What got left behind?

Sheena was our 90+ lb., brindle Akita. She was a thick-furred, gentle giant of a dog. We got her in the fall of 1987, the same year that Michelle was born. They grew up together, with Julie joining them three years later. Without batting an eye, Sheena graciously tolerated the two little girls hugging her neck a little too hard, laying on top of her, and riding her like a horse. When we moved to Georgia in 1999, of course Sheena came with us. She and Michelle became even closer at that point; Michelle was age 11 and had a hard time making the California-to-Georgia adjustment.  Sheena often served as both a companion and the focus of conversations with others for the shy Michelle.

Our house in Georgia didn’t have a fenced yard like the one in California did, and the garage didn’t have a door at first--it was a three-walled carport. But Sheena seemed to adjust well to her new surroundings. We kept her bed and food in the garage. She hung out around the house, never straying from the yard despite the fact that we were all gone to work and school every day. She was always there in the mornings, cuddled up on her pallet and seemingly wishing us a good day with her kind eyes. When we returned in the afternoons, she’d emerge from the garage to meet us with her curled, bushy tail wagging, happy to see us home again. She was starting to show her age, especially when attempting to get up from a lying down or sitting position. It took her much longer to rise and we could tell that her hips and back legs were arthritic and stiff. 

After Christmas, we decided to drive up to Michigan to spend the New Year’s holiday with my brother’s family. We’d been in Georgia for four months by that time and were all a little homesick, longing for familiar faces. The kids, being California girls, had never spent much time in the snow; they were looking forward to building snowmen and sledding in the “winter wonderland” with their cousins. We arranged with our neighbor Sherry to look after Sheena, showing her the bowls and food. Sherry is an animal lover and was happy to help out. As we backed out of the driveway, Sheena came out to watch us go, standing in the driveway with her head cocked as if to say, “You’re all leaving at once? Where are you going and why can’t I come along?”

We spent an enjoyable three days in Michigan and the morning of January 1^st as we were getting ready to leave, the phone rang. It was Sherry, and she was distraught. She said that the day before when she fed Sheena, the dog refused to come near her, cowering in the corner of the garage. Sheena was normally a very friendly animal and that was unusual behavior. Sherry had gone over again in the morning to check on her, but Sheena was gone. There had been lots of gunshots and fireworks during the night from New Year’s Eve revelers, and perhaps Sheena had been scared. We gave her directions to the house we rented when we first arrived in Georgia, thinking maybe Sheena had found her way back there, and we worriedly set off for home.

We were delayed a day in our travels when a big snowstorm hit Ohio that afternoon, forcing us to spend a long afternoon and night in Toledo due to closed highways. We called Sherry again, only to find out that she had checked the rental house but there was no sign of Sheena. The girls were both heartsick, but we did our best to assure them that when we arrived home, we’d put up signs everyplace we could think of, we’d place ads in the lost and found, and we’d check the pounds and the Humane Society to see if she had been turned in. We’d do our best to find her. We finally got home quite late the following night and went straight to bed. None of us could bear to look at Sheena’s empty pallet on the garage floor.

The following morning we were up early and the girls and I were already making our “lost dog” signs at the kitchen table before school. Rich went outside to finish emptying the car and Sherry called him over from her front door. With tears running down her face, she told him that she had found Sheena lying dead by the side of Highway 80 the day before. She’d been run over by a car. Not knowing what else to do, Sherry removed her collar for us. When she returned later in the day, Sheena’s body had been removed.

Rich came in to tell me the heart-breaking news and together we told the girls. We were all devastated. Nobody went to work or school that day. I put a picture of Sheena in a magnetic frame and hung it on the refrigerator, assuring the girls that we’d never forget her. I told them I’d find a glass figurine of an Akita and we’d put it on the mantel with her collar. They cried and cried—we all did.

We've had three other dogs since Sheena, but none have measured up to her. It took a long time before I could break myself of the habit of looking for her next to the garage door when I left every morning and returned home at night. I can still picture her standing in the driveway with her head cocked as we drove away, leaving her behind for the last time.