Sheila & Spart’s Last Minutes Together – Photo: L. Weikel

Spartacus’s Sadness

When we let go of Sheila last Friday I mentioned to Karl that I doubted I would write about it. At least I was pretty sure I wouldn’t share it right away. But as the evening wore on, of course, I could think of nothing but Sheila, so I wrote ‘Irreplaceable.’ That’s what happens with this 1111 devotion. I deliberately refrain from planning ahead what I’m going to write about; instead, I allow whatever is foremost on my mind or in my heart lead me as I settle in to write each post. Tonight, I have to admit, I am compelled to bear witness to Spartacus’s sadness.

As I’ve written elsewhere, Spartacus was Sheila’s one and only puppy. Her only son. We never intended to breed her, but even our veterinarian felt she was such an extraordinary pup that allowing her to have a litter would be an incredible gift to all of us. We were so on the fence over it that we willingly dealt with the hassle of her cycles for four years.

Finally, we decided to take her back to the breeder from whom we’d bought her. The breeding process itself was awful. Sheila wanted no part in the shenanigans and the stud was – of all things – polite. He was not inclined to force himself on her, given her obvious distaste, in spite of what a cutie pie she was. It took a lot of persistence, and we almost gave up. But finally – success!

The only stipulation? I looked into Sheila’s eyes when it was over and she made me promise – she demanded – that I never make her go through that living hell again. We had a deal.

A Room of His Own

When we were sure the single encounter had ‘taken,’ I was psyched to midwife my little girl’s puppies! I read up on it and prepared for the big day as best as I could. We had her checked a couple of times by different people familiar with pregger pups and everyone predicted 2-3 puppies.

Of course, her labor started and abruptly stopped. Naturally, this occurred in the early evening, when our regular vet was closed for the day, thus necessitating a trip to the animal emergency room. An x-ray confirmed that our petite Sheila had one huge honker of a pup laying upside down along her spine, splayed out, enjoying the room of his own – just like he continues to sleep on his back to this day. After a touch-and-go emergency C-section, our Spartacus was born.

She Was Here Just the Other Day… – Photo: L. Weikel

Bottom Line

Sheila and Spartacus came home with me that evening and slept right beside me on the floor beside the bed, in a makeshift nest of blankets. And ever since that June day in 2008, they were inseparable.

Sheila was a great mom. She groomed him and loved him, taught him all the good stuff to eat, played with him relentlessly – and always, always cuddled him.

If you take a look at the photo above, to her very last day, he was trying to engage her with a new toy we’d bought him. Sadly, she hadn’t played with Spartacus in probably two years, as she grew steadily more blind and deaf.

Of course, we knew he would miss her. His life would be altered in a way he’d never experienced. (Neither of them ever spent time away from each other. Where one went, the other did too.) His life will never be the same.

He’s been sticking by us like glue, and we’ve been lavishing affection on him – not a hard task by any means. It’s been hard to discern between his sadness and our own. Indeed, even the cats have been subdued and withdrawn.

But when I saw him this afternoon, laying on the grass in the exact spot he’d last spent time with Sheila before we took her to the vet last Friday, I thought my heart would burst. My little boy misses his mommy. No doubt about it.

Spartacus’s Palpable Sadness – Photo: L. Weikel

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