Abigail

Do dogs live 15 years? Abigail did. I believe God prolonged her life so she could be a source of comfort when my family needed her most. A collie-beagle mix, Abigail was a gift from a family my father worked for. We both were youngsters when Abby (her nickname) came to live with us. I was 8, and Abby was 2. One of the amazing things about her was the way she individualized her relationship with each member of our family.

With my near-blind grandmother, Abby was quiet, cautious, and careful to make sure my grandmother didn’t trip over her. With the elder of the household, my grandfather, Abby was passive and respectful—no jumping on furniture when he was around. To my brothers and me, she was pure puppy, frisky and playful. To my father, she was the obedient family pet. He was her disciplinarian (although he hated to punish her).

My mother was Abby’s special friend. My mother taught school, and Abby knew her schedule perfectly. Each afternoon at the same time, Abby would jump into the chair in front of the living room window and peer through the Venetian blinds to watch for my mother’s car. It was a happy daily reunion.

My mother also was responsible for transporting Abby to her veterinary appointments. I went along to help keep Abby distracted because she hated the vet. Like a child afraid of needles, she was sullen in the vet’s waiting room. When the vet gave Abby her shots, my mother always soothed her and lifted her down from the examination table when the vet was done. Abby leaped and played all around my mother on the way back to the car, as if to say, “Thank you for taking care of me in this scary place.”

Dogs sense death. I’m sure of that When my mother became seriously ill with cancer just before Christmas of 1972, I believe Abby knew death was near—my mother’s and her own. She was an old dog by then, with many health problems. But she remained the loving pet, offering her affection during a time when my father, brothers, and I were faced with confusion and sadness.

My mother died a few weeks after Christmas. I was a sophomore in college, but I was too overcome with the loss to return to school right away. I stayed at home for a few weeks with my father and brothers. My most poignant memory of that time was watching Abby loyally jump each afternoon into the living room chair to watch for my mother’s arrival from school. I would sit in the chair with her, and the two of us tried as best we could to face the fact that my mother would not be coming home that day.

After I returned to college, I had reports from my father over the next few months that Abby’s health was failing. Perhaps he waited too long to make the dreaded decision to put Abby out of her misery—two loved ones’ deaths so close in time were likely more than he could bear. At the end, Abby made it easy for him. She was near death when he took her to an animal hospital to be put to sleep. I received the phone call at college. “Abby’s gone,” my father said, and we both wept on the phone.

When I think of Abby now, I see God’s hand in her presence in our lives. She was a constant source of friendship and comfort. In her final act of loyalty, Abby waited to die until she sensed her work was done in our household.

The elders had passed on; the children had grown and gone; her closest buddy had died; and my father was preparing to sell the house and move on with his life. It was at that time that Abby said good-bye.

In some ways, it was her signal to us that a chapter of our lives had come to an end, and we needed to focus on the future. I thank God for this wonderful pet. Good dog, Abby, good dog.

By Sharon V. King - Tucker, GA
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