Mindy was a terrible dog when she came into our lives. When we opened the front door, she ran into the living room, bounded onto the sofa and jumped on the stereo, which meant we were suddenly launched out of the CD music era since the player was trashed.
She didn’t sit on command, lie down or stay; she dug a hole in the cushion of a beautiful leather couch while we were at work; and she was a relentless beggar whenever we tried to eat.
So, even though she was pretty cute, she was hard to love.
Ounce-for-ounce she also was the meanest dog we’d ever allowed in our home. A 23-pound terrier mix with a serious underbite, she snarled, she bared her teeth, she growled and, yes, she occasionally bit people when they approached her.
Her owner, Helen, who was my mother-in-law, admitted that people crossed the street when they saw her and Mindy on their frequent neighborhood walks. Helen always laughed about that.
She identified with Mindy’s daring and spunk, even though most normal people considered the dog a sociopath. I think Helen actually found Mindy’s take-no-prisoners attitude weirdly inspiring.
Then Helen moved into assisted living and Mindy moved in with us.
This was nobody’s first choice.
“I owe you,” my husband said.
Mindy, by then 12 years old, already bore deep scars from lifelong abandonment issues.
Her previous owner died when she was just a few years old, and the heirs didn’t want her (Can you blame them?). Helen adopted her from a shelter and cared for her, putting about a hundred miles in walks on those little paws over the years.
Since Helen loved all animals whether they deserved it or not, she accepted Mindy with all her flaws, embraced her eccentricities unequivocally and put no effort into taming her into respectability. If people didn’t like Mindy, Helen figured they could just move to the other side of the street. That was fine with her.
So, maybe it was all the early doghood trauma or just desperation, but when Mindy moved in with us, she immediately glommed onto my husband like a tick on a labrador.
She followed him everywhere, waiting for him on the bathmat outside the shower and crying whenever he left the house without her.
And this transformed her personality from rabid pit bull to loyal people-pleaser — or at least loyal Mark-pleaser — almost immediately.
While Mindy never did learn to sit, lie down or stay, she quit terrorizing the neighborhood dogs and learned to play — well, sort of — with children … as long as they didn’t put their faces close enough to bite.
She became best friends with our daughter’s dog, Reba, who would open the door for her to let her inside from the backyard.
As for me, she was like a jealous mistress who merely tolerated her lover’s wife, but she eagerly joined me for long walks and soon quit trying to bite me when I would pet her. She learned that I was here to stay and snarling about it was not going to get her anywhere.
We had an arrangement.
Mindy turned 20 last year. Her hips were stiff, her knees creaky. She was mostly blind and deaf. She’d spill her water dish. She’d walk into glass doors and fall down staircases. The long walks were long gone.
She couldn’t keep up with Mark anymore, so he’d carry her from room to room so she wouldn’t lose track of him.
She still has a good life, he’d say. She seems happy, don’t you think?
But there were signs. She passed out in her water dish one day. Another day, she just refused to stand or walk or eat. Sometimes she dragged one leg when she started to walk. She slept and then slept some more.
The vet said she likely was having transient strokes. We knew it was time.
When you say goodbye to a dog who was submissive and good-natured from the start, it’s a simple farewell — emotional and heartbreaking. All your friends say how much they loved that goofy dog and reminisce about all the good times.
Mindy will be remembered as so much more.
She was foremost a survivor. Abandoned by her mother and orphaned by two owners, she had understandable trust issues and a wicked temper.
She tapped into all her feral canine powers to stay alive and when, at an age when most dogs are settling into long gassy geriatric naps, she found an owner she adored and poured on newfound charms.
She would prance along the sidewalk as passers-by smiled at her bouncing ears and her sweet (unbelievable, huh) nature. She warmly accepted pats on the head and scratches behind her ears. She quit biting people — even me.
She had become a really good dog.
We have always said that there is a deal you strike when you love a pet. The day comes when you know you have to say goodbye. And it’s going to hurt.
Losing Mindy, the dog who first fiercely demanded respect and then determinedly earned our affection, is harder. Nobody wanted her and she knew it, so she set out how to make us love her. And, boy, she succeeded.
She was no ordinary mutt. She was a stubborn streetfighter, a force of nature, and ultimately a gentle-hearted best friend. She’ll be missed — terribly — silly crooked underbite and all.
Diane Carman is a Denver communications consultant.
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