CHASING DOWN THE MUSE: Dogs who are loved and lost

About four years ago, I began having dreams about owning a dog. I found these dreams strange, because I had always been a cat person.

The vision of me walking a creature on a leash down the boardwalk seemed both foreign and strangely comforting.

“Maybe I need a dog,” I mentioned to Emma on one of our walks.

She looked at me with her wry dry smile, with which we simultaneously acknowledged the responsibility of a dog would likely outweigh whatever fantasy my dreams were delivering.

As is often said, be careful what you ask for — even in your dreams. Shortly after my dreams began, I bought a house in Loreto, Mexico. Added to the joy of a retreat on the Sea of Cortez was that the house came with dogs.

The previous owner had decided the dogs were happier at the beach than they would ever be in a city or desert hillside environment. I quickly hired someone to feed them every evening, keep an eye of them, and commandeered the neighbors to insure Negrita and Matischa were well cared for and adored.

The first time I met Negrita she let me know in no uncertain terms that she was the boss, the queen dog, and the ruler of the territory. Short-legged with a German shepherd’s snout, her fur was black as night, as was her nose. Her dark brown eyes seemed to look right into me and her heart was as true as a dog’s can be.

When Negrita met Steve, I thought she might take his hand off. She growled and growled and was not easily convinced of his sweetness. Eventually, they became best friends, and everyone said Negrita was really Steve’s dog. I’d argue this point and say we shared her affection equally.

Negrita took no counsel. She was the first alert system, and while I never saw her set a tooth into a single soul, to watch her pull back her lips and snarl was enough to cast fear into anyone with evil intentions. With Negrita by the side of my bed, I slept with the angels.

I was told she was once a junk yard dog, but when she came into my life, she got toys, bacon treats and a soft bed. She slept in the air-conditioned house and was my sturdy companion on long beach walks.

She and Matischa were best friends. Matischa, a lab/mex mix who towered over Negrita, but was always second in command, was poisoned a few months ago by some sick, sick person. After she died, Negrita seemed both confused and lonely. They had been inseparable as long as I had known them.

Negrita loved to go to town. She would dance in circles when it came time to leave, and the second the car door was opened, she was in and settled in her seat. It was just like that a week ago when she went to town with Jeanne, her alter-mom and my next-door neighbor. It was a normal happy day.

When they stepped out of Jeanne’s office, Negrita lightly bounced, as she usually did, across the street toward Jeanne’s car. Unfortunately, the oncoming traffic didn’t stop as it usually did, and she wasn’t merely hit, she was run over. Jeanne screamed, picked up the bleeding dog and raced to the vets.

I was in the States, Steve was in Loreto. He called me with the dark news. Sobbing, I told him that he had to go back to the vets.

“Please don’t let her die alone,” I begged him. “Don’t let her die alone.”

He called me in an hour and told me she seemed to be responding, and Dr. Juan thought she could go home the next day. Steve had to come back to the States, but Jeanne took her home to recuperate.

Slowly, Negrita went from immobile, to dragging her hind legs behind her, to once again walking. When I spoke to Jeanne on the phone, she said Negrita had even gotten her bounce back again and was starting to do her spins.

When I arrived in Loreto last week, Negrita was in the house waiting for me. No wag of tail, however, and no raise up for kisses and licks. Negrita lay on the floor, again immobile. I had no idea what had happened, but rushed her back to Dr. Juan. He gave her a pain shot and told me he’d make a house call in the morning.

He didn’t have to say a word. I knew she was dying and my heart felt broken in unspoken ways. When she coughed up black blood around 9 p.m., I called the vet, but of course, there was no answer. Alexander, my Realtor and friend, was at Jeanne’s and they rushed over. He knew where Dr. Juan lived and took off to fetch him. I could not let my friend suffer through the night.

Dr. Juan returned and while I held my black beauty, my Negrita Bonita, she quietly went to sleep for the last time. She is buried in the yard, butt to butt with her friend, Matischa, her buddy Buster Sr., the puppy, Bambi, and the wild rambunctious teenager, Pinta Fresca.

There are other dogs in our hood and in my life, but none will ever feel quite like the first one. Negrita’s death leaves a huge hole in the hearts of everyone who knew her.

We love you, Negrita, and we know the other dogs in heaven are dancing to finally have you with them.

CATHARINE COOPER, a former cat lover, is the proud ‘dog mother’ of Buster Jr. and Blondie who live in Laguna, and the co-mom of Diego Fuego and Skippy-Peppy-Shorty. She can be reached at cooper@catharinecooper.com