Vader The Loyal, The Patient

In January of 2004, my roommate Lindsay, her boyfriend Phil, and I attended a FAIR adoption event at our local Petsmart in search for a dog for me. FAIR rescues dogs and fosters them in people's homes instead of the local shelter. I really wanted a puppy, so I could train him the way I wanted him to be trained, but I also wanted to do the right thing and get a shelter dog rather than supporting a breeder. Not to mention, mutts tend to have fewer health problems than purebreds. FAIR occasionally gets puppies, and the adoption worker tipped us off that there would be puppies ready for adoption in a week. When we arrived, there were two puppies cuddled together in a crate, one black with tan markings, the other tan with a white mark on his forehead, and they had matching brown eyes. The sign indicated they were 8 weeks old, from the same litter, German Shepherd Mixed Breeds, and their names were "Angel" and "Turtle."  I knew I wanted a black dog, so asked to hold Angel. He sat in my lap, looked into my eyes, licked me under my chin, and immediately found his way into my heart. Lindsay, meanwhile was holding Turtle, a tan dog with a white mark on his forehead. She asked me if I wanted to hold him, and I answered, "No. I'm getting this one." I could see Lindsay had immediately fallen in love with Turtle,and overheard Phil say to her, "If you want one, now's the time." And so the three of us became parents to the two puppies.

As we filled out the adoption paperwork, we were told that the puppies came from a huge litter, 17, that the mother wandered over the Mexican border, scratched at a man's door, and when he let her in, she made her way to a closet to give birth. No idea if any of that really happened, but that was the story. This man was not deemed to be a hero, however. The FAIR representative regretted letting him shelter the dogs, because one puppy was missing. When I said, "Oh, he must have wanted to keep one for himself", she gave me a look that filled me with dread. She then said that Angel had gotten sick during the ride over, and when the FAIR workers came out to help bring the dogs in, they found the man hitting him.

I saw and overheard an elderly woman becoming upset at being told she could not adopt the dog in her arms, because she did not have a fenced yard, that the dog was a puppy and that it was unreasonable to expect a puppy to only go outside on a leash. She gave the puppy back, stomped off, and the husband explained "She's upset because she already felt attached."

We could tell we were looking attractive to the adoption agent because we had a house with a walled yard. But when our adoption agent asked for our landlord's number to call to make sure we could really have the dogs, I felt nervous that our deal was about to fall through. Our landlord company preferred large dogs because they consider them less destructive, but they didn't allow dogs under 1 year of age. These dogs were only 8 weeks old. The agent decided to skip the step of contacting our landlord, maybe because she didn't want to send these two puppies back to the mean man's house. We each paid our $70 adoption fee, then the three of us carried our puppies as we walked through Petsmart, selecting a double feeding tray that would "grow" with the dogs, collars, leashes, dog food, and chew toys.

Lindsay and I rode in the back of Phil's truck with Angel and Turtle. Angel promptly threw up. We cleaned up the mess, I changed clothes, and we put the dogs on Lindsay's green couch, where they immediately fell asleep, cuddled together. Phil commented that Angel didn't seem like the right name for my pup, and suggested Vader. I loved it, so Vader he became. We couldn't decide on a new name for Turtle, but when we saw how Turtle liked to hide under the coffee table and snap out at Vader as he ran circles around it, we realized Turtle must be short for "Snapping Turtle", and kept his name.

Turtle and Vader loved to wrestle, bite each others ears, and chase each other around the coffee table, arond the tree, they definitely preferred circular chasing patterns. Specifically, Vader liked Turtle to chase him. He did not like to be the aggressor.

That night, I realized I had plans to go out, and the sudden shock of - "What do I do with this dog?" Lindsay offered to take care of him while I went out. I came home earlier than usual that night, wanting to be reunited with him. I came home to a quiet house - Lindsay, Phil, and Turtle were gone. I found Vader alone, sitting upright on my bed, looking lost. I think he didn't know how to get down. I took him outside and turned on the porch light, where he jumped at his shadow and began trembling all over. Seriously, a German Shepherd/Rottie mix who was afraid of his own shadow?

That night I slept restlessly, worried that he would have an accident in my room. I decided to let him sleep next to me on the bed, so he would be more likely to wake me up if he needed to go out. At that time in my life, I was experiencing recurring nightmares. I had one, and when I woke with a start, I saw Vader was sitting at attention, staring at me. I wondered if he was plotting my death. Over the next few weeks, each time I had a nightmare, I'd awake to find him sitting, fully alert, staring at me. He eventually decided to lick me and settle close to me, instead of staring. He learned to interrupt my nightmares by licking me and then cozying up to me so that I would pet him. My nightmares gradually occurrred less and less often. Years later, when we no longer shared a bed, anytime I had a bad dream, I'd wake to find him right there, sniffing me, checking on me.

I didn't believe in crate training, I thought it was cruel. The first day we had to leave them while we went to work, we tried leaving the dogs together in one bathroom. My work was closer than Lindsay's, so we decided I would come home each day at lunch and let them out. I worked so far away that by the time I let them out, I had to let them right back in, and leave to go back to work. Turtle and Vader barked and cried endlessly, tore up the laminate, scratched up the door, and were obviously in need of bathing. We tried keeping them in separate bathrooms. Now we had two destroyed bathrooms. We tried a baby gate to keep them in the kitchen, but they immediately figured out how to climb over it. We tried pushing the high backed green couch against the kitchen entrance to keep them in the kitchen. Yet somehow, when we got home, they would be in the living room.We continued trying to trap them in the kitchen during the day. One day I came home to find both of them balancing precariously on the decorator wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. At that point, we were concerned that a fall from that height could result in a broken neck, so we gave up on trying to trap them in the kitchen. We tried leaving them in the living room, with the sliding glass door ajar with a dowel in it, so they could come in and out, but a human wouldn't be able to get in.We let them have free reign of the house and yard. They gnawed the legs of our dining room table. They dug trenches in the yard. They ate the bark off the palo verde tree, which we thought was dead. They peed on Lindsay's couch, they chewed a hole in my futon, they tore up the carpet right in front of the front door, then pushed it up against the front door so Lindsay could barely get in the house, and they peed all over the carpet.



