The Dish by Darcy

Dancer playing in her prairie grass

When Dancer died, she left behind an invaluable experience for other dogs. She gave our friends, families, and neighbors another reason to show their love to her and to us. She left me with the best gift of all. She didn’t leave me because she wanted to, she left because it was her time to go. I’m able to talk about what happened in the end now without wilting into a veil of tears every time I think of her or when someone says her name. It’s been so hard for me to let her go. I know that I have to share this with you. Everything happens for a reason and all things happen for the good. I know that. Even now. Even this. Let me tell you what happened at the end.

It was overcast, cooler than it had been. Dancer had gone to the lake earlier in the morning to herd her geese from the shore, then enjoyed some quiet time her in favorite place high above her world on the deck. In the early afternoon, the girls and I were out walking. Tilli was at my heels and Dancer was behind me. Dance caught a whiff of something wonderful and left the trail to investigate just like she’d done a million times before.

It was sudden, a realization somewhere in me. I felt a tearing panic in my heart and whirled back the way I had come. Dancer was gone. It was as if she’d never been. The world was empty. Tilli and I stood there, not moving. Tilli panted quick and then held her breath for a moment as if to listen. I held mine. Last year’s tall brown grass intertwined with new summer grass and danced gently in the light rain that was falling. Silent. Waving good bye. I called for Dancer. “Dancer, come on, Girl. Come to me.” She did not come. I called again and she did not come. I knew and I felt myself falling to my knees and I called her quietly to me. “Dancer, please. No, Dance, don’t go. Please come to me. Dancer, please come back to me.” Again and again I called her, knowing somewhere inside me that she couldn’t come. My voice caught in my throat and I called until it was gone. My brain took me into shock. It had only happened to me once in my life before, when my youngest son died years and years ago.

Dancer did not come to me when I called because she couldn’t. She had found the end of her life in the tall grass. Kent and I knew that she had died. We had to find her body. He had to find her for me. He wanted to.

We searched the grass where she had left the trail and we couldn’t find her. We called and she didn’t come. Kent held me. He told me that we’d find her, we’d find her. We searched the whole 300 acres and the county roads. Maybe she did walk away. Where was she? “God, where is she? Please show me where she is. Where is my dog? Why can’t I find her? Dancer, where are you?” The question, the pain of not knowing where she was drove us both to our knees over and over again. We searched until it was dark, then with flashlights. We did not find her.

Anthony, our grandson, stayed at the house to watch just in case she came back home. He swears that he saw her going by the house. He said he blinked and then she was gone again. I believe him.

That night Dancer came to me in a dream. She was whole and well, trotting to me as if I had just called her, just like she had done her whole life. Her eyes were on mine and she was happy. I woke up and told Kent. We agreed again that she must have died close to where we were, she must be hidden beneath the grass. We agreed that she would not have left me. She would not have walked away. We left the house in the morning to search again. He was on the ATV to cover more ground and Anthony and I were on foot. We did not find her.

Our friends came and helped us search. Our neighbors checked the roads and watched their fields carefully as they cut and baled the grass for winter feed. We searched where I saw her last. We searched in places she couldn’t possibly be. We dragged the waters. We dared the undergrowth and holes, mosquitoes and bogs, briars and ticks and tree roots to keep us from finding our Dancer. We did not find her. Did she walk away? Do you think she would have gone to the neighbors? She wouldn’t get into a car with a stranger, would she? They asked. Did she know she was going to die and leave to curl up in a hole or something, dogs do that, don’t they? They’d heard that dogs leave the people they love, leave to die somewhere else, somewhere private. They’d heard that dogs go away to die so they wouldn’t hurt their people. They’d heard that old dogs can get confused and just walk away. Was she on a county road, dazed and lost? Did someone pick her up? It was at least a half mile from any road. No, she wouldn’t have left, would she? Did she go to water? Animals in distress go to water, don’t they? Did she leave the property that she loved? Did she leave the person who loved her best? Nobody knew. She couldn’t have left me, she wouldn’t do that. Would she?

We walked right by her resting body. We walked by over and over and we didn’t know it. We didn’t see her.

We called in the tracking dogs. The tracking dogs that we knew might be able to find her were gone away for a few days, they could not help. We turned to Auburn, Nebraska’s Hearts United and their new tracking dog program. Eartha had been tracking for three months, Diesel for one. They were both good, they’d found the dogs they’d tracked before, John Adams said. But no promises, the dogs were new to tracking. “I can hear the hurt in your voice, Darcie. I can’t promise we’ll find your girl but we are going to try.” They did not find her. They tried, they really did. Kent and I watched as they tracked Dancer to a spot thirty feet from where her body was laying quiet, peaceful, and still.

