We got her on a beautiful spring day in 1991. She was my birthday gift that year and Jim and the children were as excited as I was. She was just a fur ball — a little fat yellow Labrador Retriever pup. We called her “Sunny” for her color, but her full name was Leigh Ann’s Sunny Girl. She gave us several litters of pups, her biggest litter being 11 babies. She was a good mother — as good as any dog could be. Christopher used to play “Old Yeller” with her - he was the lead boy character and she was, of course, “Old Yeller.” She enjoyed slumber parties, birthday parties, Christmases, family gatherings — everything we enjoyed as a family. Jennifer and Christopher loved her and played with her a lot. I even remember the time Christopher handcuffed her and another time when Jennifer played “dress-up” with her. When she was about 6 years old, she learned to retrieve the newspaper. Every evening, we would say “Sunny, go get the paper” and she would run to the end of the driveway and bring the paper back. If the paper wasn’t there, she’d find something to bring back. I remember a time or two she brought our paper and the neighbor’s paper! Now and again she got sidetracked, but most of the time she brought the paper right back. I’ve never seen a dog more scared of thunderstorms and fireworks. Bless her heart, she would just shake and shake! One afternoon as we sat on the floor during a particularly violent storm, she got right beside me and pushed herself up under my arm. One summer, she and Sabre disappeared. After they’d been gone for an entire month, we’d given them up for gone. Jim came home from work one day, and found the two of them lounging in the front yard like they’d never been gone at all. We fenced in the backyard for her and Otis, but the fence didn’t contain her. She jumped right over it. Every morning we would leave her in the backyard in the fence, and every afternoon she would be waiting for us on the front porch. She thought she was too good for a fence! She’s even been involved in 3 car accidents, any which could have taken her from us, and we thought she must have been part cat with her 9 lives. She’s been a good dog. She’s been a friend. She’s been a family member. And today we had to say goodbye to her.
She’s been going down for a while now. When I look at a picture of her taken a year ago and compare it to now, I can see how far she’s gone. She is skin and bones - literally. She has a hump on her back bigger than a large grapefruit. She has fatty cysts on her tummy, has moles all over her, cannot hear, and can barely see. I’ve known it was coming — I’ve been expecting it. But to have to call the vet and make “the appointment” was almost more than I could bear. The hump on her back started bleeding Tuesday night. The tumor was growing faster than her skin. When Daddy came over for dinner Wednesday night, she didn’t beg. She just laid on the floor. The only food she took was a few bites of pork chop that I hand fed her. She seemed to feel better Thursday and yesterday; she was eating and drinking. When Jim and I took her to the vet, the doctor said he could operate, but at her age (almost 16) he didn’t recommend it. She might not come through the surgery, or she might not recover and we’d have to put her to sleep anyway.
This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Ever. Jim and I stayed with her the entire time and took her home after it was over. It was dark and bitterly cold by the time we got home, but Jim dug in the ground by the shop and gently laid her down. He wrapped her in a warm blanket and put a towel under her head. We told her goodbye one more time and Jim finished his task. She’s now in her own backyard.
Goodbye, Sunny. Thank you for sharing your life with us. We love you and will always remember you.
