Remembering Dooley

When most people think of the fourth of July, fireworks and flags come to mind. When Brad and I remember the fourth, we can't help but remember sweet Dooley and the day he died.

Yes, died.

Dooley was a great dog. Brad found him on his doorstep back in 2001 and started feeding him. He knew Dooley (affectionately named after a soccer player) was a keeper when he drank from the toilet! It was perfect timing for Brad to get a dog. He was months away from moving to Kentucky and working as a grad assistant for a soccer program...by himself. So, what better companion than a part German Shepherd, adorable puppy?

This isn't his best picture. For some reason, I can't find all of our "dog" pictures. Dooley is on the right.

Well, about a month before Brad moved, he asked the owners of his rental about pets. They weren't allowed. Oops! My apartment in Abilene allowed pets, but it was a huge deposit and a lot of responsibility during my last year of nursing school. The next best option was my parents. We refer to my dad as the "dog whisperer" since he is so good with dogs...and loves them more than his kids (just kidding dad). Seriously though. It's hilarious to see my dad with their dogs and "grand dogs". Anyway. So, my parents took Dooley in, under the conditions that we take him back after we were married (approximately one year from then).

Dooley had a great life at my parent's house. A pool to swim in, doggie school, lots of attention and two other canine buddies to play with. Minus the impaled lung on their rod iron fence (I promise you have never seen a dog jump higher), he had a great almost FOUR years living with my parents! Yeah, the one year plan quickly turned into four, since we lived in apartments the first three years we were married.

Mom and dad were excited when we bought our first house because Dooley had started acting really strange. He was showing signs of separation anxiety and was breaking out of their fence a lot. So, we gladly took him to his new home in Abilene. Weeeeelllll, after months of breaking out of our fence (literally picking at it with his paws and breaking the picket apart), freaking out in a crate and opening the door to the dog run we put him in, we were a little worn out.

In comes our current canine family member, Connor. Connor seemed to help a little, but poor Dooley just did not enjoy being alone. He was the sweetest and calmest dog indoors. So gentle and cuddly. Outside, was another story.

Shortly after Connor came to live with us, fourth of July weekend happened. Dooley was acting strange all weekend and was extra cuddly. He was also hiding behind chairs and I found him several times in our bed (we didn't let him sleep in our bed with us). Brad kind of thought something was up, so on that Friday night, we spent a lot of quality time with him.

Saturday night, we headed out for dinner and fireworks. We left around 7 and came home around 10ish. Brad went out in the backyard to let the dogs out of the dog run. Connor came running out, but Dooley didn't. Brad came back in and got the flash light. Sure enough, Dooley was laying in the dog run, not breathing.

Luckily, my nurse manager at the time, was married to one of the local dog catchers. I called Joe immediately and told him Dooley was dead in our dog run. He came right away and helped us. Joe took Dooley out of the dog run (legs straight up, poor guy) and took him away. So, so sad.

And then we remembered Connor. Poor Connor sitting in the dog run for hours while Dooley wasn't alive. It makes me tear up just thinking about it. They were good buddies.

We didn't get an autopsy of Dooley, but are pretty sure he completely freaked out in the dog run while fireworks were going on. I think he had an anxiety attack and possibly heart attack.

He was a great dog and is still missed. So, happy birthday America, and Dooley, we miss you!