — since Anne and Rose’s living room had large panoramic windows, Sassy loved getting up to a high perch like that so she could look outside – watching the water fountain in the small pond outside, seeing the rays of the sun shine down, or perhaps watching the birds and bees enjoy the jungle of plants that Rose was always cultivating on her front porch. I often wondered what Sassy thought about as she stared outside — she seemed so very content; happy to just BE – it was a peacefulness I very much admired her for.

****

Then there was the time when we finally heard Sassy’s bark again – for you see after that little yip at the breeder’s Sassy had never barked again. In fact she was so silent that Anne and I began to question if Sassy had ever really barked on the day we met her or not – was it something we both just imagined or did it really happen? And if it didn’t happen then how did Sassy get our attention again while the breeder was holding her back? Those were questions we couldn’t answer but the more time that went by without Sassy barking again caused us to wonder.  But that was about to change.

The occasion that caused this to happen had a bit to do with a trip I had just taken to visit my parents in Pennsylvania – it was in mid-July, 2001. On the way home, I had a connecting flight through Pittsburgh. Since I grew up a Steeler’s fan, I couldn’t miss the chance to bring Anne and Rose back souvenirs from Steel Country. Besides buying a Terrible Towel I don’t recall much else of what I bought them, except for one other thing – a little black bear beanie baby — and it was was that toy that caused Sassy to bark.

Now I should point out that even though Sassy had not been barking like a normal dog, she had developed a rather unusual way of communicating with us. As I said before, she had a habit of purring like a cat whenever she was happy about something. Apparently that led to her development of discovering a way to use a kind of snort that seemed to originate in the back of her throat. Sassy wouldn’t snort just because she could, but instead only at time when she appeared to want to tell us something — her most popular reasons for snorting being that she was hungry, wanted up on someone’s lap, wanted to play, or because she was ready for bed (and felt like we should all be too). Her snorting was really uncanny and we wondered if this was something unique to the breed or just Sassy. Either way though, we chalked it up to her intelligence and just figured this was her substitute for not barking.

But then came the little black bear. Now much to Anne’s chagrin, Rose loved to keep (and display) knick knacks and other interesting items around the house that she had acquired over the years on the family’s various world travels. She had these really cool, two-foot tall, hand-crafted wooden puppets from Thailand, a wonderful lead etching of a knight from England, animal masks and other wall art from Africa, and much more. Having grown up with all those pieces, Anne felt it was a bit of clutter, but I always enjoyed looking at them on display. (Unfortunately for Anne, I shared Rose’s penchant for being a bit of a pack rat, but that wasn’t something Anne would discovered until it was too late!). In any case, some of the items Rose collected were plush bears – she had a Stifel, another from Harrods, and others, and she kept them on display on a small wooden bench that sat on the floor near her kitchen island. While I wasn’t trying to suggest that a Beanie Baby held the same cache as her collectible bears, this was the reason why I got Rose that particular gift during my recent trip.

Perhaps to amuse me, Rose chose to sit my little black bear on the wooden bench next to her other bears. And that should really have been the end of that story — but Sassy felt otherwise. Interestingly enough, Sassy hadn’t ever paid a second’s glance to the other larger bears that sat atop their perch on the bench and looked down at her from their height of six inches off the ground. But soon after Rose had placed the Beanie Baby on the bench, Anne and Rose began to find it on the floor – strewn about in various uncomfortable looking poses. At first, they chalked it up to perhaps accidentally bumping the bench themselves and knocking the bear off (although it would have been near impossible to knock only the small Beanie Baby off without disturbing the larger bears as was the case here). But then one day while I came over to visit, Anne greeted me at the door with a smile, “You gotta see this.”

Rose was giggling in her comfy chair and Sassy was sitting on her haunches on the kitchen tile, staring up at the island countertop… and barking!  It was a real doggie bark, not her usual snorting, and she let it fly like it was something she’d done all her life. Sassy’s reason for finally speaking was obvious – she was clearly annoyed at something because her bark was short, staccato, and sounded pissed off!

“What’s she so mad at?” I asked, walking over to the counter, still amazed at the imperial demandingness of her bark.

Anne pointed to the Beanie Baby, “Remember how I told you that your little bear must be defective or something because it kept falling off the bench for no reason? Well, we discovered the reason today – it’s Sassy! She wants this bear.”

“But why?” I looked down at her — Sassy knew we were talking about the bear and she barked again and pawed the air to indicated she wanted it – NOW.

“How should I know? It’s not like she doesn’t have any toys.” And Anne spread out her hands indicating a mass of small toys which were strewn about the room. “Mom and I have been trying all day to get her attention off that bear – to no avail.”

“I don’t understand. Are you saying Sassy is stealing the Beanie Baby when you’re not looking?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. She won’t do it when we’re around because somehow she must know it’s a no-no, but when she’s alone she goes after the bear.”

“Oh come on. I’ve gotta see this.”

