Everyone who ever met Sweetie said her name fit her.

Sweetie was a rescue dog we found at the Toledo Area Humane Society (TAHS). She was about a year and a half old when we first saw her. She had recently delivered ten chubby puppies who looked nothing like her. They rolled around and played in the front of the “big dog” kennel Sweetie was in. I always assumed she was back in the “big dog” area because of the large family she had just delivered, and on that day, she was in the very back of the kennel, shaking like a leaf. She had the most scared, confused look on her face – ten puppies, big dogs all around her barking like mad. I couldn’t shake that look, and about forty-eight hours later, we returned to the TAHS to see if we could play with her a little. She wasn’t too interested in us, as I recall, but we fell in love with her anyway. We inquired about adoption and were told we could put a “hold” on her until they spayed her and her pups were weaned. We waited and waited for TAHS to call us about Sweetie’s readiness for discharge. It took roughly six weeks before things were all set. We went to pick her up on a Saturday.

Upon arrival at TAHS, there was an overwhelming amount of activity. TAHS had just received a shipment of dogs from Arkansas, if I remember correctly. I was shocked that dogs would come to Toledo from that far away, but to Toledo’s credit, our area is so good about adopting dogs, that other shelters often transfer dogs here – we “turn them over” very quickly. That’s something for people in this area to be proud of. In any event, it took a while that day to secure Sweetie’s adoption. We were asked to come into an office to finish up some paperwork.

A young lady whose name I don’t remember entered the room and sat across the desk from us. She began by saying, “We need to give you some information. We have the results of Sweetie’s biopsy.”

My husband and I looked at each other for a minute. Not comprehending what the girl was talking about, I said, “What do you mean?” She replied, “The results of her biopsy were positive for mammary cancer, and the doctor was unable to get clear margins.” For those of you not in the medical profession, this means that some cancer cells still exist within the patient. Clear margins would indicate that the tumor had been contained and completely removed.

We were flabbergasted. We knew she was having sterilization surgery but had no idea that any other issue was on the table.

The young lady continued. “We can send Sweetie home with you, but we’d like you to bring her back in a week to see if we can get the rest of the cancer. We will do the surgery here and let you have her when she’s recovered. Of course, if this changes your mind about adopting her, we completely understand.”

It didn’t take me long to say, “We already love her. We most assuredly want her.”

While the woman went to retrieve the rest of the paperwork we needed to sign, I began to cry. Sob, actually. I’m sure they heard me in the lobby of the shelter and wondered why someone was sobbing over a dog that wasn’t actually theirs yet.

What they didn’t know, of course, is that I was mourning some trauma that had recently hit our family and which I had never properly grieved. You talk about the ugly cry? That was me that day. We finished our paperwork, got our bandaged pup and headed for home.

A week later, Sweetie endured another surgery. Again, they could not obtain clean margins. We were told that our own vet would need to handle her care from there out. TAHS had done all they could, and we understood that. They probably could have opted not to even do the second surgery, but they did, and we were grateful.

Our own vet is Kady Flowers, DVM. She is at Spring Meadows Animal Hospital, and if I may indulge myself in an aside, here, I want to tell you that Dr. Flowers and the staff at Spring Meadows are the absolute best in the business. I can’t say enough good about them.

Dr. Flowers told me that we could set Sweetie up with a dog oncologist, but that if she were us, she’d just let Sweetie live her best life for as long as possible. My husband and I had already discussed this and were not interested in trying to put a dog through chemo or radiation therapy. That would have been for us – not for Sweetie. We wanted Sweetie to get to be just a dog – not a patient for the rest of her days. By the way, we found out at this time that if a dog is spayed before she has a litter of puppies, and better yet, before she has her first “heat,” the chance of developing mammary cancer is reduced by about 60%…a statistic for you to keep in mind if you happen to adopt a female pup.

Other than the giant bandage around her chest, you would have never known anything was wrong with Sweetie. We were amazed at what a good little girl she was. She was already house-trained, and over the years, I only know of two times she pooped in the house – once was at our daughter’s house, resulting in one of the funniest pictures of Sweetie we have, peeking down the stairs into the basement with a very guilty look on her face. How I cherish that picture!

Sweetie was never a “cuddler.” She had been found living on the streets in Stilwell, Oklahoma, and she never developed the lap dog mentality. As a medium-sized dog, I’d have been happy to have her sit with me, but she was leery. She also never learned how to play. I’m sure no one had played with her on the streets of Stilwell, and she didn’t “get it.” We called her “The Socially-Awkward Dog.” Nevertheless, she appeared to know who loved her, who would feed her, who would take her for walks, that she would be warm when it was cold outside and cool when it got hot. In other words, she trusted that the humans she lived with would care for her.