One day, Lindsay called me at work to say, "I don't think your dog feels very good." I thought she was angry, but later realized that she was worried. He had found an unopened back of gummy bears under her bed, and ate them all. She and Phil gave him water, and walked him around the neighborhood. His stomach was sloshing, and when he threw up, his body shot backwards from the force. He then would run and jump around, he had so much energy from all that sugar. Then he'd get sick again.

Another day, Lindsay called me at work to ask, "Do dogs die from drinking too much wine?" She had come home to find a broken wine bottle on the floor, but all of the liquid was gone. Somehow, they had managed to lick up all the wine without cutting themselves, and were asleep. I called a poison hotline for dogs, but couldn't afford the fee to ask the question. We were afraid to ask the vet, as we still were paranoid that our dogs would be taken from us. I asked one of the doctors in my clinic, and she answered, "They'll either die from liver toxicity, or they'll sleep it off and be fine." I called Lindsay back, we discussed, and decided to take the "live or die" approach. Fortunately, they lived through that, too. Apparently they liked it, because from then on, we could not leave our beer glasses on the coffee table - they would lap the beer right out of the mugs every time we left the room.

 One night, I dreamt about beavers gnawing on trees, and woke up to realize I really was hearing a gnawing sound. I went out to the hallway to discover Turtle had gnawed a hole in the drywall, trying to get into my room. From then on, we often came home to discover Turtle with white powder all over his nose. There was no stopping him.

They continued to bite each other's ears, which were swollen and disfigured. I took Vader to a vet, and paid $200 to drain them. She informed me that this was a genetic condition and suggested surgery to stitch his skin to his cartilage to prevent recurrence. This was one day before his shelter dog insurance went into effect. It was deemed a pre-existing condition. I didn't have $800 for surgery. And I had a nagging feeling it wouldn't work. Fortunately, I didn't go for the surgery. Lindsay told Phil about my experience, and he set on a quest to find a better vet for us. We tried the Petsmart vet, and he didn't like her. She drained both dogs ears, and didn't bring up the need for surgery. For the next appointment, Phil found Desert Hills Pet Clinic. We took the dogs in together for back to back appointments, and based on Phil's comfort, I decided that Dr. Kaufman would be Vader's permanent veterinarian. He took one look at their ears and determined that the hematomas were due to trauma, consistent with dogs chewing on each other's ears. He suggested we try Bitter Apple spray. We sprayed it on the dogs' ears, as well as our furniture. It turned out, our dogs LOVED the taste of Bitter Apple. They ate everything we sprayed.

Finallly,  I went rogue and made a paste of cayenne pepper and water. I applied it to the furniture, the doors, the drywall, the palo verde tree, and lastly, to the dogs' ears. I then washed my hands, put in my contacts, and immediately ripped them out of my eyes as fast as I could. I called my boss to report I'd be in late to work due to an ocular emergency. I felt terrible for the dogs, wondering if their ears were burning them as badly as my eyes. I cried for an hour before I felt safe to drive. The dogs seemed okay, but we never saw them bite each other's ears again! We periodically applied the paste to the furniture and the tree to try to discourage chewing.

One morning, around 6:15am, I heard an angry knocking on the door. I tried ignoring it, but finally answered, feeling vulnerable in my terrycloth bathtowel. A maintenance man was outside, looking furious. He explained that he had been notified by the water company that there was a major leak, came here, found water flooding the parking lot, looked over our gate, and saw all the trenches. At that moment, Vader escaped from my room and poked his head around the corner. "That little dog! He did this! I'm going to have spend all day fixing the irrigation and filling in your yard!" "We have irrigation?" He stormed off. I called Lindsay, "Did you ever turn in the check I gave you to cover the pet deposit?" "No." "I think we're in trouble. Please turn it in NOW." She reassured me that she didn't think the maintenance man would report us before the end of the day, saying "He has plenty of work to do. Apparently he has to repair some irrigation lines and fill in a bunch of trenches in a yard!"  I took my shower. I finished to hear more knocking. The man proceeded to yell at me, "That little dog! He's been chewing the bark on the palo verde tree!" "That tree's alive? We thought it was dead." "It's alive! It was just hibernating!" "Well, we put tabasco sauce on the bark to get him to stop chewing it." "You put tabasco sauce on it??? Imagine, if I peeled the skin from your arm, and put tabasco sauce on YOUR flesh. How would you like that?" I called Lindsay again, even more upset, but she reassured me that the man was clearly unreasonable, and agreed to leave work at lunch time to go turn in my check for the pet deposit. Since the man only saw Vader and not Turtle, she decided to only claim the one pet, and somehow, we got away with it.

At that point, I finally agreed to crate training. Turtle loved the crate. Vader hated it.

When it came time to move out, we surveyed the damage. Carpet, carpet pad, drywall, vinyl, and bathroom doors.  We'd paid an $800 deposit, and the $200 pet deposit. I figured we were covered for damages. Lindsay knew better - she worked for a debt collection agency. They collect for damaged properties all the time. She talked to her colleague who was the debt collector for the rental company. they called together, and negotiated the damages. We had to pay $1300. $1300! Poor Lindsay, she was excited that she'd negotiated the charge down that low, and thought I'd be relieved. Instead, I was shocked and upset. $1300! After she explained reality to me, I apologized. :)

When the dogs entered the townhouse for the first time, they immediately loved it. They ran up the stairs first thing. Then they realized that coming down was going to be harder. The stairs were steep and open. Turtle came first with Vader close behind. I had never seen them concentrate so intensely. Within the same day, they became confident enough to race up and down the stairs without a second thought.