“OK.” Anne replied as she placed the little bear back on the bench. Then looking at Sassy, she held up a finger, pointed to the bear, and said in a stern voice, “NO! That means ‘No touch!’ NO!” To which Sassy merely harumpfed under her breath and walked off.

We all got a kick out of that, but then I asked, “So… what am I missing? It’s hilarious and all that Sassy finally barked, but she’s not the little thief you said she was because unless I’m missed it, I didn’t see Sassy go after the bear.”

“Not yet.” Anne smiled slyly. Turning to Sassy, she said, “Stay!” And then to Rose and I, “Hurry, come with me into the hallway.”

I followed Anne and Rose into the hall that ran from the kitchen to the bedrooms; there we all knelt down – concealing ourselves from Sassy, but still keeping an eye on the bench.

What happened next amuses me to this day.

Sassy was not fooled by our hiding – she could easily see us from her location between the living room and kitchen. She knew we were watching her – but it soon became clear she still wanted that little bear – even though she knew she wasn’t supposed to have it.

Sassy look at us.

Then at the bear.

Then back to us.

Then she barked – short and demanding.

When we didn’t come immediately to help her, she barked again.

And again.

Finally, she threw herself on the ground in front of the bench and began to roll around, whining.

I started to arise and was about to go over to see if she was all right, but Anne laid a hand on my arm and whispered, “She’s all right. It’s all an act. Trust me.”

Sassy carried on like this for a couple minutes. Then when she apparently could take it no more, she hopped up, and in one quick motion, grabbed the Beanie Baby by the ear with her teeth and raced away!

“Oh my gosh!” My jaw hung to the ground. “She just stole that bear!”

“I told you.” Anne laughed, as we all got up from our hiding spot and went to find Sassy in her own hiding spot — behind the floor pillows playing with the bear. Anne reached down to grab the toy, “No, no, Sassy. That’s not your bear, that’s Mama Rose’s. Michael got it for her, not you, silly.”

Now taking a well-trained dog out of the equation (which Sassy was not by any means), with most dogs, if you reached down to take their toys or food and they were not ready to give them up, you might well lose a finger or two, but even though Sassy clearly wanted the bear, her gentle demeanor was such that she never resisted if we took something from her. And so, the little Beanie Baby was placed back on the bench with the other larger bears.

However, gentle or not, after that day, Sassy continued to secretly steal the bear even though she was reprimanded about it time and again. Every time she took it, Anne or Rose later took it back. They tried putting it on the countertop out of Sassy’s reach, but that only led to her demanding barking (still the only occasions when she did bark), so they gave up that approach. After a while, Sassy stopped stealing it away, and instead switched to just pulling it off the bench and leaving it on the floor – apparently just to make a statement. This went on for a few weeks, and then one day, Sassy decided she’d tired of our little covert game and simply walked up and took the bear right in front of us – bolding snatching it and walking away – slowly and confidently – daring us to do something. I laughed at the sight, while Anne raised her hands in the air – at a loss on what to do now.

“Oh, Anne, just let her have it.” Rose chuckled. “We all know she’s going to get it anyway, right?”

And that was pretty much that – the little black bear that had come all the way from PA, was now Sassy’s Beanie Baby. She played with it non-stop for a week and then grew tired of it – I guess with the challenge gone and it wasn’t so appealing anymore.

It was time for Sassy to find a new challenge…

Sassy’s Life Lesson  #3 – The Power of Persistence

Sassy wanted to jump up on those pillows – and although it took her months of trying, she kept at it until finally she got what she wanted. Sassy also wanted that black bear – and again, even though she was told ‘no’ time and again, she continued to persist, until finally she got what she wanted.

Sassy’s willpower and persistence would become a common theme in her life.

For my part, prior to Sassy, although I didn’t want to admit it to myself,  I’d always had a hard time following through on things. Sure I could come up with plenty of ideas, and I was great at starting projects, but I always had difficulty sticking with things and seeing them through to the end. I was goal-oriented certainly and I did accomplish things, but if obstacles appeared in my path I generally either tried to find a way around them or just gave up and moved on to something else.

One thing that Sassy taught me was the real power that’s available to all of us if we simply keep trying.

Since learning that lesson I’ve been able to apply it to my life to create real change – earning an MBA, numerous post-graduate industry designations at work, advancing my career, expanding my family, and the list goes on and on. And Sassy was my role model and inspiration for all of this.

This reminds me of the legend about a stonecutter who was tasked with breaking up a giant boulder. The story is summed up in a quote by a Danish journalist named Joseph Riis…

“When nothing seems to help, I go and look at a stonecutter hammering away at his rock perhaps a hundred times without as much as a crack showing in it. Yet at the hundred and first blow it will split in two, and I know it was NOT that last blow that did it, but all that had gone before.”

The morale being that even though our actions don’t always look like they are having any effect, if we are persist along the right path and keep trying, eventually we can realize our goals. After all, you never know how close you might be to success – what if that stonecutter had quit on the 100th attempt? The stone would never have cracked and he would have never know how close he was to success.

