The air was crisp when we moved into our Minnesota farmhouse in November of 1995. With the free space and the children well past the terrible twos, it was time to add a four-legged friend to the family. At the animal shelter, we saw her and fell in love with all 75 pounds of her. We were told she arrived as a stray with no identification. They guessed that she was four. She'd been there a year because most folks don't want to adopt big dogs. They'd always just called her "Babe."
A year later, Mort, the carpenter, built the window seat in the bay window of our front room. I had grand expectations for this window seat. I envisioned reading cozily among the pillows, sun shining in, or a winter snowfall gentle outside.perhaps a summer rain piling drops against the window, followed by a rainbow.
The dog overruled my expectations. Babe jumped onto the window seat the day the carpenter was done. She became one with the window seat. She enjoyed every raindrop, ray of sunshine and snowflake that I had hoped for. As we drove up the driveway, we saw her in the seat. As we left the house, she was in the seat. She warned us of approaching strangers from her window seat. The red-and-blue eight point star quilt in the window seat was commonly referred to as "Babe's quilt." At night, she retreated to the window seat, and in the morning she awoke in the window seat.
We tried to sit with her, but the seat is narrow. She was a big dog with lovely long legs and a tail that could clear a coffee table in one fell swoop. And yet she was a kind and gentle giant. Ever the peacemaker, she protected Zoe the barn cat from Candy the Scottish terrier. Visiting toddlers seemed attracted to Babe, but she never complained or nipped no matter how hard her ears were pulled.
How can a dog have such a personality? How can a dog give so much love? How can a dog occupy the best seat in the house and claim it as her own with the unquestioning consent of all five human family members?
Our country vet, Ralph Molnau, is over seventy and still makes house calls. "Her heart is failing," he told me, but I just knew he was wrong. Over the next week he was proven right. Together, we made one of the toughest decisions I've ever faced. Dr. Molnau stopped by the house Wednesday morning. Babe passed away on the window seat wrapped in her quilt and in my arms.
The window seat sits empty except for me. But I now understand that Babe fulfilled my grand expectations for making this a place of love and comfort in our home.
Sleep well, dear friend.
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