They loved chasing each other around the patio post in the backyard. They also loved to go out on my balcony, set their paws on the ledge, and look out over the yard and parking lot. They reminded us of the two old guys from the Muppets, looking down and passing judgement on everyone below.

We took them swimming once in a while. We'd set them in the water at the same time. Vader would swim as fast as he could to the nearest ladder. Turtle would swim slowly, methodically, to the other end of the pool, and climb out at the steps. Vader had outgrown his destructive phase, but Turtle still chewed up one section of carpet, one bit of saltillo tile, and my entire mattress. We continued crating them during the workday, with the crate hidden behind the couch,  under the stairs. We taught the dogs the command, "Disappear!" Best command ever! When they'd get too rowdy, we'd give the command, and they would enter the crate and settle down.

The first time Tyson met Vader, he saw Vader was nervous, and squatted down and held his hand out for Vader to sniff. Vader immediately warmed up to him, which meant I did too.

Lindsay and Turtle moved out soon after - Lindsay to live with her mom, and Turtle to live with Phil. I was out of town during their move, so Tyson checked in on Vader during the week. He called me to report that Vader was refusing to eat, was trembling all over, and wouldn't let go of his bone. It hadn't occurred to me that seeing Lindsay and Turtle move out, taking most of the furniture, would have such a profound effect on him. It took him a long time to get back to his normal self.

Vader liked Tyson, but did once push him off the bed. Foreshadowing.

My next roommate had a Keeshond named Emma. She was a yappy little furball, and her owner worked late at night, so she often slept with Vader and me until her owner came home. Vader barely tolerated her. They'd fight for positioning on my bed, with the pillow next to my head being the coveted spot.

By this time, Vader had met Dusty. They got along fine for the most part. I felt sorry for Dusty when I learned he no longer climbed up on Tyson's bed to sleep. So I bought him an ergonomic dog bed, shaped like a couch. I put it in Tyson's room, at the foot of his bed. Whenever Vader and I visited, Vader would disappear into Tyson's room, and we'd find him hogging Dusty's bed. I reluctantly broke down and bought Vader one of his own, so Dusty would have access to his bed during our visits.

One weekend, we also cared for Turtle. Except Phil didn't leave any dogfood for Turtle, thinking he'd be okay eating Vader's food. I slept in the living room that night with Vader, while Tyson and Turtle slept in my room. I woke to hear the sound of Turtle banging against the blinds. I waited for Tyson to let him out. My roommate eventually came out of her room to ask, "Cheryl, will you PLEASE let that dog out???" I stepped into the bedroom and realized Turtle had already gotten sick all over the room. Somehow, Tyson managed to sleep not only through the banging and the sickness, but also through me turning on the lights and cleaning and sanitizing the floor. In the morning, Tyson noticed I was...upset. He eventually cheered me up, by declaraing that Turtle's new name should be "Squirtle."

I had noticed that my townhouse smelled terrible from the living room and beyond. I went upstairs with a blacklight, and discovered urine stains all over my roommate's bedroom. See, she needed to go through my bedroom to access the backyard. Except I never woke up to find her going through my bedroom to let her dog out in the evening. I had assumed she was walking her dog out our front yard at night. I was wrong. She wasn't taking her dog out at all.  This was the same roommate who told me "Cockroaches are part of life", and who drove a car with vomit on the driver's side car door. She was enjoyable to talk to, but clearly we were not a good match for living together.

So I didn't renew her lease, and I held her deposit, $400. I ripped up the carpet and pad, poured Nature's Miracle all over the floorboards, let it dry out, then bleached the floor, let it dry for a few weeks, then paid a handyman to install wood laminate. $1600. Ouch. Dogs are expensive!

Vader seemed happy that they were gone. He no longer had to vie for positioning on the bed.

My next roommate did not bring a dog. Vader liked her much better. When he first met her, he carried his bone in her mouth, and I kept hearing her say, "Are you showing me your bone?" Eventually he stopped carrying that bone around, and I'd often come home to find him resting his head in her lap. As I left the house each morning, I'd see him sneaking into her room to take a nap on her bed!

However, he didn't seem to mind when she moved out, either. Maybe because she moved out on November 1st, and by November 5th, Tonya had arrived. By November 6th, Jonell, Art, Payton, Cole and Shelby, and Jennifer and Kris were staying with us, too. Somehow, Vader, Tonya, Kris and I managed to squeeze together on my queen sized bed.

Tonya threw me a bachelorette party in the townhouse. As usual, I arrived late. Guests had arrived before me. The entertainment had arrived before me, too. I found Vader cowering in the upstairs bathtub, with Melanie attempting to coax him out. Vader hated baths, so the fact that he voluntarily climbed into the bathtub spoke volumes. He trembled all over, and wouldn't come out, even for me.

November 9th was our wedding day, and we slept at the ranch where we were wed. Tonya and Kris tended to Vader. That was the last night he ever slept in the townhouse.

When we left for our honeymoon, Vader and Dusty stayed at our house, with Anne Marie. She reported that they got alone fine while we were gone. Our first night back, we noticed Vader joyfully running  in and out of our bedroom. Tyson suggested I go in and see what was going on. Vader had destroyed his dog bed, and was tossing bits of foam into the air and running through it. I've known dogs who urinated on their owner's beds out of resentment during vacations. I'd never heard of a dog destroying his own bed. But resentment it was.

He refused to follow Tyson's commands. One day, when Dusty reached for his bone, Vader bit Dusty around his ear, and wouldn't let go. I pried at his mouth, but wasn't able to get him off. Tyson pulled his skin away from his ribs, which got Vader to open his mouth. For the first time, I felt a little frightened by Vader - he had never disobeyed me like that until then, and while it sounds silly, I had never thought of him as an animal before.