Don’t give up. Keep trying. Persist. You will succeed!

Point to Ponder

Be honest with yourself – could you do a better job of finishing what you started? Do you give up too easy? Is there a goal that you’d like to achieve in life and perhaps have even taken some action on, yet haven’t persisted? Perhaps NOW is the time to revisit that and try again – only this time don’t give up until you get what you want!

Chapter 2 of “A Life Worth Living – The Story of Sassy”

Click here for more information about this book, its online format, and the introduction…

Chapter 2 – There is Goodness in the World

(Jan 31, 2001 and the following week)

Sassy rode on my lap on a baby blanket on the way home — Anne was too excited to hold her and couldn’t wait to get back to her mother so she drove. Despite the fact that Sassy hadn’t known us for more than a few minutes, she promptly fell asleep on my lap.

“You see this, honey?” I asked. “It’s like she doesn’t have a care in the world.”

Anne smiled, “I’m sure she’s happy to finally be away from all the other puppies. Now she can finally relax.”

In the end, we convinced Mrs. Robins to sell Sassy to us and we bought her at the ‘discounted’ price of $800. Included in that price were a few extra’s specific to Sassy – her blanket, a plastic chew toy, and some molasses syrup we were instructed to give her if she ever acted lethargic. The breeder also urged us to be sure to take Sassy back to the Sunshine Animal Hospital for her next scheduled visit so they could check her out one last time — the appointment was already set for next week.

Meanwhile, I was more than a little concerned that we just blew nearly a grand on a dog that potentially wouldn’t last a month, but the more I held Sassy on the way home — watching her little body rise and fall as she breathed with such contentment — the more I found myself falling for her. “She’s so tiny.” I couldn’t help stating the obvious.

“I know.” Anne replied. “That’s why I had to have her. I couldn’t let all those other puppies bully her around any more. When she came over to me that first time, I could see in her eyes that she was just begging to be rescued. There’s really no way we could have left her there.”

“So basically you were just amusing me by playing with the other pups I picked out? You really had no intention of getting either of them.”

“Sorry, honey, but you guessed right – it was Sassy all along.” And Anne reached a hand over to pet Sassy’s back — at which point, I felt Sassy purr like a cat. (Perhaps a manipulative little Cheshire Cat?)

***

When we arrived back at the apartment Anne shared with her mother Rose, Sassy woke up as we got out of the car — suddenly curious as to where we were. “Don’t worry, girl.” I said to her. “This is your new home.”

Anne could hardly contain her excitement as we walked in through the attached garage, “Let’s put her down and see what she does. Better yet, let’s see how my mom reacts!”

“Ok, but I hope she doesn’t have to go pee.” I laughed as I set Sassy free on the tile of the laundry room.

Amazingly — as if she had lived here for years — Sassy navigated her way directly into Anne’s mother’s bedroom, and then into the closet where Rose was sorting through some shoe boxes on the floor.

“Oh my, who is this?” Rose laughed when Sassy pawed her with her chicken leg.

“She’s your birthday present, Mom.” Anne knelt down beside her. “She’s a purebred Yorkie.”

“Oh, Anne and Michael. Thank you so much.” Rose hugged Sassy to her. “Why she is so beautiful. Look at that face – how precious.”

Now Anne and I had already decided on the drive home that, since Sassy was so young, and since she hadn’t had the best of experiences the first few months of her life, perhaps it would be good to give her a new name. So as we all sat in Rose’s bedroom with a now playful puppy, Anne asked, “Well, Mom, what would you like to name her?”

“Oh that’s easy.” Rose replied. “I knew that as soon as I saw her — I want to call her Sassy.'”

Anne and I looked at each other in amazement, our jaws practically hanging on the floor. “But…hah? wha–?” Was all I could stutter out.

Meanwhile Anne reached over to pick up Sassy and checked to see if we had somehow missed a name tag on her collar (we didn’t).  “Mom, how did you know?”

“What are you talking about, dear?” Rose promptly took Sassy back, stroking her behind the ears.

“But Sassy is the name the breeder gave her.” I explained. “How in God’s green earth did you know that?”

“I didn’t.” Rose laughed. “She just looks like a Sassy to me.”

***

Sassy took to her new home like mashed potatoes takes to gravy — never once did she whimper at the loss of her mother or litter mates, she showed no signs of homesickness, and she scampered around the apartment completely care free.

Naturally Anne and Rose spoiled Sassy to every extreme. She had the best dog food they could find – a brand specifically made for Yorkie puppies. She was showered with every variety of toy and treat that fit her size. And of course they outfitted her sleeping crate with a heating pad to keep her comfortable. At the time, the world of doggie accessories was still pretty new, and Anne was one of the first on the puppy wearing bandwagon – pretty much carrying Sassy around in her purse wherever she went around town — and with Sassy being so small and not a barker, most people in public never even knew she was in there.

