Response from Mom:
My Dear Siestas, thank you so much for your love and kindness toward us in the loss of our beloved Beanie and in only three weeks from the day that we lost my constant shadow, Sunny. This time I didn’t feel the least funny about you expending energy to pray for us, even if it seemed silly to some. Between the loss of them both, we are torn up. Just torn up. Have cried more in the last three days than I have cried in the last five years put together. When your kids are grown and you’re nurturers by nature like Keith and I are, your pets have a whole different place in the home because you center so much of your activity around them and affection upon them. They are gifts from God to lonesome people. The four of us – Keith, Sunny, Beanie, and I – did everything together. We even took them to Sonic and knew what they liked to order.
The whole time we were enduring Sunny’s tests, terminal diagnosis then death, Keith and I kept saying to one another in tears, “As painful as this is, can you imagine if this were Beanie??” Then before we could even recover, it was. She was just so much younger and such a spoiled baby that we couldn’t stand to think about it. We knew it would be even worse. And, Lord have mercy, was it ever. Her cancer went to the brain in a flash so hers was a very violent death compared to Sunny’s peaceful slipping away. Beanie had non-stop seizures for the last six hours. Enduring those hours before the vet’s office opened with her in such pain was just terrible. She was such a beauty. Such an exquisite animal that people would stop us on the streets and ask us what breed she was. And simply the funniest dog ever. I’ll add one story to Amanda’s wonderful tribute. Beanie loved to “hold hands.” She’d sit next to you, upright like a person, in the car or on the couch and hold out her paw so you’d hold hands with her. You couldn’t resist it because of the sad look she’d get on her face if you didn’t give in. Keith has been on so many road trips where he’s had to say to her, “Beanie, Daddy’s gotta rest his arm! I’m bout to get a cramp in my shoulder!” So darling. We will miss her terribly. Siesta who also has the German Shorthair, your comment made us laugh for the first time. Beanie hunted lizards, too!
So many of you were right on target: It won’t be long till we fill our house with puppies again. We’ll take a little while to recover then dive back in. And they’ll drive us crazy for two solid years and chew up half the furniture. And we won’t care because Keith and I are dog people, plain and simple. Keep the fancy house. We’ll take rompin’ stompin’ dogs. Tranquility never has been what we’ve looked for in a home. We like L-I-F-E even if it covers the couch with fur. Thank you for your sweet hearts toward us and for joining us in giving thanks to our marvelous God for saving my man from harm. You should see his truck. He came so close to driving off that bridge. I kept thinking yesterday, “I could be planning my husband’s funeral.” Perspective.
I love you guys so much. Thanks again for the lavish support. In ways too personal to reflect on a blog, the last couple of months have been hard. My main consolation is that God’s Word is never more alive to me and His Presence never more palpable than when I’m hurting and need it. Need HIM. Oh, I love Him so. I’d rather have Jesus than anything on earth.
Sweet friends, my mom asked me to tell you what has been going on in our lives this week. As you know, just three weeks ago my parents had to say goodbye to their dear old dog, Sunny. We never would have thought that just 13 days later, their dog Beanie would turn up with cancerous tumors throughout her body. My parents had a sad and tumultuous week doing absolutely everything they could to help her. My dad did so much driving back and forth from Houston to Beanie’s special vet in South Texas that he fell asleep at the wheel and had an accident on Tuesday night. He hit the guardrail while driving on an overpass. Thank God, he was unharmed and no other cars were involved. We are so grateful for God’s protection.
It breaks my heart to have to tell you that Beanie died yesterday morning. She had to be put down after a very long night of continuous seizures that couldn’t be stopped. I know Beanie is out of pain, but my parents are swimming in it. Granted, if you could choose your pain, we would 100% choose this over losing or having a sick family member. There’s no doubt about that. Our pain is microscopic compared to what so many are going through. But man, this life can hurt, can’t it? In a million different ways.