After speaking to someone who had trained lots of dogs, we embarked on a mission to establish a more functional pack order. Tyson took charge of feeding Vader, both giving him food, and taking food away. But Tyson also had to give up on trying to make Dusty the top dog. The techniques worked, and Vader never bit Dusty again.

Vader had already learned that at the townhouse, he could be on the beds but not the couches, and that at Tyson's house, he could be on the couch but not the bed. He was a quick learner. Tyson decided to teach him to play dead. He learned it in a day. Tyson would make the shape of a gun with his index finger and thumb, and make shooting noises. Vader would lie down in his alert down position, and Tyson would continue pointing and making shooting noises. Vader would resist, but eventually, would lay his head on the floor. It looked like a prolonged death. He would refuse to "die" if strangers were watching. It was hilarious. He always got a special treat for that trick!

Dusty and Vader sometimes stayed at Anne Marie's house in Phoenix when Tyson and I went out of town. Vader loved her house for two reasons - grass to eat, and tons of pillows on her bed. At one point, her housekeeper called to ask, "Aren't there supposed to be two dogs here? We only see one." They frantically searched for Vader, and finally discovered him, trapped in Anne Marie's room, sleeping like a king on top of her bed, amidst all the pillows.

Unfortunately, Dusty and Vader didn't get to live together very long. Less than a year after we moved in, Dusty developed severe vertigo, falling down and rolling over in a manner that drew both tears and laughter, because it looked so odd, almost cartoonish. We learned that he also had stomach cancer. We were newlyweds, suddenly thrust into end of life decisions. We decided that senior dogs shouldn't have to go through the confusion and pain of surgery. Dusty died on January 3rd, 2010.

We spent our last night together sleeping as a family in the living room - Dusty and Tyson on the floor,  me on the couch, 7 months pregnant, and Vader bouncing between the couch and the floor. When we returned from the vet the next day without Dusty, Vader trembled all over. When Tyson came home with an urn and Dusty's collar a week later, he called out, "Dusty's home!" Vader leapt with excitement, ran around looking happy, then smelled the urn and began to tremble all over again. No amount of hugging would help him to be still. He grieved fiercely, for months.

We plunged ourselves into preparing for Tyler's arrival. Before Tyler was born, we followed the vet's instructions, playing sounds of babies crying, and rewarding Vader for ignoring them. When we brought Tyler home, we again followed the vet's instructions, in which I came in the house to greet him, and when he calmed, I had him sniff Tyler's cap, and then called to Tyson to bring Tyler  in. Tyson sat in the rocking  chair and introduced him, Vader sniffing at Tyler and giving him kisses.



It was love at first sight. Vader refused to sleep in his dog bed, instead sleeping under Tyler's pack-n-play. Anytime Tyler cried, instead of ignoring him, Vader ran to get me, insisting I drop what I was doing and tend to his new best friend. Tyler had some challenges with nursing, resulting in having to be nursed every two hours around the clock. We were exhausted and forgetful, and Vader was so patient with us, getting trapped in the bedroom and forgotten, until finally he would bark, just once, to let us know he was alone in the dark, and he couldn't get out. Our neighbor, who was very excited to hear the sounds of a baby crying from our house, also kindly mentioned, "We notice Vader spends alot more time outside now." Vader bore his change in status with dignity and grace.


As Tyler grew, Vader tolerated the climbing, the poking, the hugging. I never left Tyler alone with Vader, just in case...because whenever a dog bites a child, the parent always says, "My dog never bites." Tyson never left them alone together either, but he had a different approach. In the rare event that Vader ever snapped at Tyler, Tyson would immediately scold Tyler, asking him, "What did  you do to Vader?" My mother was confused by this, and would attempt to punish Vader. I explained to her Tyson's observation and philosophy - Vader was the most patient dog we'd ever seen, and so if he was giving Tyler a warning, then we were going to honor that warning and discipline Tyler. This was a very different approach than how she had raised dogs, but it worked for us. It was a very rare occurrence.




One vet visit, the vet informed me that Vader had gained too much weight, and asked me what was different about his diet. He and I both looked at Tyler at the same time. The vet kindly said, "Dogs don't attack their food supply. Let him keep feeding him. Cut back on his dog food until this phase stops." Tyler was just a toddler, but Tyson and I decided to let Tyler help us give Vader his dog food, his heartguard pills, and we taught him to help us hide rawhides for Vader to find. Vader would search the house, with us calling out, "warmer, colder, HOT!" until he found the rawhide, then he would run to his dog bed, and if he was particularly proud of a good find, he would shake his head from side to side as he lay down.

One day when my parents were visiting, someone accidentally let Vader out. This was when we first realized that Tyler could say his name. He helped me call out, "Vay-dah! Vay-dah!" as we searched for him. Tyson found searching by bike to be more efficient, and soon brought him home.


Starting with Vader's first Christmas, it became a tradition that he opened the first gift of Christmas.

Vader came running with me on occasion. He was not a very good running partner for the most part, he tended to stop abruptly right in front of me, and his behavior was atrocious when another dog came around - he'd get so loud and excited that he sounded like a monkey. I no longer walked him in the evenings because there were too many off-leashed pitbulls in the neighborhood, and he and Dusty had once had an altercation with one. But early in the mornings, at sunrise, sometimes I would take him to the bottom of a steep hill, and we'd practice running up the hill. The first few times, Vader would pull me, and the last few times, I would pull Vader. Occasionally I'd take him for a longer run along the golf course, but Tyson pointed out, "He's old, Cheryl. If he dies, what are you going to do? That's a long way to try to haul a big dog by yourself."