We told Rose the story behind Sassy’s shaved leg, but despite any concerns I might have had about buying a potentially sickly dog, Rose shared the same mindset as Anne and dismissed any notion but that Sassy would turn out completely healthy under their care.  Sure there were a few times when Anne and Rose felt the need to give Sassy some of the molasses syrup Mrs. Robin’s gave us — rubbing the dark syrup on her gums to ensure she kept her sugar up, but on the whole Sassy acted completely healthy. Since I lived in the same apartment complex, I was pretty much at Anne’s place every evening – mainly because I wanted to see my girlfriend, but also because I couldn’t get enough of Sassy either — her personality of gentle playfulness was contagious and she had the cutest, most perfectly proportioned little puppy face I had ever seen.

How could I have ever doubted she was the right choice? I often pondered when I played with her. Thankfully Anne knew better.

In just a few days, it seemed to all of us that bright-eyed little Sassy had already gained a bit of weight. We all laughed to see her eat her food – she required one of us to pick out each individual kibble and place it on the ground in front of here so she could stalk it first before pouncing on it. Yes, this eating process took longer than it probably should have, since most pups might wolf down their meals in a jiffy,  but we didn’t mind Sassy’s quirkiness. Besides the fun we had a mealtimes, each of us also took turns playing with her on the floor with her toys — amazed at how gentle her aggressive play was. And we hooted in delight as we watched her race along the floor and attempt to  jump upon a giant throw pillow that was some four inches tall — despite her determination, Sassy couldn’t make that leap just yet and would inevitably end up taking a splat on the soft carpet — at which point, she would run back and try again — with the same result.

At night, Sassy wasn’t shy about letting Rose or Anne know when she was ready for bed — if she wasn’t in their lap already, either she would fall asleep amidst a pile of toys on the floor, or if she was really insistent, she’d lay in the hallway outside Rose’s bedroom — giving everybody an obvious signal that it was time to go to sleep.  In addition, we had no trouble crate-training Sassy because she simply loved her crate — it was like her little refuge — a dark cave filled with warm blankets and a tiny bone. She slept contentedly in her crate without ever a whimper — highly unusual for such a young puppy, but as Anne continued to remind us, “Clearly she’s happy to be in a place of her own, away from her competitive litter mates.”

***

“The doctor will be with you shortly.” The receptionist at the Sunshine Animal Clinic told us.

Although Sassy had been with us for a week and by all indications was doing well, we didn’t want to take any chances with her health and so Anne and I kept the appointment the breeder had made for Sassy to be checked by the vet that saved her life.

The clinic was a small place on busy Nebraska Avenue. Besides being about 40 minutes from our apartment complex, it wasn’t a vet we would have chosen on our own, however the office itself was pleasant inside and the receptionist who greeted us was quite welcoming, so I couldn’t help but get a good feeling about the place.

In what would later become a running joke for our family whenever we visited any vet with Sassy, as soon as we entered the clinic Sassy perked up and acted as “bright and alert” as she could – clearly trying to let us know she didn’t need to be at the doctor’s office and that we could be on our way home at once. Anne and I shared a laugh at Sassy’s behavior, yet despite what Sassy wanted, we decided to wait and visit with the doctor just to be safe.

As we sat in the small waiting area by the front door of the clinic, I spied a humongous cat sitting atop an end table in the corner. “Good God, Anne, would you look at that!” It was the biggest tomcat I had ever seen – a mass of orange and grey hair that covered the entire top of the table. Its head was covered by its paws so I couldn’t tell if it was awake, but it had a tail well over a foot long that dangled lazily at its side. “I wonder what something like that eats?!?”

Instinctively, Anne clutched Sassy to her, holding her away from the cat, “Surely that can’t be real!

The receptionist had apparently overheard our remarks, “Oh that’s just Oliver. He’s real all right. Would you believe he weighs almost 40 pounds? He’s Dr. Avery’s special friend and he’s lived here for years.”

“But is that a cat or a bobcat or something else?” I asked. “I’ve never seen a tomcat grow so big? I mean, is that healthy for him to be so large?”

“He’s just an ordinary tomcat. And believe it or not, he’s actually not obese. Dr. Avery says he’s pretty healthy for his age – Oliver will be 15 next month.” And then after a call from the back, the receptionist added. “Sounds like the doc is ready for you. Y’all can go on back now.”

Dr. Avery was a tall, thin man with wispy grey hair and a large pair of spectacles that dominated his wrinkled face. Like Mrs. Robins, the vet appeared to be over seventy years old, yet his winsome smile belied his age. I liked him as soon as I saw him and for his part he made us feel welcome.

“Oh, my dear little Sassy.” Dr. Avery held out his hands, accepting Sassy from Anne. For her part, Sassy didn’t shy away. In fact, as soon as the doctor laid his gentle hands on her, Sassy tried to shower him with kisses — which the old man gladly accepted. “OK. OK. Let me get a look at you, girl.”

