Moving on

On June 27th, 2011, my heart was split in two.  My diva, my hard headed, independent beautiful little girl, Teagan, passed away in the night.  She was 15 months old.  The most probable cause was mesenteric torsion.

She was opinoniated, bossy, independent.  She could do a mean alligator death roll when she didn't want to do what you asked her to do.  And had an ego that knew no bounds.

She was only 15months old, but I remember more stories about her than all my other dogs combined, the trouble she would get herself into.  As a young pup, maybe 10-12 weeks old, she decided that she didn't want to be walking over the creek on the bridge, she'd rather be in the creek.  Problem was the bridge was about 4 feet above the creek bed.  And there was no water in the creek.  Not only did she jump, she leaped exuberantly high up in the air.  The look on her face on the way down was priceless:  Oh s**t, this is gonna hurt.  Splat she landed, got a mouth full of rocks, shook it off and race off into the pasture to chase the big dogs.

She could play stick like none of my other dogs. Darcy is world class, but Teagan ran circles around her.

She and Deacon got real good at reducing reusing and recycling socks.  He'd eat one, throw it up and she'd swallow it back down.  Socks...mm, mm, good

She was fearless when it came to the retrieving games.  The only problem was, she thought that since she worked so hard to get the bumper that it was her's.  Unless there was a long line on her, you weren't getting it back.  So she was sent off to big girl camp to learn that there are consequences for ignoring momma...

The first report I got from the trainer was all good.  The second, kind of funny and glad I wasn't the one having to deal with her.  She thought she could get a way with the crap I put up with.  Unfortunately for her, the trainer is a former Marine Drill Master.  At one point he told his wife to shut doors, close the windows and ignore what she heard coming from the kennel.

Remember her alligator death roll ability? The second day she was there, the trainer gave a leash correction, a little pop on the leash and collar.  She threw herself on the ground and pitched a hissy fit that would have done a New York City fashionista wannabe proud.  She rolled around and around and around on the end of the leash, until the trainer told her in no uncertain terms she was being stupid and that wasn't going to fly with him.

She still tested him though. One of the first things a retriever is taught is the "hold" command.  The trainer opens the dog's mouth, places a wooden dowel in her mouth, closes her mouth and repeats "hold".  Sounds simple, right?  Try opening a dogs mouth when she is gritting her teeth together as hard as she can.

They got through the rough start and when I went to visit her, she most eager to stay with the trainer because she got to do a lot of fun things with him.

She was an awesome cadaver dog-in-training.  More methodical and patient when trying to find the source than her older brother and her mother.  I still remember at one training, only being able to see her butt as she tried to wiggle her way down into a pile of rocks to touch the source.

I will miss her.  I will miss the incredible journey she and I were about to embark on.  I'll miss seeing her get her first orange hunt test ribbon.  I'll miss the satisfaction of her find some poor lost soul and give at least some peace of mind to a victims family.

Most of all I will miss her in the quiet of the evening when she falls asleep in my lap, belly up, feet stuck straight up in the air, and her head hanging over the arm of my chair, snoring gently as she recharges for her next adventure.

Good bye my fireball.  You burned bright, hot and way too fast.