Eddie was…

Eddie was a part of us, a heartbeat, a breath. His name was so befitting. A name like your neighbor’s, your best friend’s, your brother’s. Just a part of the family. Something simple and uncomplicated. Something like home. Just a big ordinary piece of your heart.

Eddie hated to leave home. Hated going on walks. He was content to wait for us patiently to return home to him. There he would greet us with squeals of excitement while his little body shook with sheer joy. He brought a smile to even the weariest face. He slept between us, got the last bite off my plate, preferred fruit over meat, and absolutely LOVED pineapple. At night he perched on our shoulder while we watched TV. The one place Eddie didn’t mind going was surprisingly enough – the airport. He happily traveled the country in a tote bag, ecstatic just to be with us. He was our first born, our child, our pride and joy.

Attempting to tell you all what Eddie was to us does him such an injustice that the task just seems impossible. Only a pet lover, and perhaps a parent, knows the unconditional, inexplicable love between a human and an animal. So I will leave it at that, because there are no words that will ever help you to understand unless you have felt that bond. I will suffice it to say, Eddie was…

To understand Eddie’s story you need a bit of background information. The past year can only be described as a challenge. I’m what some call a “brittle” diabetic. Although since I survived last year, I don’t think there’s a thing that’s brittle about me. Despite kidney failure and diabetes, I miraculously became pregnant. After six days a week of dialysis, a number of ambulance rides to the emergency room, and an act of God himself, seven months later I delivered a son – our first of the two legged persuasion.

In October, my dialysis catheter caused a clot the size of a golf ball in my heart, and I had emergency open-heart. Finally in January 2007, I was to have a kidney transplant. Through all of this Eddie remained ever patient and loyal. He waited at the door everyday for me to return from dialysis just to pass out in a heap on the couch. I would wake to find him curled patiently in a ball in one of three places – on my pillow, spooned against my chest, or tucked behind my knees.

Everyone has a story about their dog’s Lassie moments, and Eddie had them too. During my pregnancy my blood sugars became erratic, and many times I would simply pass out. Eddie would pace the floor licking me, whining, trying to let somebody know things just weren’t right. I remember waking from unconsciousness one time to find Eddie lying right next to me, his vigilant little self, watching me as he tidied the bed by cleaning all the missed crumbs from my 9pm snack. Ok so that wasn’t very Lassie-like, but his antics were certainly the much-needed spoonful of sugar.

During my numerous hospital stays, we smuggled Eddie in his tote. Things always seemed just a little bit better when Eddie was around. That went for the doctors and nurses as well. Of course having a dog in a hospital violated every OSHA law conceivable, but I think that his ability to tame the dragon lady in Room 703, earned us the tolerant blind eye.

When I left the morning of the transplant, I explained to Eddie, as I always did, that I would be back soon and I would miss him. He stood at the door and watched as he had many times before as I left with my suitcase. This had become a routine of ours and we were both confident in a reunion.

As fate would have it, I did see him again thanks to a team of angels here on Earth. The morning that I went into the hospital, Eddie was accidentally locked outside the gate of our backyard. When I returned home a week later, I learned he was missing; I did everything I could think of to get him back. My family had tried, but was unsuccessful.

Please remember that the weather at this time was subzero. There had been a number of snow and ice storms and nobody had much hope that he could have survive if he was outside. Everyone thought that someone had picked him up. All bias aside, he was absolutely adorable. He was ten pounds max, with a long silky sable coat, and large butterfly ears. He was a Papillon and definitely not the type of dog to survive the elements. Ok so we didn’t paint his toenails or make him wear costumes (except during Halloween of course), but he did sleep spooned between the two of us, under the covers, head propped on a pillow!

I posted posters and ads on any and every website I could think of. Talked to the neighbors, the mailman, the groundskeepers, the pizza delivery guys. Sent fliers to every rescue and vet in the area. Visted the shelters. Everyday I put up new posters, searched the neighborhood, put out food. Despite the weather, volunteers came to help me search, offered me support, hope and advice. They prayed, borrowed me traps, and brought tracking dogs. Neighbors I had never met patrolled the neighborhood looking for him, called daily for updates, put out food, posted even more posters, and sketched pawprints they had found..

And I prayed. I prayed every night for God to keep him safe. I cringed at the sound of the wind chimes, and still do til this day. I’m not sure why I don’t just take them down. Maybe it keeps me close to him.

Eddie had been spotted a number of times, but because he was scared, he ran.

Finally we caught a break. Laura Totis came with a tracking dog. They caught Eddie’s scent and spent a very cold and windy Friday night tracking him for three hours. The next day someone said they had spotted him not far from where the tracking dog had dropped the scent. There was hope.

Another ice storm came and passed and another was due.

I prayed.

