In the fall of 1985 I was a member of the Jesuit Volunteer Corps, living and working in Wheeling, WV with three other volunteers. Two of our group worked with problem teenagers, one of whom was going off to a residential high school. Since she couldn't take her young dog, we agreed to puppy sit until a suitable home could be found. Such a home was found the following August, when Angel came home with me. In the fifteen years and two months that followed I spent more time with her than any other of God's creatures, four footed or two. Counting the months she was shared with my fellow volunteers, I've spent nearly a third of my life with her.
Friday, September 28, 2001, started much as any other day. I took her out, gave her her pill, fed her, fed myself and, getting halfway through my prayers, took her out again. This was entirely normal. I left for school, returning rather later than usual, around 7. I took her out, walked her around and brought her back in. Around 10:30 p.m. she starting eating some food, which wasn't unusual for her. About 10:45 she was insistent about going out, again not unusual. She appeared as if she wanted to vomit, which while unusual wasn't completely unknown. She brought nothing up but spittle. She started to foam at the mouth. We came in and went out several times. I was starting to get panicky. I wiped the spittle from her mouth. I brought her out again. She walked around, again appearing to try to vomit. Eventually she collapsed. I brought her in. While I was trying to wipe her spittle a second time, she bit me, she a dog who in recent years refused to bite my finger when I would insert it in her mouth as a game. I was screaming in panic. I frantically searched the Yellow Pages for a veterinarian. I found an emergency veterinarian, who agreed to examine her. I drove quite fast, dangerously so, arriving before the vet. The vet drew some blood and performed some tests. Angel's heart was racing and her breathing was raspy. She was running a fever. The blood tests showed some problems consistent with dehydration or an infection. The vet gave her some fluids subcutaneously, and Angel seemed to relax a bit, although her heart rate was still very high. I was given an antibiotic to give her, with instructions to call her own vet the next day. We came back home around 3:00 a.m., and we went to bed. Her breathing was still raspy. After a few minutes she once again started to try to vomit. I put her on the floor. She tried to get into the closet, but I held her on the floor. She seemed to calm down some. Turning the light out, I lied down next to her. Her breathing seemed awfully quiet. Angel returned to her Creator sometime between 3:00 and 3:30 a.m. on Saturday morning, the Feast of St. Michael and All Angels.
She was a great dog. When she was young, she loved everyone she met, excepting cats who ran and of course squirrels. As she aged, she was a little more formal, especially around young children. She had a special relationship with my parents. Several persons commented on her very soft fur. During her Wheeling days we thought she was cute but dim. In Connecticut we discovered that in fact she was quite intelligent but still cute (after an absence of some years my sister-in-law greeted her with "Hello, Angel. You're as cute as ever."). She shed continuously. My mother often noted her curiosity. She hated to have her nails trimmed. She loved her dog biscuits and sticking her nose in the snow and having her rump rubbed. I would often rub her eyes with the back of my fingers. She loved to nuzzle.
She was a dog of extraordinary love.
Here are more jpgs of Angel:
Angel in a park in Worcester MA