Although he was clearly a herding dog, Vader excelled at catching birds and lizards. Lizards always made him sick, but apparently the punishment wasn't enough to inspire him to stop catching them.
After one run, Vader managed to get out through our garage door. Despite having just exercised, he sprinted after a rabbit. The rabbit headed for some jumping cholla. The poor rabbit never expected to actually be followed INTO the cholla! But Vader plunged right in. Tyson gently helped remove the cactus spines. We had no idea cholla spines could be poisonous to dogs. Vader behaved oddly for three days straight - salivating often, staring at the floor, never barking, never relaxing. I kept Tyler away from him, for fear he might bite. Then when I finally decided to take him to the vet, Vader suddenly returned to his normal behavior.


That same year, we decided to take Vader to the dog beach in San Diego. We rented a beach house with a yard, and we rented a van so Vader could stretch out in the back. We loaded the van up, and then Tyler and Anne Marie sat in the van with Vader, while Tyson and I loaded the last of our items.



I climbed into the van, and Tyler announced, "Vader's gone!" Vader, the loyal dog, whose trainer once said, "I don't think your dog will ever run off on you", had run off. Tyson drove the van looking for Vader, while I took off running. I found him in a wash, but he wasn't done exploring. All of my tricks to inspire him to return, the emergency recall command, the stopping and dropping and pretending to be injured, offering a treat, they all failed, and I kept losing sight of him. Finally, a neighbor walking her dog came to our rescue, gripping his collar as he greeted her dog. I thanked her profusely as Tyson drove up in the van. Vader went straight into the back, and we set off on our journey.



At the dog beach, Vader behaved very differently than the other dogs. Where other dogs would swim, fetch, and wrestle with each other, Vader was first reluctant of the water, then eventually waded in, then spent all of his time trying to herd the other dogs. I was afraid other dog owners would be upset with him, so I was shocked when I'd see them cheerfully petting Vader and telling him he was a good dog. That was the best vacation - in the mornings, I'd take Vader for a run to the dog beach, let him play for a while, then return to the house, hose him off, and let him run around the yard to dry. Then he'd stay in the house for a few hours, until it was time for all of us to go to the beach. He'd go about his herding activities, checking in with us periodically, then resuming his "work."


One Veteran's Day, right around Vader's 11th birthday, Tyson, Tyler and I walked Vader up the steep, steep hill to the park above the YMCA. I was almost a week past due with Tyrien, so we were trying to induce labor through exercise. When we reached the soccer field, I told Tyson, "Vader can probably go off leash here - he's too old to run off on us, especially after that steep hill!" Tyson unsapped the leash, and Vader took off. I couldn't even try to keep up. Fortunately, Tyson managed to catch up to him.

When Tyrien came home for the first time, we again had Tyson bring Tyrien in. I had not had to stay in the hospital at all, in fact, I'd only been gone about 18 hours. Vader was happy to see me, but  didn't seem at all interested in the bundle in Tyson's arms. Then, as soon as  I sat on the bed to nurse Tyrien, Vader suddenly became excited. He gently but excitedly put his front paws on the bed, in my lap, sniffing Tyrien and kissing him and wagging his tail intensely. He happily accepted Tyrien into the pack.

Vader was even more patient with us those first few weeks. I wasn't as tired as I'd been with Tyler, so he didn't get forgotten in the bedroom as often, but when he did, he'd sleep by the door and finally let out one small bark to remind us that he was trapped in the dark. He again tolerated Tyrien's affections and curiosities.

When it came time to move, the realtor treated Vader like a problem. I had explained that we could crate him, but he would bark the entire time people were viewing our house. She asked if he could go live somewhere else for a while. Tyson was interested, but I was mortified. "He's old. He's loyal. He'd never understand why he was sent away. He'll die!" Instead, we let him have free range of the house during the day, and then whenever someone came to view the house, we'd run a mad dash around the house to hide all evidence of Vader, stashing his bed and dog bowls in the trunk of my car, hiding the sheet for the couch in the dryer, and grabbing his leash and bringing him with me in the car.  When we looked at houses all day one day, we kept him in the car with the air conditioning on. I worried that someone would let him out and steal our car. Our objective realtor pointed out, "Look at the size of him! Listen to his bark! No one will dare get anywhere near that dog!" Fortunately, our house was only on the market for 11 days. But then, the inspections! I'd drive home from work to collect him and his items and leave the house. But then, the repairs! One day, a company came three days early to work on repairs. They started working on the repiars before I got home. I found Vader, drooling and trembling. For some reason, I thought putting him in our bedroom, with drinking water in the bathroom, and both clock radios turned on to the same station, would prevent him from paying attention to the noise on the roof. As I drove back towards work, Tyson called. I told him what I'd done. "That's a bad idea." I had to continue towards work, because I'd gotten a call that one of our students with dementia had gone missing. I tracked that man down, persuaded him to return, and then immediately had to teach. There was no way to get back to Vader. When Tyson got home, he found the carpet shreddded. Fortunately, Vader left the door frame and door alone.
Then while the carpet guy was stretching the tile, Vader escaped my grip and pounced at him. The carpet guy, startled, dropped his tool, and cracked a tile. The real estate agent and inspector were right outside. I snuck Vader into the car in the garage, along with his effects, escaped the buyer's sight, and met up with the carpet guy down the street to pay for the repair.
Finally, the day before closing, Vader was caught. The buyer and his agent again arrived early. I didn't have my car in the garage, because Tyson and his dad needed access to move our belongings. As I left the house with Tyrien in my arms, Vader on the leash, and Tyler holding my hand, I came face to face with the buyer. The buyer's friend immediately exclaimed, "Wow! Cool dog!" As the agent was pummeling me with questions, the buyer's friend kept asking me about th Vader, andasking to pet him, and I felt awful for Vader, standing on hot concrete in blistering mid-day August heat.  I clumsily escaped the conversation and was able to get my pack to the car. It was a relief that I wouldn't have to do the mad dash ever again.