On the Saturday, before the last storm, almost exactly five weeks from the day he went missing, two young gentlemen showed up at the door. They were missionaries. I’m one of those people who thinks a person’s spirituality is a very private and personal thing, and I told them so. Regardless, they asked if they could pray for me and my family. I said please do, but include my little dog as well, because he’s missing. One of them scribbled something in his notes and they left.

I find it funny when I reread this story to see the number of times I mentioned how I prayed, talk about missionaries showing up at my door, and my internal conversations with God because I don’t think of myself as a very spiritual person. I like to think that faith was but another one of Eddie’s gifts aside from the many new friends he gave us.

About an hour after missionaries had left, the phone rang. It was Sam Connelly. She was following up for Laura Totis, the woman who had tracked Eddie. She had been on her way to another search, but the people called to say they had found their dog. Since she was already dressed and Brando, her dog, was ready to go, Sam thought she’d just check to see if we’d found Eddie yet. I told her we hadn’t and although we hadn’t had a sighting in some time she decided to come out. We could at least post more posters.

My husband went with Sam and Brando that morning, since I was still recovering from the transplant I couldn’t keep up. It was only fifteen minutes after they left, that Ross called to say he had Eddie in his arms. THANK GOD! God couldn’t take him from us now, could he? He couldn’t be that cruel and let Eddie suffer for that long, only to snatch him away.

When I got to the Emergency Veterinary Clinic, the doctor gave us some pretty grim details about possible brain damage or kidney failure. I didn’t want to hear any of it. In my mind, I was thinking, I’d just had a kidney transplant; they could give him one too right? What if my family had just given up on me? I realize now I was probably a bit insane at the time, but I couldn’t see giving up Eddie after what he’d endured already. My husband couldn’t either and with reluctance the vet saw our point as well. We sent him right to work no matter what the cost.

Sam somehow found us. She stayed with us explaining everything the doctor had to say. (She had worked in an emergency veterinary hospital in Baltimore for several years). She gave us hope and calmed our fears.

Once they had assessed him, I got to see Eddie for a few minutes. He was all skin and bones. He had a hole in his side. Something was terribly wrong with his one eye. He couldn’t stand or move for that matter. He had tubes in his nose and frail little leg, but he had survived and I was sure he would.

Eddie survived that night and two more following. The day he died, I went to see him. I held him in my arms just over an hour. I told him how proud I was of him for being so brave, for surviving, for coming home to us. I told him how we had searched for him everyday and how we wouldn’t give up. I told him about all the people who were rooting for him and the big block party we had planned for his homecoming. I showed him the flier that the clinic had taped to his islet. It was the LOST DOG flier I had sent to all the area shelters, vets, and hospitals. I told him I loved him and babbled on about the things he needed to do in order to come home.

At one point, I felt his little body go limp in my arms. My heart broke for sure, but I wouldn’t cry. I didn’t have to. He was on his way to a full recovery. The doctor was no longer skeptical about his brain damage and he was peeing so his kidneys were working. He was on his way home, back to my pillow right where he belonged.

Still my heart broke.

I thought that maybe he was just uncomfortable, so I put him down. Tucked him away in his snug little blankets and promised I would be back soon.

Two hours after I left, the vet called to say he passed. I couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t. The vet, who had been his biggest skeptic, now could not believe it either. He had just tended to him, and simply turned his back. A few members of Eddie’s fan club, strangers who had come to see the “Miracle Pup” stopped by to steal a peak. In the time the doctor turned away, Eddie just slipped away – just like that. So simply, just as he had come into our lives, just as simply as he made them so much more.

We have many people to thank, people who believed and refused to give up on us. But in the end it was Sam and Brando who gave us those precious, precious last moments with him. Eddie died knowing we loved him, that we hadn’t given up on him, that we had come for him.

I wish I had been there to see exactly how it happened; how Sam’s beautiful big Golden Retriever hovered over Eddie’s frail little body the day she found him. I imagine, Eddie thought it was God himself. But I wasn’t there. I don’t think I could do Sam or Brando any justice in trying to describe the experience. I hope though that she will have a chance to tell the story for a number of reasons. One, because she makes me believe in miracles and the power of something greater. Two, because I think it is a shame not to share, if you’re lucky enough to experience a miracle. And three, because I think everyone can learn something about perseverance from a little dog who never gave up.

Eddie sits in a simple wooden box on my nightstand, there very near my pillow where he has always belonged. Home, if only in spirit, with the help of a couple of everyday angels. We will never forget him and will always carry him with us, if only in our hearts.

Thank you Sam and thank you Brando for bringing Eddie home.

PS. To further illustrate her kindness and generosity I would also like to mention that Sam donated Eddie’s reward money back to us, to help us with the $6000 veterinary bill.

With Much Love & Gratitude,
Jessica Galow
Springfield, VA