Excuse me if I humanize this non-human being, but she turned out to be an exceptional dog. When I took her for walks, if she saw a cat or rabbit in the neighborhood, she wanted badly to run after them. I restrained her, but every single time we would walk in that area again, it was clear that she was on the lookout for the animal she’d seen before, stopping and scanning the area to make sure that animal wasn’t lurking about. This would go on for many, many walks until she finally gave up her search.

She rapidly learned commands. Sit. Shake. Go lay down. Get a drink of water. Being her own person, she didn’t always obey.

She barked like crazy whenever anyone came to the door, and she hated delivery trucks. We used to say we’d never have to worry about burglars because Sweetie would let us know they had invaded our house. However, all the burglars would have had to do is pet her, and she’d have let them take anything they wanted.

My deceased dad, an avid hunter, would have wanted to make Sweetie a hunting dog if he’d ever gotten to meet her. No matter where she went, her nose was to the ground, her tail was in the air, and she was hunting, sometimes stopping to sniff a single blade of grass from bottom to top and back down to the ground again. I’m sure my neighbors heard me admonish her, “C’mon, Big Game Hunter – let’s go!” more than once.

Sweetie didn’t mind the cold, primarily because I dressed her in sweaters during the winter. She became a dog fashion icon in the neighborhood. However, I didn’t have a good raincoat for her, so she was reluctant to walk in the rain. At one point, I used a bag from a large-size pack of napkins I bought at Costco, cut holes for her head and legs, and left the open end of the bag for her behind. I called it “The Rain Bag of Shame,” because my poor dog suffered the indignity of going for a walk in a napkin bag with the company logo on full display. I should have charged the company for product placement. 

Mind you, all of this walking in the rain was because Sweetie did not like to poop in her own yard. She would rather be constipated to the hilt than poop in her own yard. Consequently, I had to walk in the rain, too. But it was okay…it was for Sweetie.

Just a couple more stories on clothing. She hated boots, though I purchased them and made her wear them in deep snow or on sidewalk salt. Watching her walk in them was a comedy show. Also, Sweetie had clothes for Easter, Halloween, Buckeye football, and Christmas. I know it’s dumb, but she just looked so darn cute.

My socially-awkward dog warmed to us over the years. She first began to sit with my husband, who hardly ever took her for walks and was not the main purveyor of treats. Go figure. She would only sit with me if I came to her and sat where she wanted to be. That never dampened my love for this little girl. Our whole family felt the same way. Sweetie was the queen of the house.

This year, Sweetie began eating ravenously, drinking much more water than usual, and her abdomen became very large and pendulous. She was slow in movement and reluctant to go for walks. She panted all the time, even at rest. We went to see Dr. Flowers who, aided by some diagnostic testing, was soon able to make a diagnosis of Cushing’s disease. In a short period of time, Sweetie developed some facial paralysis, making it harder for her to drink water and close her right eye. We discussed treatment options. The medication Sweetie would have had to have taken had some horrific side effects, and I was unwilling to subject her to that. Dr. Flowers once again agreed that we should let Sweetie just live as long as she could. Dogs with Cushing’s disease can live fairly long lives after diagnosis, sometimes, but that was not in the cards for Sweetie.

Last week, Sweetie had what I now know to have been her “rally days.” She walked farther than she had in months. She seemed to have less facial paralysis. She was doing well until she couldn’t anymore, and then things progressed very quickly. In the last 72 hours, she seemed to be confused, paced a lot, and seemed to have trouble getting comfortable. That large, pendulous belly got in her way. She began vomiting and eventually lost control of her bowels. For a dog who didn’t even want to poop in her own back yard, this was the final indignity, but she couldn’t help it.  A decision was made. Sweetie crossed the Rainbow Bridge at 2:00 p.m., Eastern Standard Time on September 14, 2026. As best we can tell, she was about ten years old.

I’ve not always been the best pet owner. I’m not a patient person sometimes, and there are so many things I would do over if I could. Sweetie was my “penance dog.” She’s the dog I promised to take the best care of, trying to make up for my shortcomings with other pups. She got only the best food (and possibly, too many treats), and she got regular exercise. Even though she didn’t want to play, she had lots of toys to ignore and simply share with other family dogs. She had every kind of grooming gadget and regular bathing with the fine folks at PetSmart Grooming Salon. And of course, the clothes….

My heart is shattered into a million pieces tonight. Coming home without her greeting me at the door is hard. To keep myself occupied, I laundered all her clothes, her blankets, and her beds. Yes, multiple beds. I’ll buy a storage box in which to keep all these things in case I can put my heart back together for another dog someday. In the meantime, I think I’ll make a nice Shutterfly™ book with my favorite pictures of my favorite dog ever.

Someone once said humans don’t deserve dogs. They were right.

Rest in peace, Sweetie.