But I was worried about how Vader would handle the change. We had to stay in a vacation rental house, sight unseen. When we got there, I was relieved to see there was a large,secure yard. It was full of hot gravel, however. There was no room for Vader's dog bed in the living room. He slept between the pack n play and my side of the bed instead of on his dog bed at night, but we crated him during the day. I visited him at lunch each day to let him out and to reassure him. He kept getting sick in his crate, so I had to bathe him often. He lost weight. He lost hair. I worried that he would die. It was hot and we were in a bad neighborhood, so I couldn't take him for walks. It was awful, watching him slip away from me.

Then our moving day arrived! When we first got to the house, I let him into the backyard. He took one look at the grass, and suddenly jumped completely over the little divider wall to get to the grass as fast as possible. He ran around the yard joyously! It was a delight to see.

While we were unloading the moving van, Tyson suddenly announced, "Vader's out!" At nearly 12 years old, Vader had taken off running. Fortunately, I had sneakers on, so I took off after him. I caught up to him a couple of blocks later, only because he was stopping to mark his territory. All of my old tricks, of running away from him, of calling "Here!",  of falling down and pretending to be hurt, failed. But as he marked, he let me approach, and I gripped his collar, telling him, "Don't worry, I'll take you for a walk later. You'll have time to explore." I collected my dropped phone, dropped keys, dropped wallet, along the way back, so relieved that I still had my beloved dog.

That night, my friend asked if she'd be able to bring her dogs to visit us ever. I suggested it be that very night, before Vader had established our yard as his territory. He jumped and played with those two dogs, running and trying to herd them, especially the puppy. He had a fantastic time, and it was a joy to see him running with a pack again. But he overdid it. The next day he was too sore to move. I remembered giving my childhood dog Bufferin in cheese when he was old and hurting, so that's what I gave Vader. After a  week, he was in agony. Fearing  the worst, I called the vet. They were closed that Saturday. I'd been up all night with stomach flu. Tyler was recovering from stomach flu. Reluctantly, I took the appointment, because I was so worried about Vader. I called Anne Marie, who came to stay with Tyler so I could take Vader to the vet. With a ziplock bag for me, just in case.

I showed the vet where I thought the injury was, based on how he was favoring it, and that it felt swollen. The vet took Vader for a walk to make sure that was the correct source of his pain, and , then returned, excitedly saying, "You found the right spot! That's exactly where it is!" He explained that it was just a sprain, and prescribed medicine. Unfortunately, however, Vader had to go through a "washout" period. No pain relievers at all for three days, just a medication to heal his stomach from the effects of buffrin. It was terrible seeing Vader in such pain. I brought him his food and water, and stroked him as much as possible. He lost even more weight and looked so depressed.

When the morning came that he could take the first dose of the new medicine, he ate it willingly. That evening, when I arrived home, he bounded up to greet me. He ran around the house, with a laughter-like expression on his face. He ran outside and jumped the wall again. He was so happy. And I wasn't supposed to let him run or jump. I tried to figure out how to make that happen. Fortunately, he was  a little less exuberant in the following days. When it came time to stop the medicine, his pain returned. I called the vet for more. The vet informed me that he likely had arthritis, and would need  the medicine for the rest of his life. Fortunately, the vet was wrong.

Vader healed after about a month. His weight returned, his coat was beautiful again, and I loved to chase him around the yard. For the first time in his life, he ran full speed off leash. No other dogs to hinder him, a yard big enough to run in, a side yard to hide in, rocks to explore, sounds, smells, other dogs, he was overjoyed.



He settled into a daytime routine - laying on the sunny spot on the floor of the family room during the mornings. Laying on his dog bed in the living room during the afternoon. Sitting on the couch looking out the window in the evenings,waiting for our return. He learned to open the plantation shutters. It was a joy to see the sillhouette of his head in our window, knowing he was doing his best to keep his pack safe.

Still, he was showing signs that he was getting older. He was almost completely deaf by now. Deaf enough that he actually stayed outside with us as we set off fireworks, never flinching. He did wake one night when fireworks were set off just behind our house, but he didn't seem to know what exactly woke him. Often when I'd stop at home during the workday for a quick snack or other errand, he wouldn't hear me and I'd wander through the house, looking for him. In the mornings, he'd join me as I watered my plants, but when we came back inside,  he'd go straight into the family room and lie down, instead of bidding us farewell. On evenings when we spent time away from home, upon our return, we'd often find him sleeping on the couch, and he wouldn't wake until one of us pet him, and 6he'd lift his head, looking lost and confused, then relieved. Tyson informed me that his internal clock was still intact, that if I came home later than 5:30pm, he was either pacing waiting for me, or looking out the window for me, and that he still knew the sound or vibration of my car - if he was awake. Tyson was impressed with that, because my car is a quiet hybrid, so it must have been a vibration he was feeling.

Tyrien nursed far more often than Tyler ever did, even though he's much smaller and skinnier than Tyler. Unfortunately, that meant I didn't have as much time for Vader as I'd like. Vader would lick and lick and lick both me and Tyrien as Tyrien nursed. The sensation made my skin crawl, to be licked while nursing, and eventually I'd have to push Vader away. He also licked me incessently as I read to Tyler in his room each night, and if he switched to focus on Tyrien, Tyrien would end up crying. I didn't want it to be such a negative experience, so I resorted to shutting the door and keeping Vader out of their room when it was time to read books. I felt bad about this, so gave Vader extra affection as much as I could after the boys were in bed. I'd try to leave him in the living room when I went to bed, so he'd get one last nighttime bathroom break when Tyson would go to bed, but he always tried to come to bed with me, ever loyal. Tyson informed me that Vader actually didn't want to go outside at bedtime anymore, so I went back to letting him come to bed when I did. He'd often start on his dog bed in our room, then soon get up and go into the bathroom, where he liked to sleep on the bathmat but with his back against the wall, between the toilet and the sink. I thought he might choose to sleep under the sink, to be like a den, but no, he had his favorite spot. Anytime I rolled over during the night, though, he'd come out and sniff me and lick my hand once, then settle down on his dog bed with a "humph!", and soon get back up and go back into the bathroom. Occasionally, he'd ask to go out in the middle of the night. Tyrien was up alot at night, so I wasn't getting much sleep, so sometimes I'd just let him out on our bedroom patio instead of taking him to the backyard. And I'd lay right back down and fall back asleep. For his first time in his life, he wouldn't bark immediately to be let back in. He'd lay on the patio floor, under the stars, content. He'd scratch at the door when he was ready to come back in.

