Pia

We picked her up from LAX's cargo area on Christmas Eve... must have been 1996.  My sister, Rosanne, was dancing on a "Nutcracker" tour and we were going to pick her up at her hotel and bring her home for Christmas.

Pia was a little fluffball, maybe 2 lb in all. She got out of the little cat-crate, and promptly peed on the cement floor, much to the amusement of the worker.  She wasn't barking or anything.

We took her to Petco somewhere in LA to, I think, get some food and maybe a toy? She pooped on the floor there; at least the employees were gracious about it.

My mom had a canvas bag on her, so we put the as-unnamed-yet-Pia in the bag with her crate's blanket and brought her, contraband, into the hotel with us. Her head kept popping up and we kept pushing it down so as not to attract attention as we picked up Rosanne.

We rode home in my dad's Ford Explorer with Pia in the crate between Rosanne and me.

She looked like a Pomeranian. My mom chided my brother, Michael, who had bought her in Texas thinking she was a Border Terrier, that this wasn't a Terrier at all.  I think it was also to atone for his lack of coming home this particular Christmas.

She found her voice later, a tiny puppy yip that slowly got deeper and belied her 30 lb frame.

***

We named her Pia because, as Rosanne astutely noticed, she tended to pee a lot.  Plus, there were no scary "S" sounds which my mom had read bother dogs because they sound like a snake hissing.  And it was a name that you could yell and would carry with the long "eee-ahh" at the end of it.

***

My mom house-trained her, and trained her to sit, stay, down, fetch, and pick up the newspaper out front every day.  We trained her to heel.

She loved running and jumping incredibly high. We had a large backyard at the time, and if you threw something, she would leap after it. We taught her to play fetch, but it always involved two toys so she would drop the fetched one in order to go after the other.

"Fetch Frisbee!"
"Fetch Ball!"

***

At first, we fed her IAMS, then as our understanding of pet foods grew, my mom started to cook her dinners - chunks of meat with vegetables, rice or oatmeal.  Breakfasts were these even more natural dog food nuggets made of salmon or other foods. She loved the buttery biscuits from Church's Chicken.  She would eat broccoli, but the farting afterwards was a high price to pay for that.  We relaxed our standards on her begging later, but usually we'd let her lick plates clean if she wanted (and leave some nibbles on there for her).

***

My mom tried to teach her to swim in our large pool, but she was so skinny and muscled she couldn't float. We made her a pontoon out of foam pool noodles.  She hated it and would flounder about.

***

She had the footing of a mountain goat. Tiny paws but she could handle hills and rocky areas with ease.  Snow wasn't so easy for her.

***

As she grew, her tailed remained curled up, but it grew a luxuriant mane of blond hairs. She had upright ears, reddish soft long fur, and a black nose. Her eyes looked like she was wearing eyeliner; a Very Stylish Dog!

***

One of her habits was to incessantly lick you to show her love. Even after her breath got stinky, we let her continue.  One of her favorite spots to lick was the top of my dad's bald head. I don't know why. She had a special affection for him, too, and even when she was blind from cataracts and mostly deaf, she could sense him and her tail would go up and wag.

***

She would run with my dad and sister, really, anyone in the family going for a walk or run who invited her outside. Usually twice a day.

***

She always wanted to chase squirrels, but they got away every time.

***

From a standstill, she used to be able to jump from the floor beyond the foot of my parents' California King bed, to the head of the bed. No preparation, just pure muscle strength.

***

She didn't like you to pick her up; she would snarl and bark.  It usually wasn't a problem because she could jump wherever you needed her to go.

***

She liked to go outside in the late morning and lay in the "down" position (all legs tucked under her, head up) in the sunlight. She would do this in the hot summers, it didn't matter. She would stay outside about half an hour, then come in with warm fur, smelling of egg and 'outside'.

***

She hated thunderstorms. She would start vibrating and cowering, and those were the only times we allowed her on the couch (later it didn't matter).

***

She loved riding in the car. One time my mom made the mistake of taking her through an automated carwash, and she freaked out because of the noises and the brushes attacking the car.

***

She would 'visit' different beds through the night, jumping up and down at will. If you moved suddenly, she was off the bed, though.

***

I have many more happy memories of this wonderful, loving dog. She was with my mom constantly for 16+ years. 

This past Sunday, my mom got a sign that she was suffering. She'd had a cancer on her top jaw that had started as a bulge, thinking it was an infection, that pushed out a tooth.  It started moving forward.  The vet predicted a week or two from the initial finding. My mom and Pia held on for a few months beyond that. My mom started feeding her whatever she wanted, which of course is a big guessing game since she can't talk.  Salmon, tuna, liver, chicken, roast beef, it didn't matter. I joked I was going to have to bring some duck breast soon.  Evening walks turned shorter, but she still was eager to go outside. My mom started taking her in the car with her on errands again, since it wasn't too hot.

Her breathing was starting to sound like Darth Vader. Eating was difficult for her, though she obviously wanted food.  She was bleeding out of the cancer when it was disturbed. The homeopathist kept honing in on remedies, finally suggesting homeopathic arsenic to calm her down and make letting go easier.

Sunday, my parents took Pia on a nice walk by a bayou.  Her stomach wasn't growling, so my mom didn't push food in her mouth. My mom called the vet. He came to the house.  He missed with his first injection; my mom says Pia barked at him.  They were on the bed where she spent so much time snoozing.

My mom says she took a long time and pet Pia, ruffling her fur and putting her head on her.  Smelling her paws, which always smelled like freshly mown hay.  Her fur, which smelled clean.  These were things Pia never would have allowed.  She sang to her, comforting her as her heart and breathing stopped but her mind hadn't gone yet. She said she briefly considered shaving her, to keep more of the fur, but then thought it cruel to send her off naked.  She opened her chakras, making it easier for Pia's soul to slip out.

I happened to call just as the vet had left with her. My mom asked for her to be cremated; it seemed inhumane to allow her to rot somewhere, or worse, be reconstituted in some horrific animal-feed factory.

***

I can't believe she's gone. I loved her, do love her, will miss her and everything about her immensely. My mom says it feels like a part of her was amputated.  She says the house feels empty, huge, silent.  She doesn't know how to fill her time. The bedroom floor was cold after she removed the yoga mats that were in place to aid Pia's jumping on and off the bed. She said she is considering another shaman-related class to distract her. Everything is a distraction right now: TV, going out of the house. The worst part, she says, is returning home and Pia isn't there.


I can't get the picture out of Flickr, but you can see how beautiful she was. It was fitting that every animal communicator would tell my mom that she had told them she was cute or beautiful.

***

Pia, I hope Amam and Dan came and got you on the other side; I hope you remember them.  Let them pet you.  Catch some squirrels.  Lay in the sun. Play nice with Joanie, Blackberry, all of Amam's dogs that went before you, and especially Tacket - he just got there a couple of days before you. Don't be afraid, and know Mom made that decision to ease your suffering; I hope you weren't in pain very long. We will always wonder how much longer you could have stayed with us if you hadn't gotten that cancer.  You must have heard Mom say that you were never a burden on her, even when she was spending her whole days concentrating on you.  The animal communicators got it across that you were fiercely devoted to Mom.  We Love You.

***