Monkeyshine (1997-2011)

If you've owned a dog long enough, there is a certain dread that comes with the certainty of knowing that if you take the old girl in to the vet, she is never coming home. Back in 2004 I had to go through this with Sigfreid Sebastian Bach, which was a horrible experience, but one softened somewhat by the knowledge of what was coming and that his medications gave him an extra four (mostly comfortable) months. Monkeyshine didn't have that luxury. Last Thursday I noticed she had a little bit of bloat to her belly. By Saturday she was eating only sparingly, and by Monday she was very swollen in the gut and barely moving. Beagles aren't prone to twisted stomachs, and the slow onset was ominous. Tuesday I took her in to the vet, already knowing the final diagnosis--only the details were in question. Congestive heart failure. Internal bleeding. Pancreatic cancer. She was 14 years old, and any one of those conditions was enough to kill her on its own. I buried her in Bastrop today, alongside Sigfreid and two of the family's cats.

This is my favorite photo of me with my dogs, back in younger days of all of us. Sigfreid's the one on the left, Monkeyshine's the one on the right. She was never quite as beloved as Sigfreid. She was the first joint pet The Wife and I got after we were married, a pound rescue that almost didn't happen. We were notified when she arrived, a hyper, 6-month-old puppy, and she took to us immediately. But the pound had a 48-hour waiting period in case the owners stepped forward, so we couldn't take here then. A less diligent animal shelter employee wasn't so strict with the rules, though, and came close to adopting her out later that same day before the boss intervened and pointed out she was already promised to us.

Once we got her home, it didn't take us long to figure out why her previous owners never claimed her. She was an escape artist. Every home we've owned, no matter how much I've dog-proofed the yard, she's gotten out. She could jump higher than any beagle I've ever seen. She even taught herself how to climb 6' chain-link fences. I kid you not. Back when we were trying to sell the Temple house and not living there full-time, an idiot realtor left the gate open and she disappeared for two weeks. We gave up, never expecting to see her again, but then got a call that she'd been found--miles away, across two large highways, including I-35. I've heard that God looks out for the innocent and fools, and that's probably why she ended up with us.

She wasn't a dumb dog by any means, but she didn't have the sense the Good Lord gave the goose. When I'd take Sigfreid to the park to let him run, he'd make big, looping circles, checking in every so often to make sure I hadn't left or that it wasn't time to go. Not so with Monkeyshine. The instant she was off the leash, she was running full-tilt and I'd be lucky to catch up with her three counties over. Sigfreid, the big lug, always thought this was some great new game and couldn't understand why I was so put-out afterwards. She also had issues with housebreaking. She didn't want to be broken. She finally grasped the idea that we did not want her to do her business inside, so for several days--maybe as long as a week--we thought she'd finally learned proper potty behavior. About that time we noticed her sneaking off behind the living room furniture. "Hey," she probably would've said had she been able to talk, "out of sight, out of mind." She was a full-time outside dog after that.

She settled down quite a bit after we lost Sigfreid. She got too fat to jump or climb fences. She played well with Precious and served as a pretty good role model until Precious was stolen from us a year ago 4th of July. Polkadots proved a little too frisky for her--for all his smarts, he's still a nipper--and they would squabble more than Monkeyshine did with any of our other dogs, but give them a few minutes and they'd be playing chase again.

She wasn't the best dog, but she was a sweetheart. Even as miserable and pained as she was, she never so much as whimpered. She even wagged her tail for The Wife before I took her to the vet. She deserved a better ending than what she got, and I pray I never again have to take another pet to that last trip to the vet.

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