Dr. Avery told us more of the story about the emergency that brought Sassy to him – for the most part confirming what the breeder said about Sassy’s blood sugar running too low for too long – essentially putting her in a near coma-like condition. “Believe it or not, it was touch and go with her for quite a few days. There were a number of nights when I stayed right here with her all night — sleeping in that armchair there while Sassy slept on a heating pad in my lap or over in that laundry basket there on the table.” And he waved his hand to a side table which had a mini clothes basket on it. “Those are Sassy’s baby blankets in there – I couldn’t bear to get rid of them yet.”

By this point, Anne had tears in her eyes, “Oh, Dr. Avery, thank you for all you did for little Sassy.”

I was misty-eyed as well, “Doc, you truly went above and beyond the call of duty. I don’t know too many vets that would get involved like you did. After all, you must see tons of other animals come through here that are in dire straits too.”

“Ah, but none of those are Sassy. Just look at her,” the gentle old man replied. “Have you ever seen such a face? Who wouldn’t do anything for her?”

We stayed for nearly an hour while the doctor gave Sassy a thorough examination. The clinic was not busy and it was clear that Dr. Avery was enjoying his time with Sassy — for her part, Sassy too appeared happy to be around her friend again. All of which made we wonder why Dr. Avery hadn’t kept Sassy for his own when the breeder offered? To be honest, I felt a little like an adoptive parent who is around their child’s birth mother and is part happy to see their child united with their original parent, but also partly afraid that either the birth mom will want their child back or that the child will want to return to their birth mom.

Perhaps sensing our fear, Dr. Avery was kind enough to offer up, “I don’t know if Mrs. Robins told you or not, but she offered Sassy to me after I waived her bills for Sassy’s care.” And looking into Sassy’s eyes, he continued, “It was a precious gift – to be able to share this life with Sassy.” And he sighed, “But the timing is just not right. As you can see, I am no longer a young man. I couldn’t take the risk that something would happen to me causing Sassy left alone. No, no, I knew that Sassy needed younger parents – a couple who could focus on her and give her the attention and love she deserves. Although I knew it was a risk to let fate decide by letting Sassy be adopted by chance, I can see now that my faith was well served – for it’s clear by the look of happiness in her eyes that what Sassy needed was YOU.”

There wasn’t a dry eye in the room as we all laid hands on Sassy and said a quiet prayer asking God to bless Sassy with good health and a long life. (And silently I prayed the same for the good doctor as well).

 

Sassy’s Life Lesson #2 – There is Goodness in the World

Take a quick glance at the news pretty much any day of the week and you’ll see stories of violence, man’s inhumanity to man, and all the many ills that trouble our world. For that matter, you probably don’t have to look far in your everyday life to see what’s wrong with the world – from road rage, to impatience in the store checkout line, to arguments at the ball field, it’s clear we’ve got a lot of problems getting along with each other. So much so that it’s enough to make you feel like giving up on people, right?

However, Sassy’s story is just one example (of many) that show us that all is not lost. There is still goodness in the world. People DO care. From the unselfish and generous Dr. Avery’s of the world (who took the time to save a ‘lost cause’ patient like Sassy even though he never got paid for it), to Mrs. Robins the breeder (who, in spite of being overwhelmed with more puppies than she really could handle, still gave Sassy a chance to survive and did try to nurse her back to health), to Anne’s mother Rose who made an instant connection with Sassy and started the process of spoiling her with creature comforts, to Anne who went against the norm and took a chance on buying a sick puppy that very well might have died a few days after we brought her home. These good people took a chance on Sassy — and I’m eternally grateful to all of them because their efforts brought Sassy into my life.

Here I’m reminded of another biblical story which is also from Luke’s gospel — this one begins on Luke 5:18 and tells the story of a paralytic man who is confined to a mat. The friends of this man wanted to bring him to Jesus to be healed, however Jesus was inside a small house and there was an enormous crowd around him such that the men couldn’t get through. At this point, most people probably would have said “well, we tried, but it just was not meant to be’ and would likely have given up. But not these men — instead they persisted in their effort and found a way to help their friend. What did they do? They climbed up on the roof, tore off the tiles and lowered their paralyzed friend down through the roof in front of Jesus! Even the lord was amazed by their efforts and of course healed the man. Now that’s an example of goodness if there ever was one!

In the same way, people didn’t give up on Sassy. Throughout her entire life, Sassy could have been left for dead on many occasions because she was repeatedly ‘a lost cause’ by most standards — and yet, because there is goodness in this world, people continued to go out of their way to help her.

I find that inspiring, don’t you? It makes me want to go out and help others. It makes me want to share a message of hope that we can make a difference — if we just try.

 

Point to Ponder

What can you do today that would help bring a little goodness to our world?

