Hannah, the Airedale Who Loved Me

One of the things I love about family history is that its scope is broad enough to include stories and photos about all aspects of a person's life, including their pets.  If I had a photo of an ancestor with a pet, and especially if I had a story to go with the photo, I would consider it part of my family history.  With that in mind, I'm sharing a personal experience.

The two-year-old Airedale who came to our home as a foster girl in spring, 2008, was rough around the edges, to say the least.  She'd been tied to a tree with her brother for the first two years of her life, neglected, and most likely abused.  Thankfully, her rescuer had groomed and clipped her so she was clean and fresh.  But she did not know her name or recognize any words or commands.  She was not housebroken.  And she was afraid of everything -- steps, doors, walls, kitchen utensils, the computer mouse, lights, the TV, a sheet of paper, a change in flooring, men, hands, noises both loud and quiet, anything that moved, and anything new....  And everything was new to her!  We recognized fear when she tried to move away or hide, and worse, we could see the fear in her eyes.  It didn't take two hours for me to begin thinking about how soon we could find her a forever home (that wasn't ours).

I spent her first night sleeping on the floor with her because I wanted her to feel as comfortable and safe as possible in this new situation.  I was surprised that she nestled right next to me.  When the sun rose the next morning Hannah yawned, stretched, stood, almost smiled, and did a little playbow.  Her eyes were alight with joy and, dare I say it, love.  I sensed that she recognized me as pack leader and felt that she belonged to this new place in her world.  That was when I began to fall in love with Hannah.

So Hannah stayed and blossomed.  Her timidness with new people continued but she overcame so many of her other fears.  She gained confidence little by little -- safe throughout the house, safe in her fenced-in yard, safe for a walk, safe with me.  She learned her name and the basic commands:  come, sit, down, wait, and stay.  She also learned to "say please" with a sweet head bob.  (At mealtimes I asked her to sit and wait, say please, then I kissed her on the forehead and gave her the okay to eat.)  She loved squeaky and stretchy toys and often invited us to play.  Sometimes she was just as pleased to play by herself, grabbing a tissue box or one of her stuffed toys and tossing it around.  We used to laugh when she did this, which only encouraged her to continue or repeat the behavior.  Never laugh at an Airedale's antics:  it only encourages them.  Airedales have a great sense of humor and never seem to mind playing the clown if someone's laughing.

I consider it no small compliment that Hannah chose to love me above everyone else in our home.  She liked to be wherever I was, watching or interacting with me, and came to find me if I moved from a room while she was napping.  She gave wonderful hugs.  There's nothing like a hug from an Airedale!

In December, 2018, Hannah was diagnosed with kidney disease, spindle cell cancer, and the dreaded lymphoma.  Dogs with lymphoma usually live only four to six weeks after diagnosis.  We had the blessing of nearly six good months with her.  The past few weeks her health declined until we had to make the sad and difficult choice to let her go.  

I spent most of Hannah's last night on the floor nestled next to her.  I didn't want her to feel alone and I especially wanted her to know that she was--and is--loved.  It seemed like we'd come full circle.

Being Hannah's adoptive mom has been one of the best experiences of my life -- both a blessing and a joy.  How I love and miss her!  I'm beyond grateful for Hannah, the Airedale who loved me.

--Nancy.

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