Beanie was the baby of the family. She came along in 1999 when my parents were creeping up on the empty nest years. I was already in college and Melissa was getting ready to be a senior in high school. Add that to the fact that Beanie contracted a fatal disease from a thorn in South Texas when she was only a year old. Every single birthday she had was a gift. We celebrated her big time because we weren’t supposed to have much time with her. Our family definitely felt that God had done a miracle for us by letting her even live past her third birthday. All that to say, she was babied and given lots of attention from the very beginning.
When my dad first brought her home as a puppy, mom was in the Philippines. Dad charged me with babysitting the new puppy while he was at work. She was so precious and so bad. Melissa and I told him he was going to be in huge trouble when mom got home. I think he was in a little bit of trouble, but mom couldn’t resist the puppy breath and she fell in love with “Sabine.” It wasn’t long before mom and dad were referring to Beanie as our “sister.”
Beanie was an extremely energetic dog. She loved to run. She was incredibly fast, especially in her younger days. If you opened up the front door and there happened to be a squirrel, cat, or rabbit somewhere on the street that she had been eyeing through the window, look out. She could worm her way out the door and fly down the street like a streak of white light. We called this phenomenon a “beanie ran.” For example, Mom might answer my call breathless and frustrated and say, “Oh, we’ve just had a beanie ran. It was a really bad one. It took us thirty minutes to get her back in the house.”
Mom and I were talking about how much of our family vernacular, inside jokes, and silly songs have to do with that dog. Perhaps the most distinct phrase she inspired was “good for bad.” Beanie was terrible for the first two years of her life. She did beanie rans, she gnawed at your hand when you tried to pet her, she destroyed all her stuffed animals within minutes (including dear old Spitty Chicken), etc. Clearly, she was bad. So when she had a good day, we called her “good for bad.” When she had a bad day, she was “bad for bad,” which we all know is really bad. Our Beanie songs included “Hold me closer, teeny Beanie,” and “Hey Beansie! You’re so sweet, your feet smell like people feet! Hey Beansie!” (This latter was more like a cheer.)
Beansie, as vibrant and fun as she was, always had an empty place in her heart. Why was that? Well, someone mean and bad took her tail when she was only a pup. She was practically obsessed with it. The stump was known as the “tootsie tail.” It wagged with mind-boggling speed. If you stared too long at it you might fall under its spell and be made to give Beansie all the Meaty Bones in the pantry at once. Beanie really appreciated it when we held her tail still so that she could reach around and see it, smell it, and nibble on it a bit. When we let go she would spin around like a whirling dervish. Whirling Beanie, if you will. Dad was not too happy about us doing it, but it was so funny.
One of Beanie’s favorite things in all of life was to go on car rides. Dad would drive, mom would sit in the back seat, and Beanie would sit up front in the passenger seat. If you tried to usurp her throne next to dad, she would climb all over you and make you miserable until you finally moved to the back. In time we all accepted it. There are some large fields close to my parents’ house and they would drive over there with both dogs in the car. At just the right moment, they would open the door and both dogs would jump out and take off like a flash. They would run and run and run, stirring up all the rascally rabbits from their hiding places. When they started howling and picked up their speed, we always knew they had found one. Those bunnies always outran the dogs, but they had a great time in the chase.
Beansie was a great snuggler. She could spoon like a person. She also liked to lay her head on a pillow and be tucked in under sheets. Mom and Dad would call Melissa and me in to say goodnight to our sister. We would go in the room to marvel at Princess Beanie all tucked in her bed. Her head and entire body would remain still as though she were asleep, but that tootsie tail would be thumping the mattress and give her away every time.
The first time I visited my parents’ house after each dog passed away, there was a rabbit hopping around out front. Maybe those rascalies heard that the street was safe again, or maybe they were paying their respects. Whatever the case, that street will be a lot more boring without Beanie and Sunny. We imagine that right now they are running side-by-side through the tallest, greenest grass in heaven with speed they’ve never known and are having an absolute blast. We suspect Beanie might even have her tail back. And as much as we’ll miss that little dickens, that’s good for good.
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