Click here for more information about this book, its online format, and the introduction…

Chapter 1 – Find Your Voice

(Jan 31, 2001)

“Come on, Anne, this place is a dump.” I said to my girlfriend as I reluctantly pulled our vehicle into the driveway of a rundown bungalow. “Let’s turn around and wait for an ad from a different breeder.”

“We’re here now so let’s just make the best of it.” Anne hopped out of the CRV and ran up to the porch before I could protest further.

When Anne said she wanted to get a Yorkshire Terrier puppy directly from a breeder, I guess I had naive visions of visiting a cottage in the country with puppies tiptoeing through the springtime air; I never assumed we’d instead end up at some dingy home in a sketchy part of old Tampa. But Yorkie breeders back in 2001 were hard to find locally and our time frame was short — we needed one for her mother’s birthday which was fast approaching — so when this one advertised a new litter available, we decided to arrange an appointment.

We were given another chance to leave when our repeated knocks on the front door went unanswered, but then Anne claimed she heard someone call out from inside. “That must be the breeder – I think she told us to come in.”

“How can you hear anything over all that barking?” I raised my voice over the cacophony of puppy calls, yet followed her inside nonetheless.

The smell of urine and dog hair was overwhelming as we crossed the threshold and I thought my allergies would send me screaming back outside, however I vowed to make the best of it — after all, I was only one year into my relationship with Anne and since I really liked her I knew I had to play the good boyfriend role and help her with this mission. Even as I closed the door, little black and tan puffballs began to assault my legs, begging for attention. “Well, let’s get your mom a dog!” I smiled, reaching down to pick one up.

The breeder, Mrs. Robin, was a short weeble of a woman with a storm of wild gray hair. She was the one who had called out to us when we knocked at the door and was sitting in the corner of her living room on a patchwork lazy-boy that had seen its best days decades past. Like a pied piper, she was surrounded by Yorkie pups — some crawling over her, others playing with squeaky toys, still more clawing at the newspapers that lined the floor. I guessed that she was north of seventy years old and how she kept up with the business of taking care of all her dogs was beyond me, yet I could instantly see in her face that her dogs were her heart and soul. She managed a tired smile as she welcomed us into her home and invited us to look at her latest litters.

Why Anne wanted a Yorkshire Terrier for her mother I had no idea; at the time, they were not the uber popular breed they are today. I had a Great Dane (Caesar) when I was five – a regal beast of a dog who unfortunately got ‘sent to the farm’ as a victim of my allergies (don’t worry in this case it was an actual farm run by my relatives) – and later, while I was in high school, my family had adopted a Chihuahua (ChiChi) – since it was a breed which was relatively hypo-allergenic (and I think they figured that if it wasn’t I’d be gone soon enough anyway). ChiChi was a fiercely loyal (read “cantankerous”) little dog who had grown so obese from table scraps that my parents now had to carry her around in a laundry basket because her tiny legs would often collapse under her if she tried walking too far. Although I had long since moved away from my family’s home in Pennsylvania and was now living in Florida, I recalled ChiChi with fond memories to Anne and had encouraged her to get a Chihuahua for her mother since I knew the breed and since they were still all the rage — “after all, Paris Hilton has one; surely your mom would like one to carry around too,” I remember joking with her. Yet that logic didn’t work for Anne; she had her heart set on a Yorkie, and when Anne made up her mind, it could not be changed.

That being said, I still found that decision rather peculiar because it’s not like Anne was all that familiar with the Yorkie breed. I know she had a toy poodle growing up (Zsa-Zsa) – a puppy The Shaw’s adopted when Anne was only one year old and which followed her military family around the world. Zsa-Zsa lived to the ripe old age of 19 and died not from old age itself but instead from an accidental drowning when she slipped and fell into the backyard pool – unbeknownst to all until it was sadly too late. After mourning Zsa-Zsa and moving out on her own, Anne switched to raising German Shepherds – quite a change from dealing with toy poodles, and clearly different the the Yorkie she was proposing now. Nonetheless a Yorkie was Anne’s choice — “for her mom.” In addition, Anne was dead set on getting a pure-bred dog from a breeder because she felt that the animal would have less health concerns (or at least that their health would be more of a known quantity since the parents would be identifiable) and most importantly that (like Zsa-Zsa) it could potentially live a long time.

Now my only previous experience in picking a pure-bred puppy was when my family bought ChiChi from a pet shop — as she was only one of two chihuahuas in stock at the time, the only ‘choice’ we had was whether we wanted a male or a female from a sibling group. I remember that we chose the female thinking she would pee in the house less than the boy, but since ChiChi later steadfastly refused to go outside when the weather was cold and since my family lived in Pennsylvania where it was cold half the year, ChiChi’s housebreaking would eventually consist of teaching her to relieve herself on a pad of newspapers in the corner (it worked surprising well). When we first adopted ChiChi she was already six months old and I remember that we felt bad about leaving her brother behind, so about a month later we returned to the pet store hoping to adopt him too. At the time we were told that the male had grown too old so he had been ‘returned to the breeder,’ however we later learned that a neighbor had found him abandoned in a box near the dumpster of a major retailer in the pet store’s strip center! (Not only did our neighbor adopt ChiChi’s brother, but he named him ‘K-Martie’ in memory of where he was found).

