Kika was born 17 April 1995 in Austin, Texas. There is a large flea market on the outskirts of Austin, that at the time housed a vendor that sold rat terrier puppies. Adam and his father flew down to Austin to buy two puppies--a male to mate with the family's female rat terrier, and another puppy to serve as a companion dog to an elderly friend of the family. Adam remembers a box full of pudgy, wiggly puppies, and from that box, they selected a male dog, Gizmo, and a female, Kika. 1995 was several years before the post-9/11 intensely secure screening procedures that are now commonplace at airports. So, it wasn't hard for Adam and his father to tuck the tiny puppies into their coat pockets and pass right through the metal detectors. Once on the plane, they placed the sleepy puppies on the empty seat between them and let them eat and sleep. Kika's life started off flying high.
Four years later, after living with her elderly owner, Kika came to live with Adam and me when the owner died. Adam and I were a new couple, just starting to live together, and I had adjusted well to being with Adam and Shabbi. Although Kika had come around for "playdates" on many occasions, and I had even had an inkling we would eventually become her family, I was still a little shocked when it actually came to pass. After all, there wasn't a lot of love lost between us at first. Kika had not been exposed to other dogs or many other people when she lived with her first owner, so she growled, snarled and snapped whenever somebody (other than Adam or Shabbi) came close. Her nails were so long they curled over, but when I tried to cut them, she made a move to bite me. As a former dog groomer, I had very little tolerance for insolent dogs, so I became much more determined to get her nails cut, which of course, just made her angrier. Kika was also not housebroken, so we were left with many "gifts" all over our apartment when she moved in. It was an exercise in extreme patience to learn to live with her, and to try housebreaking and training her. Unlike Shabbi, Kika didn't necessarily aim to please, and so any moves toward training fell on deaf ears.
But then, things started to change. Kika began to learn from Shabbi that the appropriate place to relieve herself was outside, and so the accidents inside ceased. And Kika started to become friendlier toward me, too (which no doubt, was helped along by the fact that I was nicer toward her since she wasn't having accidents inside). We became a true family of four, enjoying evening walks at the park, weekend hikes and car rides to visit friends and family. Life was good. Then, in July 2000, Adam went away for two weeks of military service, leaving me alone with the girls for the first time. Within hours of his departure, I noticed that Shabbi seemed listless, refusing to eat but drinking relentlessly. At first, I thought she was just despondent over Adam's absence, but it soon became apparent something else was wrong. After taking her to three different veterinarians, we finally got a diagnosis of pyometra, or infection of the uterus. Her uterus--usually 7 ounces--at that point weighed 7 pounds and was near rupturing, which would have killed her. She went into surgery right away. I sat at home, paralyzed with fear for Shabbi's life, and feeling completely responsible for the fate of Adam's dog. But it was Kika who sat on my lap, licking my tears away, and trying to get me out of my stupor to play. She kept me going while Shabbi fought for her life. It took a crisis for Kika and me to realize we indeed were a family and loved one another.
In 2002, our family moved to Michigan to start a new life. Shabbi adapted to her new surroundings well; Kika resigned herself to the unfamiliar faces of our new friends and to the harsh winter weather. But, we eventually found lots of parks for evening and weekend visits, and we made trips around the state to see Michigan's natural wonders, and so even Kika fell into a groove. Both she and Shabbi accompanied me in the field during my graduate research, and I carry many fond memories of two summers living along the Au Sable River with my pups. In 2006, we started to notice that Shabbi, who had suffered from seizures for several months, seemed to have slipped into a permanent state of dementia. We were all confused and frustrated, but none more than Kika, who had lost her big sister and playmate. Then, in 2007, Adam deployed to Iraq for nine months, leaving me with Kika and a "not-quite-Shabbi." It was a difficult existence for us all, Shabbi pacing around the house, her legs faltering beneath her, and losing control of her bowels. I was stressed from constantly cleaning up after her and from not having Adam around to help. Kika was stressed by my stress and from loneliness. Life was tough. But that summer, I accepted a temporary position in Oregon conducting wildlife surveys for a fellow graduate student. I didn't know how I was going to handle the logistics of two dogs--one very ill--while I balanced work, but I knew that a move out of my surroundings was exactly what I needed. So we packed up and left.
It was wonderful, a summer of new sights, new people and new experiences. And I had my girls along to take it all in with me. Kika took care of me and Shabbi as much as I took care of her. For the first time in her life, she had become the alpha dog, and it suited her well. She groomed Shabbi and looked after her. And when Adam returned and the day came that we said good-bye to Shabbi, Kika was right there.
It was difficult for Kika to become the only dog; it's like she didn't quite know how to do it. We noticed that she seemed more anxious to please than she'd ever been in her life. It was heartbreaking to see her trying to understand death--the one thing most of us can't understand ourselves.
In April 2008, a straggly, pathetic grey cat appeared on our doorstep, and never left. We had never had a cat before, but our hearts were open to helping an animal with the pain of losing Shabbi so fresh. But we wondered how Kika would take to the cat we named Greg House. While Greg House was playful and deferential to her, Kika only tolerated him, giving no indication she was receptive to his friendly advances. At the same time, she never tried to attack him, and we suspect that she enjoyed having another animal in the house again.
The test of all tests was when, in May 2009, we welcomed Bryony into our world. Kika curled up next to me on the couch while I held and nursed the baby, more curious than jealous or bitter. When Bryony was able to crawl and walk around, Kika never so much as growled, even when Bryony was a bit too rough in her play. We were forever thankful for the good humor she displayed in her old age.
This last year was a tough one for our old girl, although we were thankful that she was able to spend it in Texas (she never did get used to the Michigan cold). She lost her ability to walk, stand, and even sit herself up long enough to eat. We became her caregivers, beyond what I had ever had to do for Shabbi. But we were willing to do whatever she needed us to, as long as she wasn't in pain. In the end, we determined that her quality of life--most of it spent lying on the couch, disengaged from the rest of the family, barking continuously--was diminished. We wanted to say good-bye to her while she had some dignity left; we couldn't keep her alive for ourselves.
Kika passed quickly and peacefully with her family surrounding her. It was devastating for us, but in our hearts we knew it was the right decision. For all that she gave to us, we wanted to give her the ending she deserved. We try to remember as we grieve that she led a wonderful life. Kika hit all four corners of this country--Seattle, WA; San Diego, CA; Key West, FL; and Kennebunkport, ME. She travelled to Crater Lake, the Redwood Forest, Yosemite NP, Yellowstone NP, the Grand Tetons, Mt. Rushmore, and the Upper Peninsula, to name a few. She loved to play with her sister Shabbi, with her dad and me. In her later years, she took on Shabbi's affinity for tennis balls. She loved peanut butter.
She was loved by her family and we will never forget her.
Good-bye, Kika girl.
17 April 1995 - 5 February 2011
2 comments:
What a nice post, Lauren. I'm sorry for your loss.
Thanks, Sarah :-)
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