Abbie was a Good Girl

Sept. 21, 2010 - April 1, 2019

Steven Bender

One of the things I loved about my dog, Abbie, was her willingness to go anywhere, at any time. If I said the word “go,” “Jeep,” “river bottom” or “Prairie,” her head would twist with interest. Probably riding my four-wheeler, Prairie, was her most anticipated activity. One day, when I saw her missing from the yard, I found she had climbed up on the four-wheeler and lain down on the back rack. When I’d try to take her down, she would paw at me as if to say, “I’m good. Just leave me here.”

I brought Abbie home when she was eight weeks old, just three weeks after having put to sleep my yellow lab, Belle. Abbie had a role to fill, and she did it as well as any furry companion.

Abbie was a bird dog, and when we were able to go duck hunting, we did. One of her best hunts came on her first birthday when we took a limit of teal that September morning in 2011 at Otter Slough Conservation Area in Dexter, Missouri. Her last hunt was a memorable one at Ten Mile Pond Conservation Area in East Prairie, Missouri, in November 2017. She had two tibial-plateau-leveling osteotomy (TPLO) surgeries when she was young, and the arthritis in her hind legs was getting her down. That physical limitation kept her out all last season.

Abbie loved birds. I remember letting her out one morning, and she came up to me minutes later with a baby mockingbird sticking out of her mouth. Wasn’t much I could do for the unfortunate bird.

Pup and I loved to sit on the front walk in the evenings, no matter the time of year, and just listen (and sniff). Her last night alive, we sat out front until 1:00 a.m., just enjoying the quiet. She had issue with the coyotes howling, though. She either gave a subtle “woof” of disapproval or a flat-out barking session that put a plug in the yodelling dogs. Abbie had a wonderfully guttural bark that would make one think she was vicious. She wasn’t.

Abbie and I would often play-fight in the yard or driveway. She would lunge at me, try to nip my hand and scamper away, and I’d try to catch her. We did this until I finally caught her and would say “game over.” Our fights would last from 1 to 5 minutes, depending on who wore out first.

Pup had quirks. Most people would start to pet her by rubbing her head, but her favorite was a butt rub. When someone would rub the hair by her tail, she would start wiggling her butt and dancing back and forth.

Just like Belle before her, Abbie loved being at the Mississippi River. I’m fortunate to know people who own private property along the river, and I would often take her there and walk for miles up Windy Bar Conservation Area in Cape Girardeau County. It was our favorite getaway.

But, unfortunately, all good dogs have an end. Around early March this year, Abbie developed a lump on her left shoulder. A local veterinarian performed surgery to remove the lump but was unable to remove the tumor because of its location. A histopath came back saying she had a “mast cell tumor,” and it continued to grow.

During her last few days, I spent every minute with her I could, but by Sunday night, March 31, I knew what the next day would bring. There’s a saying that “Dogs give you the best days of your life and one of the worst.” It’s true.

On the morning of April 1, I sat on the floor of the vet exam room with my right arm under Abbie’s chest, hugging her. Once the injections went in, I felt her heart beat for the last time. She was 8 and half years old. And, yes, Abbie was a good girl.

Love you, pup.