Yet buying ChiChi from a pet store gave me little preparation for how to choose the right puppy from among a group of twenty or so tiny Yorkies between eight to twelve weeks old. Mrs. Robin told us about the parents of the various litters and invited us to look in her kitchen where the adults were housed. Stacks of dishes were in the sink, dog bowls with food and water lined the walls, and about ten adult Yorkies scampered around the kitchen. One of them kept up a constant barking and pawed at the plastic fence that separated the kitchen from the puppy room.

“Don’t mind her.” Mrs. Robin explained. “That’s Queen Raven, one of the mothers. She wants her pups. I’ll give her time with them again once you leave.”

“Why is that one in a cage?” I pointed to a larger dog that was in a crate on the counter, separated from the others.

“That’s Lady – she’s in heat and I have to keep her apart from the males.” Mrs. Robin smiled. “I’m not ready for another litter just yet.”

Looking at all the puppies who had yet to find homes, I could see the logic of her words. So, we got back to the business of trying to choose a puppy for Anne’s mother.

I jostled with a pair of pups that appeared healthy and sociable — they were a male and female that seemed to go everywhere together despite the maze of Yorkies all around.  Perhaps one of these will do? — I thought to myself as I looked over to Anne — she was sitting on the couch and smiling at one which had quietly nuzzled up against her leg.

“What about this little one with the chicken leg?” Anne reached down to pick up the tiny creature – it was clearly the runt of the litter for it was much smaller than the rest of the puppies that surrounded us; unlike the others, this one was not barking at all, yet more curious still was the fact that its front left leg had been shaved clean, giving it the appearance of a little pink drumstick.

“Oh, I see that Sassy has found you.” Mrs. Robin said apologetically. “I’m not sure she’d be the best dog for you – her health is quite fragile.” And she pointed over to a crate off to the side, “That’s Sassy’s. See the heating pad? She sleeps on that most of the day. She was born with my 12-week litter but she’s still smaller than the 8-weekers. She almost died, you know.”

Anne’s face went white as she clutched the little Yorkie to her, “What happened? Is that why she doesn’t bark?”

“Ha, I don’t know why Sassy hasn’t bark yet,” Mrs. Robin replied, “but I’m sure she will eventually. As to what happened to her, she couldn’t keep her sugar up. It’s common with small breeds; not every pup makes it. To be honest with you, Sassy was one that probably shouldn’t have made it.”

“But why? What’s the matter with her?”

“It’s simple really, Sassy wouldn’t fight for her food against her litter mates, so she didn’t grow. There’s only so much I can do to help. A dog has to stick up for itself and get to the teet. Sassy is not aggressive, so her litter mates always pushed her off the teet. About a week after birth I found her off to the side one morning — she was barely breathing and unable to move. I tried giving her some Karo syrup but it didn’t help. I thought she was a goner when I took her to the vet — she ended up staying there for nearly two months. Her leg is shaved because that’s where the IV was in — it was the only way they could get enough nutrients in her.  Lucky for Sassy, they saved her life. And lucky for me, the vet’s office fell in love with her so they didn’t charge me a dime!”

“Gee whiz, two months at the vet?” I was sure Anne would dismiss little chicken leg as an option after hearing that.  “You are lucky, Mrs. Robin, because I imagine that would have been some vet bill! But if the vets loved her so much, why didn’t they adopt her?”

“Don’t know.” The breeder replied. “Lord knows I offered her to them. They almost took her, but at the last minute said they couldn’t because they already had too many other animals to care for.”

“But Sassy is OK now, right?” Anne stroked her new friend behind the ears.

Surely she’s is not considering that sickly puppy? I wondered. And before the breeder could answer I asked some practical questions of my own. “Well, even if she is ‘OK’ she’s clearly not the same fitness level as these others. I mean, what will Sassy’s future look like? Will she grow normally? Will she always be sick?”

“Is she for sale?” Anne nuzzled Sassy, who was now nearly asleep in her lap.

“Anne, come on now,” I cautioned. “Is it really a good decision to get your mom a sick dog? Look at these two I’m holding. They’re both cute and they’re both a lot bigger – relatively speaking.”

“I want to know about Sassy.” Anne was firm. “What would you sell her for, Mrs. Robin?”

“Bring her over here.” The old woman held out her arms and Anne brought her the tiny pup. Mrs. Robin held her up by the scruff and looked into Sassy’s face, “I hadn’t priced her out because I hadn’t intended to sell her. Let me think about it while you continue looking at some other pups. Check out those two your husband is holding — they are siblings from a strong blood line.”