Every evening, he and Tyrien would sit together on the living room dog bed. Tyrien would jump and hop on the arm of the dog bed/couch, straddling it, then would lean over and crash into Vader, who no longer found this surprising. Tyrien would crawl on Vader and laugh. He'd pet Vader, hug him, kiss him, and Vader would kiss back. We'd remind Vader, "If you don't like it, you can get up and walk away." Sometimes we'd even say, "Vader, you can bark at him to tell him to stop!" But Vader had actually grown even MORE patient with Tyrien than he'd been with Tyler, and put up with it all.



And then the one awful night happened. Vader had been outside, barking. It had rained and hailed that day. Tyson went outside to let Vader in, and returned, saying "I think your dog got a toad. He's just standing there staring at the ground. He's not barking. I think he's tripping balls." "It's November. It's too late in the year for toads." "They're out. I can hear them, by the school, they're croaking. TEP just dug up the alley. Look - he's getting sick." I took him outside, and he was wretching, but couldn't get anything up. I looked up poisonous toads on my phone. "Rinse the dog's mouth with a hose for 15-20 minutes." I turned on the hose to a gentle stream and approached Vader. He clenched his mouth shut. Nothing I could do would get him to open his mouth. He refused to drink water, too. "Well, if your instinct is to avoid water, I'm not going to argue with you on that." Back to research. "Take the dog to the vet within 30 minutes. Even with veterinary care, the prognosis is not good, especially for large dogs." "He's 13 years old. He's afraid of strangers. We always said we wouldn't put a dog through surgery. I don't want to take him to the emergency vet." He wasn't frothing at the mouth, he wasn't pawing at his face. He drank some water, and again had dry heaves. Again, nothing came up. "Severe hyperthermia." He felt cool to the touch. He just stood rigidly, staring at the floor. I pet him, I tried to soothe him, I hugged him. I considered staying up all night with him, but Tyrien had been up alot that week, and I was exhausted. I let him outside again. When I called him to come in, he didn't come, but that was normal for him, he couldn't hear me. I flicked the floodlight on and off to signal him. He still didn't come. I couldn't see him. I went out the side door, turning  on that porch light, and found him scratching at the dirt next to that porch. He never spent any time there before. I brought him in and told Tyson, who said, "I bet he's trying to get cool." I brought him to our room, then decided to let him spend time on the patio in case he was going to get sick again. I thought he'd wake me soon by either barking or scratching at the door. I quickly fell asleep.
Tyson woke me up at 3:30am to tell me that Tyrien was crying. "Thank you for waking me up!" I angrily said, wishing Tyson would have gotten up instead of waking me. Then I remembered Vader. "I wonder if Vader's still alive!" Instead of going to soothe Tyrien, I opened the door to the patio. I didn't have my glasses on, and stumbled around, feeling for him, I couldn't see a black blur. Then I found him, lying upright in the dirt, next to the fence, facing the patio door. He had never laid there before. His fur was covered in dew, and he was cool to the touch. I felt awful for him, grabbed a towel, toweled him off, and invited him in. He came in willingly, and went to his faborite spot in the bathroom. I left the towel for him, but he ignored it. He licked my hand. But again, he lay rigidly, not relaxing at all.

