Goodbye, Miss Trudie

I had to make a really hard decision this weekend and that was to put my little dog Trudie to sleep. Over the past 6 months or so, I became aware of the fact that it would be a matter of when and not if I was going to have to do it. And over the last week, I realized that I was keeping her alive so I wouldn't have to be hurt by her loss, but she was suffering because of that. She and I were both used to her blindness, but about two years ago, she lost her hearing and she developed mammary cancer since whoever had her before me had not had her spayed. Years before, she could memorize a room and know exactly where she was going, but lately, she couldn't get around at all. She always had a wagging tail for me, but I could tell my friend wasn't having a good time anymore.

I guess it would be silly for every dog out there to get an obituary, but I feel like she at least deserves for me to tell everyone what a great dog she was. I found her on Tuesday, January 25, 2000 at the Brazos Valley Animal Shelter in Bryan, Texas. All of my friends had graduated and left College Station, and after my first semester in graduate school, I was lonely. I thought about buying a puppy, but I went to the pound instead. The first dog I saw was a little dachshund, and I pulled her card, but decided that I should probably give all of the dogs there a fair shake, so I kept looking.

As I was leaving, I noticed a kennel that was separate from the rest of the cages and saw a little scraggly white dog in it with cataracts. I asked the people at the pound what was wrong with her and they told me she was blind. They also said she was somewhere between 3-5, but looking back, I think she was closer to 5. I got her out of the kennel and took her outside and when I did, she jumped up on me with both paws and started wagging her tail. I could tell she wanted to go home with me. How do you say no to that? When I went back to get her the next day, the dachshund had been adopted so that was good. I remember getting in the car and she jumped in my lap. I told her we would always be together and I would always take care of her.


I took her to get fixed and then brought her home. I can remember how excited I was. I had gone to the crappy College Station mall and gotten her a dog bed, bowls, and a little Cookie Monster doll. I opened the door and literally showed her around like she was a new roommate saying, "Here's your bed! Here's the kitchen! Here's my room!". She probably thought some unstable freak had adopted her. But in no time, she was my best buddy. We took long walks together every evening and I came home at lunch every day so I could see her. I had a strict "no dogs in bed rule" for the first two weeks, but somehow she changed my mind on that. When I would go up to the lab late at night to finish my thesis, I took her with me. On the acknowledgements page of my thesis, she's listed right below my parents. I thought it was only proper since she put in so many hours too.


When we got moved to Dallas, I started volunteering as the SPCA and heard about a pet therapy program. I told Trudie she needed to get a job so she became a licensed therapy dog with the Delta Society. It was a win-win because I got to volunteer and hang out with my dog at the same time. We used to visit a retirement home and everyone loved her except for the woman who would always yell at me to get "that dirty dog" out of "her house" and the other one who thought she was a cat. But she didn't mind. She was always friendly and would let anyone pet her. Once I started working, I saved a little bit of money every month so I could get her cataracts removed, but when I finally took her in to the specialist, they told me that she had degenerative retinas and would never see. That broke my heart because I really wanted to be able to do that for her.

It was remembering all of the good times recently that factored into my decision on Saturday. She wasn't happy anymore. Since she had incontinence problems, most of the time she stayed in the bathroom or in her kennel, and that wasn't fair. I didn't want to her to go on how she was, and I wanted her to die with dignity. I kept hoping that I would wake up one morning, and she would have passed quietly, but it didn't happen that way. As I was waiting for the vet to come in the room, I thanked Trudie for being such a good dog and for always being so sweet. I thanked her for being my best friend for the year and a half when nobody else was around. I apologized for not being able to get her eyes fixed, but I told her that in doggie heaven she would finally be able to see and she would get treats every day. I also told her that there wouldn't be any cats there to drive her crazy and that her cousin, Abbey, would miss her a lot. And so would I. I clipped a little hair from neck where it was curly because I always thought that was so cute. I had her privately cremated, but haven't decided where I will spread her ashes.

Trudie leaves behind her mom, dad, and little girl, Ellie, two sisters, Morgan and Lucy, two dog grandparents, and dog cousin Abbey.

I found this poem on a blind dog website a few years ago and saved it. I'm not sure who wrote it, but I've always liked it.

The Blind Dog Poem

I cannot see you Mommy, when you cuddle me so near.
And yet I know you love me, it's in the words I hear.
I cannot see you Daddy, when you hold me by your side
But still I know you love me when you tell me so with pride.
I cannot see to run and play out in the sun so bright
For here inside my tiny head it's always dark as night.
I cannot see the treats you give when I am extra good
But I can wag my tail in Thanks just like a good dog should.
"She cannot see. The dogs no good" is what some folks might say
"She can't be trained, she'll never learn She must be put away."
But not you, Mom and Daddy You know that it's alright
Because I love you just as much as any dog with sight.
You took me in, you gave me love and we will never part
Because I'm blind with just my eyes, I see you in my heart.

Goodbye, sweet Trudie. I love you. You're a good dog. I hope we meet again one day.