“He’s not my husband.” Anne corrected, unsure what to do and hesitating to leave Sassy, but when the breeder shooed her again, she came over to me — wading her way through a roiling pile of puppies.

“Look at them, honey.” I smiled. “They really are cute and cuddly.” I found myself getting attached to the puffballs in my lap, and thinking back to what happened with ChiChi’s brother long ago, I was sure that I had a chance to make up for past wrong, so I offered up, “We could get one for your mom and then one for us. Then your mom won’t be lonely and you won’t feel bad about leaving her to move in with me.”

Anne smiled at the thought and sat down on the floor next to me. Puppies clawed at her from all directions — she paid a mind to each while trying to play with the two in my lap. Meanwhile the breeder kept Sassy at her side. For a brief moment, I thought I caught Sassy looking at me — with those sad puppy dog eyes that can penetrate even the most stoic of souls. It was a moment in time that caught me off guard, yet I quickly looked away — protecting my heart so I wouldn’t get tempted to play the hero role for a sick dog that I was in no position to help.

This isn’t some Hollywood movie, I told myself. It’s not our job to save her. She’s better off with the breeder than us, right? And I focused again on the healthy dogs in my lap — both of which were yipping happily as Anne tickled them.

“What do you think, honey?” I asked. “Should we get them both? The girl for your mom and the boy for us.”  And sensing that Anne was on the brink of agreeing, I asked the breeder, “How much for the pair, Mrs. Robin?”

Anne was facing me, with her back to the breeder, so she didn’t see what happened when I asked that question – but I did. It was not a surprise to me to see the breeder smile at the prospect of selling two dogs. What did get to me was the glimpse I saw of Sassy suddenly fidgeting to get out from under the old woman’s grasp – it even appeared that she reached that little chicken leg over in my direction!

This is crazy. I thought. Obviously my allergies are getting to me and my mind is playing tricks on me; that dog is NOT calling out to you, Mike. And I looked up at Mrs. Robin as she answered my question.

“I was asking $1,000 a piece because of their blood lines.” She said. “But if you buy them both, I’ll give them to you for $1,800 total.”

It was a steep number to pay for a couple of dogs in my opinion, but it was the going rate for pure-bred Yorkies at the time and we knew that before we came here so it wasn’t a surprise. “Well, what do you think, Anne?” I asked. “Let’s do it!”

Picking up both of the rambunctious pups, Anne smiled at me. I was sure she was about to say ‘yes,’ when of sudden a tiny little <yip!> sounded from the breeder’s direction. I looked over to see that Sassy had somehow made her way up onto the woman’s lap. “Oh, excuse me.” Mrs. Robin put a wrinkled hand up to her mouth as if she had just hiccuped, while at the same time she maneuvered Sassy back down to her side – between her leg and the arm of the chair — and most importantly, out of sight.

Of course, by then it didn’t matter. The whole charade of adopting the brother/sister was gone, for Anne had turned around and seen Sassy again. “I want Sassy.” She stood up. “And I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, Mrs. Robin, so how much?”

And so it was that our journey with Sassy began…

 

Sassy’s Life Lesson #1: Find Your Voice

Remember, up until this day Sassy had never barked before. And while it’s hard to call her little yip a bark, clearly it was her attempt to speak and get our attention. It worked — that little yip was the powerful force that brought our attention back to her and sealed the deal – securing our hearts forever in the process.

And yet, let’s think about Sassy’s situation at the time – she was a runt, undernourished, living amidst a pack of other puppies all much stronger than her, she’d been sick and nearly left for dead, and in spite of overcoming those initial problems, it’s quite possible she may not have survived much longer in that environment — where the breeder had a much stronger incentive to take care of the healthier puppies instead of Sassy. Perhaps Sassy knew her situation was desperate and that we were her last hope?

This reminds me of the biblical story of a blind beggar that begins on Luke 18:35 in which a blind man was sitting in neglect by the road while a large crowd passed him by. When he found out Jesus of Nazareth was among the crowd he called out for help. The crowd kept telling him to be quiet but the blind man called all the more, desperately raising his voice to be heard, and calling attention to himself — until finally Jesus asked him what he wanted. “I want to see!” He cried. And Jesus healed him because of his boldness and his faith.

I’d venture to say that most people in the beggar’s situation would likely not even have tried to brave that large crowd, assuming that there were just too many people already around Jesus for a blind man to ever get through. (Honestly that’s probably where I would have given up). And for those that did try, I’d guess that they’d have given up after calling out a bit and being harassed by that large, scary crowd and told to ‘shut up.’ I wonder, how many people would have had the courage to continue calling out? Would you have?

Thankfully Sassy had the courage of that blind beggar and, even when the breeder tried to hold her back, Sassy found a way to raise her voice in desperation to us. That little yip, her very first, was her way of telling us, “Rescue me!” And so we did. It was an event which changed all of our lives forever.

 

Point to Ponder:

What’s happening in your life right now that could be changed if you found your voice?