Feather Rose's Dr. Quinn

She didn’t belong there. Across the street and one door down, out of her yard and unattended.  She knew it and so did you.

It’s a quiet street. Oil and chip surface with no curbs. It curves along the creek in front of houses that are all set well back on one plus acre lots. In the summer time you can’t even see some of the houses for the trees. Beautiful tall trees that canopy the street completely.

But it is January and the trees are all bare. The creek is still flowing but it has ice along the edges. The deer come down often to drink from the creek. Maybe that’s why she was there, where she knew she wasn’t supposed to go. The fresh scent of deer can be an awful temptation.

You were in a hurry. Perhaps you were running late. The visibility is pretty good this time of year, with the leaves gone.  The road curves just there. That spot where the deer have worn a path down to the creek after crossing the road from the green space behind our house.  There are tracks from where you’ve cut the corner enough to leave the paved part. But, with no curbing who’s to notice, or care? It is posted as a speed limit of 25 but it’s the middle of the day and who’s to notice if you push it. Like you have so many times before.

Perhaps you didn’t see her. She is only a dog after all and she didn’t belong there out of her yard and unattended. She knew it and so did you.

You didn’t stop. Possibly you didn’t even slow down. Maybe you didn’t see her, the 75 pound Labrador coming up from the creek headed back home before she got caught.  She knew about vehicles, she was on the side of the road. Perhaps waiting for you to pass by. She didn’t expect you to cut the corner that far off the pavement.  How do I know this? Because when I came home to find my wife holding her, covered by a blanket to protect her from the cold, I lifted a badly broken body onto the tail gate of my truck. Hips facing off to the side, spine broken I knew. I knew she didn’t suffer, didn’t move at all after you hit her.

She was only a dog after all and she didn’t belong there, out of her yard and unattended. She knew it and so did you.

She was a gift to my wife. We used to train obedience dogs for show. The dogs were a part of our family almost as much as the kids. They lived with us, traveled with us, went shopping with us. What ever we did they did and we expected them to be there and to behave and they did.  Quinn though was different. we hadn't had a dog for several years before her. After losing the last of our show dogs I just wasn't ready to let another animal into our lives.

Then, almost by accident I came across this litter of Labrador's.  The owner had both parents there so I could see  the background and after some soul searching because I was unemployed at the time and my wife was out of town I decided that perhaps it was time to bring another dog into our lives.  She was a gift you see. A gift for my wife who had just finished her Doctorate. I went to look at the litter expecting to come home with a male since there were five of them and only one female. They were out in the back yard playing with a rag toy when I got there. All of them looked good, moved well and were certainly active typical Lab's. So I walked some distance away and got down on one knee and clapped my hands. Six heads whipped around but only one  came charging at full puppy, head over tails, speed. ears flying, tail wagging, stumbling over feet.  "That's the one for me." I told the owner as the puppy raced to my arms and began licking my hands and wiggling under my scratches.

I picked the pup up and then saw it was the lone female of the bunch.  Well, I thought. She picked me so it must be meant to be.

It was a week before Jan got home to meet her new dog and in that short time-span I managed to break every rule we'd ever had about dogs in our house. Including being on the furniture, She developed a habit of getting up in my lap and falling asleep there each evening as I watched TV.  I'd wake up sometime after 11 pm and we'd got to bed. Puppy and I, together. A habit she never got out of. 

Now we don't have a fenced yard, so puppy and I developed a routine walking the edge of the yard and then playing with a toy in the back. First thing each morning and then again in the evening. Labrador's are a smart breed and she quickly learned her boundaries.

Then Jan got home and within days it became clear I had made the correct choice. Quinn was definitely Jan's dog. following her everywhere and eagerly sliding onto the sofa beside her to lay first her whole body and as she got bigger, just her head in Jan's lap.

She traveled with us everywhere. Even had her own blanket, bed and bag.  Load those in the truck and she'd be in the seat waiting for us. Trips to New Mexico, to Atlanta, back to Galesburg, it didn't matter if we were going somewhere Quinn expected to be going to.

Now we've had many Labrador's in our life but Quinn is the only one who could throw her own frisbee. A feat she would do often if we were too busy working in the yard to throw it for her. Using her front paws like hands to flip it up in the air and make it roll along the ground. Not having opposable thumbs was not a problem for her.

So much more to say. So many tiny things that made Quinn special. Right now the pain is too sharp. The hurt to deep.  

She knew she wasn't suppose to be there, Out of her yard and unattended. She knew it, and so did you.

But, just in case it does matter to you. Her name was Feather Rose's Dr. Quinn. She was born May 14, 2010. She was just 4 and 1/2 years old. I buried her today less than two hours after you killed her with your vehicle, in your hurry to get someplace. The grave is marked by some daffodil's I bought last fall and hadn't planted yet.