As usual, he would come out and lick my hand and sniff my face when I turned. I thought about sleeping on the floor with him, but I was so tired, I wanted the comfort of my bed. I pet him and then went back to sleep. In the morning, I led him outside. It felt strange, having to tell him what to do. I went about my business, then checked on him - he was on the porch, facing our laundry room door, standing perfectly still, staring at the ground. I led him back inside, to water, which he willingly drank. I thought that was a good sign. But while I was brushing my teeth, I heard a sudden "thud." I came out and saw Vader laying in the entrance to our doorway, upright, head lifted, still in that uncomfortable, alert posture. I asked Tyler, "Did Vader lie down, or did he fall down?" "I um I uh I think he just fell." Tyson called out, "He's probably exhausted from being up all night." I tried laying him on his side to be more comfortable, then realized he was having labored breathing. When I tried to put him back in his alert posture, it was difficult to move him. He licked my hand, he let me hug him, but he just didn't look comfortable. I told Tyrien, "Vader doesn't feel good" and Tyson added, "So leave him alone. Don't touch him!" but Tyrien hugged him and kissed him on the back. Vader didn't appear to mind at all. Tyson continued reading about Sonoran toad poisoning from his phone - "collapse, paralysis, and death." "Well, he lived all night. He might pull through." I continued getting ready, but stopped to pet him and kiss his head often. When Tyson was ready to leave, he took a moment to stroke Vader's head, looked into his eyes, and said, "I hope you make it. Try to make it." Tyrien gave him a final goodbye hug and kiss on his back. As they walked away, Vader suddenly lay on his side, kicking one of his legs. "Tyson, he's seizing!" "Yeah, that probably means he's going to die. I gotta go!" He picked up Tyrien and walked quickly away. I followed. "Take him to the vet if it gets worse!" "You mean to have him put down?" "Yeah! I gotta go!" Tyson just about dashed out of our house.
I returned to our room to finish getting ready. Tyler was standing on the bed, dressing himself, and saying something about "I want to get a new dog that - " I cut him off, "Tyler, it's not nice to talk about getting a new dog when we have one right here. -And - he's not breathing." I rushed to Vader. He still had a heartbeat. "Vader! Breathe!" No movement. "You can't breathe." I cried and hugged his head, petting him. His legs were stiff. "Tyler, Vader's going to die, NOW. If you want to say goodbye, now's your chance." Tyler rushed to us, pet Vader, then ran out of the room. He returned with Vader's dog bowl, full of food and set it before him. By then, Vader's heartbeat was fading and his body already seemed cold. We cried over him, and I kept stroking his head and ears, because they didn't feel different rigid like the rest of him, just colder. His eyes were open but looked gentle, sleepy. I called Tyson to tell him Vader had died. Then I went back to getting Tyler ready for school. I texted my admin and I texted my boss. I took Tyler to school. We were much later than usual, so I parked at the drug store next door. Tyler rushed ahead of me and went through the gate without saying goodbye. I explained to the hall monitor, "His dog just died right in front of him, like 20 minutes ago." She called to Tyler and told him to give me a hug, saying, "We'll keep an extra eye on him. Then she said, "I think I should hug you, too." Never before had she been kind to me.
Walking into the house, knowing Vader was inside but wasn't going to greet me, was the hardest thing. I went back to our bedroom, and stroked his head and ears again, but now his ears felt rigid, too. And his stomach was bloated even larger than before. Tyson called to ask if I wanted him to call the vet. I waffled back and forth, then agreed. "Take as much time with him as you want." I thought to myself - "There's a carcass in my bedroom doorway! He's going to leak fluids all over the place, get him out!" Tyson told me to move him onto the tile to keep him cool. It was difficult to move his limbs. I opened the doors and turned the fans on to keep him extra cool. Tyson asked if I could put him in my car by myself. "He's already rigid, and I want to respect his body. And he's bloated, I'm afraid he'll leak all over my car. I need the truck." Tyson spoke yet again to his boss, and was eventually granted permission to come help me.
We gloved up and put Vader on a  sheet. We lifted the sheet and loaded him into the back of the truck. We drove to the vet, and were told to go to the back door and knock. When we climbed out of the truck, we saw Vader's face had been covered by the sheet. That felt awful, that he'd ridden the hole way with the sheet blocking his face. Tyson suggested I knock cheerfully, so I did. The tech, the tech who never liked Tyler, came out, crankily. "Vader's here." "I have to go ask someone. I don't know anything about Vader!" "Well, he's deceased!" I explained to Tyson, "That's the tech that has a hard time with Tyler." "Well, it looks to me like she has a hard time with life." Then the vet came out. He scooped Vader up in his arms, no gloves, just picked him up as though he were still alive. Because he was rigid, he LOOKED alive. I was compelled to stroke his ears and kiss his forehead one last time. "I'm awfully sorry about this!" He saw that I was having a hard time letting go, and offered, "Would you like a clipping of his hair? We'll get it to you when you come back."
We went inside and spoke to his wife. She said, "I'll miss Vader. I'll always remember him sitting on that chair, hiding behind you." She made small talk with Tyson as I paid the bill. Then she said, "Vader was almost 13? You know, the life span of a German Shepherd is 10-13 years. You'd have been beating the odds."  I'll always treasure her kindness and understanding.
They later send a bereavement card, with a personal message about Vader. This is a vet who is willing to come to the home to ensure a dog is comfortable when beinng euthanized. This is a vet who prefers to see the dog one last time and help with the final arrangements. I am so grateful to them both.
Tyler seemed to handle Vader's death very well. When Tyrien got home that night, I told him, "Vader is all done. All gone. No more." He answered, "No more." But he went about his business. The next night, Tyson asked, "Why does Tyrien keep messing with us?" "Because this is the time he used to spend climbing all over Vader." I left Vader's dog bed, the couch bed, in the usual spot in the living room for Tyrien to keep playing on. And he did. The following Saturday, I brought Tyrien outside. Normally he loves to play outside. Instead, Tyrien stood, looking northwest, to the side of the yard Vader most often tended to explore. I heard him repeating a word over and over, and squatted to hear better. "Dawg. Daw-ahg!" "You're looking for Vader? Vader's all gone." "Vader all gone. No more. Woof." He tried to come back in the house. "No, we need to learn to play outside without Vader." I convinced him to stay outside and blow bubbles, then play on the swingset. From then on, for the next two weeks, he kept adding to his sentence, saying urgently, "Vader all gone. No more. Woof." "Vader all gone. No more. Woof. Hug." "Vader all gone. No more. Woof. Hug. Kiss." Sometimes he'd say it, urgently, over and over and over. So I would say, "Do you miss Vader? I miss Vader too. It's sad." "It's sad. It's sad!" He never cried, just looked intent and serious. Then one day, as I flipped through movies on Netflixx, I saw him suddenly smile. "A Dog's Life" was the title of the movie he was smiling at. I turned it on. The dogs were doing activities similar to what we did with Vader - finding hidden food, and other challenges. Tyrien laughed and smiled throughout. Later that night, Tyson was flipping through Netflixx, and Tyrien smiled again when he saw that screen. I told Tyson about his reaction earlier. So Tyson put it on again, and Tyrien was happy again.
Today Tyrien and I watched youtube videos of dogs playing. It's his favorite thing now.
I'm finally getting used to being up in the middle of the night, and not having Vader checking on me. I am no longer surprised that he's not on the couch when we get home. I miss him so much. I keep remembering the feeling of rubbing his ears, then kissing his forehead, then hugging him. I hope that there is an afterlife for dogs, and that he's running with Turtle and Dusty, wrestling with Turtle, and napping curled next to him. He was my best friend for 12 years, he was good to my kids, and his last year was an awesome year. We miss him so much!