Was the scent article we used contaminated with the others dog’s scent? Was that confusing the new trackers? Did they refuse to go to her because she was already dead? Was it possible that they were telling their handler that she was dead and he didn’t understand? They’d never acted like that before, he said. They seemed confused and he didn’t know why. We may never know the answers to any of those things unless Eartha and Diesel tell him again some day. They did not go to Dancer’s body. John moved them to another part of the property, maybe she had walked further away, maybe they could pick up her track and come back. Maybe the mingling scents of her old trails and her newest trail were getting confused. John and the dogs tried for hours to find her for me. John told me what he believed, what I already knew in my heart. “I know, I feel it, that she did not wander off. She’s here somewhere. She was here, they’re telling me that. She’s here somewhere. My dogs and I will use this experience to make us better. I’m sorry, the dogs seem confused, I’m not sure what they are trying to tell me. I wish I knew. I’m sorry.”

They searched for hours. They did not give up until they had to. John stayed here and he and the dogs worked the grass and the trees, the trails and the water where Dancer had been for seven years running free and off leash. The scent of her on the trails crisscrossed and mingled together until they were running in circles. They worked until John called an end. The dogs had done all they could for that day. The experience was invaluable for the new trackers and my hope is, that with this training, they will find the next missing dog who needs them, no matter what the circumstances are. I’ve offered to let them use our property for training. Our dogs run with us all over the place here, their scent is everywhere. Tracking the newest scent of a dog when that same dog has been all over the grounds is experience that will turn them into the best trackers you will ever need.

So what happened to Dancer? Where did she go? Why couldn’t we find her? Dancer had left the trail behind me and with her nose full of country scents and the tall, flowing prairie grass that she loved caressing her and helping ease her last breath, she laid down and went to sleep. I don’t know if Dancer knew she was dying in her last few seconds. If she did know, I’m glad that she knew I was right there, waiting for her like I always was. I would never leave her. She knew it. At the end she was a stone’s throw away from me and she would have come back to me when I called, if she could.

Kent found Dancer that afternoon laying quietly in the grass. She was right there. Close in to where I was when I whirled around to find her. She looked calm and peaceful and beautiful even in her death. We’d searched there, gone over it with a fine tooth comb. I had, our friends had, and Kent had. Kent needed to find her for me. My pain for not having her body, for the tiny chance that she hadn’t died but was out walking about confused and scared, not knowing where she was sent him out again to the rolling hills where she’d been with me on that last day. While I searched the neighborhood and cried on friends shoulders, have you seen her, would you watch for her, he continued to search. He found her laying completely and entirely camouflaged in the grass that had hidden her body for years as she ran and jumped, rolled and sped across her Nebraska prairie. She had simply gone to sleep, her head resting on her front leg, her tail curled around her just as if she were home in her bed. God had protected her body for me. No coyotes, nothing had disturbed her. She looked as if she could get up, get a good stretch, and go on.

I’ve always said that everything happens for a reason and that all things happen for the good. Even in times of trouble, sadness and heartbreak, I have to stand by that belief. Nothing makes sense if there isn’t a plan of some kind. I like believing it and it gives me comfort.

I don’t know why we couldn’t find her or why the dogs didn’t find her. She was right there. It had to be that there was a bigger plan. She was right there. I’m grateful that it was Kent who finally found her, he had to do that for me.

Kent and Anthony dug her grave while I watched and we picked wild flowers. Tilli cried at the graveside. She put her soft ball onto the ground where Dancer’s body had been laying, then she picked it up again. We cried on each other and said our good byes. Then, with Tilli and the puppies, we went down the hill and back to the house.

I miss my girl so much. The pain of losing her is that same gut wrenching, mind numbing, heart tearing pain of losing my child so many years ago. The difference for me is that God has given me a breath to take, a gift to let my old dog rest in peace sooner than I will ever have for my son. Will I cry for her? Yes, I will. Would I wish her back with me? Only if she could be whole and young and we could start all over again. It was just her time to go. I’m grateful that she died quickly doing what she loved to do.

I believe that Dancer’s passing happened the way it did to help the new dogs. And to remind us again how far the people in our lives will go for a dog. And one more thing. Dancer gave me the gift of love and commitment, she didn’t leave me. She was right there.

[ I have an idea for you. When you brush your dog once a week, put some of the hair into a zip lock baggie with a piece of unscented gauze. Each week, toss the hair out and make it new. If your dog should ever go missing, you'll have the perfect scent article that the tracking dogs can use to get your dog back to you.]

There is help when dogs go missing. Karin TarQwyn, private investigator (http://www.karinthepi.com) and Hearts United’s new tracking program (www.hua.org), who specialize in finding rescue dogs who have run away or been lured away, are there for you if you ever need them. I pray that you don’t.