In 2004 we adopted. We found a 4-legged sibling for Bauer,
and expanded our family to four.
Sierra, had a tough-as-nails attitude, and a bark to match.
Little was known about her background, but she acclimated to the family fairly
quickly, learning within a couple of days that although Bauer was a goof ball,
he was still bigger, and thus the boss. But this didn't stop Sierra from
pushing the limits, she was tough. She was significantly smaller, but when the
two of them wrestled, she was a tough one to beat. Many times her tenacity got
the better of Bauer, or maybe he just saw a butterfly and something better to
chase.
Bauer was the heavyweight, but Sierra was the pound for
pound champ.
Sierra treated everyone equally, that is to say, she showed
her toughness and held her ground until you proved you were a friend. And we
learned early that she did not like men with sunglasses. Every time she came in
contact with a guy wearing sunglasses, her defenses went up and it took her a
long time to turn the toughness meter down.
She used 100% of everything she had, be it speed to beat
Bauer in a race, or toughness when we wrestled, or love when she wanted to
cuddle. She was not going to be short-changed in anything she did.
She loved the dog park, but wasn't a fan of other dogs. While
Bauer couldn't meet enough new friends, Sierra wanted nothing to do with the
other dogs. She liked to carry around a tennis ball and chew it until it was
soaked in slobber. If another dog did come over to "say hi" she had a
little scowl and a tough snap for that dog -- pretty much letting them know,
"this is my tennis ball, I want to lay here and not be bothered, so go
away." And it didn't matter if it was a tiny dog or a big dog, her
toughness didn't know size, all she knew was she wanted her tennis ball, and
she wasn't going to budge.
She tried to hide her sensitive side with her toughness, but
to those of us that knew her, we saw the tenderness, love and fun that she had.
Today, wrapped in a blanket, I held her now fragile body on
the floor of the vet's office, and I told her she didn't need to be tough
anymore. That we’d be tough for her; and she could let go, be free, and cross
the Rainbow Bridge.
She found an opponent she couldn't out tough, Father Time.
But it wasn't because she didn't try. Of all the Boxers that I've ever had,
none lived ‘til double digits. Sierra made it to 14.
Sierra lived a lifetime and a half compared to most boxers;
and to say she lived a long, full, productive life is an understatement. And
even though it was longer than any other dog I’ve had, it still didn’t seem
long enough. It never does.
While the sadness is tough, it’s not nearly as tough as that
little boxer we adopted almost 15 years ago.
Thank you, Sierra, for every day you spent loving us.
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