Hot Pursuit Daisy Doodle

Tribute to Daisy Doodle

Daisy was born in our living room on October 8, 1994. There were only two puppies -- Daisy Doodle and Freddy Finnigan.

Daisy Doodle [whom I called "Doodle Monster"] died on October 30, 1996. She was just 2 years old -- and wasn't with us nearly long enough. An excessively strong south-west wind put so much pressure on our side gate that the latch broke off -- blowing the gate wide open. Daisy got out onto the road, was hit by a car and was killed. This was not how I wanted her to go. I wanted her to live a long, long, life.

We did everything we thought was necessary to keep all of our dogs safe. We have an acre of land fenced off for them -- we have pens to keep some dogs safe from the others -- and the others safe from some. Where there was a chance of one of them digging out, we had buried rocks. The mesh of the fence is 1" by 2" to preclude little paws climbing it. The gates were strong and sturdy. The gate whose latch broke had even been situated to make the most out of the direction the wind that usually blows -- from the north-east. It would blow shut, if for some reason it was unlatched, provided the wind came from the north-east. We hadn't counted on 60 km to 90 km winds from the south-west. We hadn't counted on it blowing so long and so hard that the latch was yanked out from the garage door molding. It just goes to prove that even with all the precautions, things sometimes just happen.

It's in the late evening that I find I miss Daisy the most. That was "our" time -- Daisy/Mom time -- beginning with "treat time" when most of the other dogs would be crated for night. I have to stop myself as I look around for Daisy to give her her treat. It's the same thing at meal times. I have to remove her bowl -- because I have automatically placed it in it's position -- and I have to tell myself that she's not here any more.

There isn't another dog who can "fill" her gap in the late evening. No other dog is so quietly mine.

The bond we had built when she was a puppy was very strong. I singled her out for extra attention when I realized that she had become "lost" between Bertha and Cailea. She hadn't had as much of that absolute focus that puppies deserve. It was a kind of "middle child syndrom". So I worked to draw her out -- to let her know I felt she was special. As a result, Daisy and I had an extra-special bond. She knew that she had a greater claim on my lap than the others. She knew that I sought her out especially. She knew that no matter how restless I was at night, I would eventually settle down and she could then snuggle into the crook of my knees. She knew that when I was eating some snack late at night, there would always be a bite for her.

Oh, when Reid took the other dogs out hunting, she was front and centre to go. She was a demon in the field -- and loved hunting above all else. On those times when she couldn't go, she would squirm in my arms, struggling to get away. Still, she was more mine than Reid's.

I miss her gentle ascent onto the bed or couch. I miss her happy wagging tail in greeting as she hopped up. She could settle into a comfortable position more easily than the rest. She didn't need to re-arrange the covers endlessly like the others seem to do. She just settled -- no fuss -- no bother. I miss the way she would growl at the other dogs -- on the intake of breath as well as on breathing out. I miss how she would delight and play games with her chew toys and bones when all of the others were tucked away in their crates. I miss the way she would lean on me, pressing as much of herself against me as she could. I miss the way she would teach and play with her puppies -- and I think that her puppies miss her too.

Two years was just not enough time with her.

Late Addition to the story

The fellow who carried Daisy to the side of the road, filled us in on what happened. He was behind the driver who hit Daisy -- the driver who didn't stop or even slow down. The car that hit Daisy was a burgundy or maroon Delta 88. Chris tried to catch up to him but was in a farm truck and lost him.

Chris, who returned to the scene, was met with a very touching sight. Ginger, Daisy's mother, was lying in the road beside her dead daughter -- keeping her company -- protecting her perhaps. This simple action on Ginger's part was strangely comforting to me. It let me know that if Daisy wasn't killed instantly then at least she had someone who loved her with her until the end.

For those who don't think that dogs feel the way we do, Ginger's actions speak volumes. She did what any mother might have done. She stayed with her daughter until she could be safely carried out of further harm's way. It was the only thing left that she could do -- and she did it.

I am so grateful that Chris took the time to move Daisy from the middle of the road to the shoulder. He knocked on our door, but we weren't home.

Mary E. Lea